The Accidental Genie

by Dakota Cassidy

  Plus, she wasn’t up for the torture of wondering what was going on under his towel. Since her admission the other night and tonight’s confession, her confidence had shifted without warning.

  Something in her had broken loose—she felt freer than she had in almost as long as she’d been part of the program. In the moment, talking about what Victor had done, what she’d been too blind to see had hurt as though it had happened just yesterday. But now, a few hours later, she’d found she was sick with relief to have no more secrets. Good or bad, it was all out there.

  “Jeannie?” his low voice grumbled.

  “Sloan?”

  “Wanna have sex with me?”

  Two of the candles she was floating with sheer will alone, waffled and tilted. Bouncing her finger, she righted them, still looking past Sloan. “It’s the flannel pj’s, right? Super-duper hot. Knew you couldn’t resist. Who can resist pink with fluffy sheep?”

  “It’s your everything,” he growled low, moving in closer to her, invading her space, sucking up her life force, making her want to throw herself at him and beg him to take her.

  “Huh. Funny that. The other night my everything couldn’t make you budge.”

  “Things change.”

  “Horny changes everything.” She forgot about the candles and planted her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you celibate? I wouldn’t want you to break any vows you made with yourself because of me.”

  “I was just waiting for the right woman to come along to break it with.”

  “You do see with your special werewolf eyes, I’m neither blonde nor leggy, yes?”

  “I see just fine with my special werewolf eyes, and I like what I see.”

  Sloan stepped closer and snaked an arm out to wrap around her waist, hauling her up tight to him. The rigid line of his shaft pressed to the space between her thighs, making her fight a gasp. “I asked a question.”

  Her arms dangled at her sides noncommittally despite her pounding heart and her racing pulse. She was afraid this was some kind of weird test she’d fail. “What changed your mind? Was it my pathetic tale of woe? Or did all the subterfuge and 007 stuff make you wild with desire? Men love spy stuff.”

  Sloan put his hand to the back of her head and drove his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back. “No more jokes,” he ordered, gruffly.

  Her eyebrow rose. “Totally not joking here. This was sudden and unexpected and, I think, after the not-so-subtle interrogation I got the other night from you, I deserve an answer.”

  Sloan’s eyes penetrated hers, forcing her to connect gazes with him. “Because I know that tonight changed everything for you. You don’t have to hide anymore. Hiding from Victor, keeping all those secrets kept you from investing in a relationship. You were afraid it would be taken away. It’s easier not to take a chance. But no one’s taking me anywhere. I know that. You know that, too. I also know you’re ready. I can smell it. Now I want to taste it.”

  Her pulse pounded. She wanted him so much it hurt.

  He lowered his mouth to hers until their lips were only inches apart. “Are you in or not?”

  Jeannie’s breath rasped. Was she in? Was all that new confidence she’d been thinking about just moments ago real or imagined?

  The press of Sloan’s hard chest, huffing in and out, mirroring her breaths, was maddening and delicious and frightening all at once. She wanted. God, she wanted.

  It was all there for the taking if she just reached out.

  In that brief moment, when indecision warred with need, her need won. Good, bad, or indifferent, she was ready to recognize that she was a healthy woman with healthy desires and Sloan was willing to look beyond her scars, and his love of blondes, and fulfill them.

  And that was right and good. Wanting to make love with an attractive man was healthy.

  “I’m in,” she whispered, husky and breathy.

  “Where’s Mat?” he demanded, running his hands along the curve of her hips.

  “In the living room with the twins.”

  And those were the last words either of them spoke before he was pulling her tighter to him, dragging his hands over her length, teasing her with his touch.

  His mouth descended on hers, gentle at first until she wound her arms around his neck and demanded more. Flashes of white light flitted behind her eyelids when his tongue rasped over hers, tasting, touching, driving into her mouth.

  Sloan’s muscled limbs flexed and tensed when he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

  She kept her eyes closed tight when her back pressed into the mattress, afraid if she opened them and saw Sloan assessing her, she’d see distaste in his eyes and this magical moment would be ruined forever.

  But Sloan’s voice, thick and grumbling, demanded she open them. “Look at me, Jeannie. I want to know you know who I am.”

  A deep breath later, and she popped her eyes open. Sloan sat above her, gloriously hard and bronzed, a veritable Rodin sculpture of near perfection. His skin was still damp from his shower, small beads of water still clinging to the hair beneath his belly button. His chest was smooth and hard, his pecs developed but not overly so.

  When he rose and let the towel slip from his waist, Jeannie shivered, and it wasn’t due to anything other than lust. His cock was thick, jutting forward in clear desire, and it made her almost gasp a sharp intake of breath.

  Her hands clenched at her sides, tightening until she was clinging to the sheets. Her eyes followed him when he sat at the edge of the bed, his breathing rapid and harsh.

  When his lean fingers reached for the buttons on her pajama top, she stopped him, catching the look of hesitation that flashed in his blue eyes. “I’ll do it,” she whispered.

  She needed to be the one to reveal the scars on her chest. They weren’t pretty, though they had healed well. Her fingers trembled as she freed button after button, then let her pajama top fall open. She pointed to the cluster of tiny lines, white and rigid. “These are from the glass that exploded and sprayed us.”

  Sloan’s hiss made her heart stop, but he hadn’t hissed due to distaste. Instead, he leaned forward and traced, with light fingers, the lines that kept her from wearing a neckline lower than her collarbone. He explored them, smoothed them away.

  “The doctors said I could have another plastic surgery to minimize them even more, but I was just so tired by then. Maybe someday—”

  He pressed his fingers to her lips, his eyes searching hers, demanding she see him. “I don’t care, Jeannie. I don’t care about them. I only care that they caused pain.”

  A tear slipped from her eye, falling into the pillow beneath her head, and then Sloan was replacing his fingers with his lips, nipping at her mouth, tasting it.

  The hot flesh of his skin pressed to her bare torso made her arch upward, seeking closer contact, melding to him until they were one endless loop of entwined limbs.

  When his lips traveled from hers and moved along the column of her neck, grazing her scars, her heart stood still. They were scorching hot, gliding over her skin, leaving her needy. As his tongue tasted her nipple for the first time, she lifted off the bed, her hips rising. Her hands tugged at him, encouraging him to cover her body with his delicious weight—to press her so far into the mattress there’d be no beginning or end to their union.

  When his cock brushed along the fabric of her pajama bottoms, Jeannie tensed, but Sloan licked her nipple with a long swipe, savoring the bud with a hum of appreciation, making her forget everything else.

  Her hands went to his hair, burying them in the silky strands as he drew her nipple in and out of his hot, wet mouth. Her heart clamored as Sloan’s fingers skimmed the top of her pajama bottoms, slipping over her flesh, teasing it until she moaned with need.

  Jeannie’s hands roamed at will, too, slipping over his broad back, t
racing each set of muscles, relishing the feel of a man’s skin beneath her fingertips. She found it was natural to wrap her thigh around his waist, encouraging him to grind against her.

  His moan of pleasure slipped into the room, echoing in her ears, leaving her squirming beneath him. Sloan’s lips slipped away from her breast. Moving over her ribs in slow increments, he consumed her flesh with wet kisses, trailing a path to the top of her pajama bottoms.

  Jeannie’s muscles tightened, tensing when Sloan’s hot breath caressed her lower abdomen. She fought not to cry out as he moved the fabric lower, hooking his thumbs under the waistband and dragging the material down along her hips with an agonizingly slow rasp. He pushed the bottoms to her ankles and shoved them over her feet.

  White-hot heat flushed her veins and her pulse raced when Sloan leaned forward and spread the lips of her sex. The moment stood still for her. Sloan gazing upon the most intimate part of her body made her shiver with delight. It was carnal and decadent, naughty and exciting, all rolled into one big package. The anticipation made her chest heave and her fingers clench her sheets into balls of fabric.

  Jeannie’s eyes flitted open for a brief moment to find Sloan held himself suspended over her, his nostrils flaring.

  His eyes, deeply blue and darkened with something feral, connected with hers for mere seconds as though he were asking her a question.

  And then Jeannie understood. She let her own eyes break contact and slide closed as she lifted her hips.

  Sloan’s growl was husky and thick in her ears. His hair brushed her thighs just before he dipped his head low and took a long swipe of her clit, lashing out at it with his tongue and circling the tight bud.

  Jeannie fought a scream, the pleasure was so intense; she reached a hand out to clutch locks of his hair, tugging at them as he explored her needy flesh. She ached with want. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for more.

  When he slid his finger into her, easing into her tight passage, she jolted. A hoarse cry stuck in her throat. She clenched her eyes tight as he stroked her with his finger, driving it into her as he licked the swollen bud of flesh. Lights flashed behind her eyelids, streaking colors of brilliance, making her head thrash against the pillow with the need for release.

  As waves of sweet heat rose and fell, Jeannie fell further into the abyss, allowing herself to do nothing more than feel the stroke of Sloan’s slick tongue and the drive of his finger within her.

  Her release was so swift it took her by surprise. There was no warning, no subtle shift in pressure. Instead, it slammed into her, assaulting her with its intensity. She bolted upward to an almost half-sitting position and grasped Sloan’s hair, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Her orgasm tore through her, clawing its way to her very depths, leaving a trail of white-hot residue in its wake.

  Falling back on the bed, she heard the harsh intake of her breaths, short and choppy. Sloan slid up over her length, letting his hands roam across her skin, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered between her breasts with his kisses.

  Jeannie clung to him, pressing her face into his neck when he spread her thighs and positioned himself between them. His cock, rigid and warm, brushed her clit enticingly, creating just enough friction to make her hot with need all over again.

  He bracketed her face. “Look at me, Jeannie,” he demanded as his chest drove against her with harsh intakes of breath.

  Her eyes popped open to find him staring down at her. She searched his blue gaze, waiting.

  Poised at her entry, Sloan didn’t say another word. Instead, he hiked her thigh up over his hip and slipped into her, stretching her, filling her with his width until her breath left her lungs. He moved with ease, inching into her, using the slick wetness of her passage to guide him.

  “Christ, Jeannie. So damn good,” he murmured.

  Jeannie’s eyelids slipped closed again as her neck arched and she adjusted to Sloan’s cock moving deep within her. It was delicious; the grind of his hips, the slap of their skin connecting with each thrust Sloan took, the pound of his heart in rhythmic time with hers.

  And so it began again, that hot climb upward, that needy, desperate ache for fulfillment from deep within her belly.

  Sloan’s breath was hot on the shell of her ear, hot and uneven. He reached under her, cupping her ass, kneading the globe of flesh, pressing them closer together until the crisp hairs above the head of his cock scraped her clit. The friction was decadent, ratcheting her desire up yet another notch.

  Sloan tensed above her, each muscle in his body hardening as he, too, fell deeper. His lips sought hers, hard and demanding. His tongue drove into her mouth and she savored the combination of his cock deep within her coupled with the skill of his kiss.

  Again, there was no warning to the call of release. It drove into her hard and fast, making her hips lift in desperation when Sloan took a final thrust.

  He gripped her flesh, driving upward into her with a low groan, the cords of his neck stretching and tensing, the grind of his hips swift.

  Jeannie clung to his neck, driving her body against his, matching him thrust for thrust until she was almost dizzy.

  Sloan slumped against her, his weight laden with his release. Their chests crashed together, their harsh breathing mingled.

  Jeannie didn’t move. She never wanted to move. What had just happened between them had been earth shattering for her in more ways than just their physical union.

  She had made love to a man, and it had been good—so good. She didn’t regret the choice to do it, and she almost didn’t care if she turned out to be just another notch on Sloan’s belt. Sure, it would hurt if his spiel about celibacy were all a lie.

  But that was insignificant in comparison to the huge leap she’d just made.

  A leap of control in her life.

  A leap of faith that, if nothing else, she wouldn’t lose anything by making love with Sloan. Rather, she’d gain yet another freedom—the freedom to choose to make love and take it for exactly what it had been.

  A new level of physical connection she’d denied herself all these years because of fear.

  Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Sloan’s finger trailed across her cheek. “Question?”

  “Is it going to be the kind that has you shining a light in my eyes and telling me you have ways of making me talk?” she teased, snuggling under him, remorseful when he pulled out of her.

  He chuckled and rolled to his side, pulling her with him. “Nope. But it’s personal.”

  “Is there anything more personal than naked?”

  “How long has it been since you’ve made love?”

  She giggled. “I was rusty, right? I’m easily confused by slot A and tab B. I’ll try harder.”

  His hand framed her cheek and his smile was warm. “It has nothing to do with rust or tabs.”

  Her eyes avoided his for a moment, and then she decided, no more hiding. Not even her sexual inexperience. “Back in the day, I wasn’t much different than you. Well, I was more the kiddie version of you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, we’re more alike than you think, and it’s why I don’t judge your vast and varied field of blondes. Before Victor, I wasn’t above a little cleavage flashing or a coy smile to get what I wanted. I had a few not so serious boyfriends until I met him, all acquired with my beguiling charm.”

  “And since Victor?”

  “A couple of years. And my last three attempts failed on almost all levels.” There’d been a man or two who’d been willing to look past the boring clothes she wore and the colorless lifestyle she led.

  “You know why they failed?”

  “I can’t wait to hear, Doc Sloan.”

  “You weren’t free.”

  Her breathing hitched. Yes. Sloan got it, leading he
r to believe his celibacy had a reason behind it. It had been a long time since she’d been able to share what had happened to her in anything but a clinical setting where someone who was supposed to observe her and be impartial held court. It just wasn’t the same as telling Marty, Nina, and Wanda—women who, to a degree, still lived out loud despite the fact that they, too, hid.

  To keep the secrets she’d had to keep took more energy than she’d ever imagined. In fact, twelve years ago, had she known what it was like to have to stay hidden, to always have your guard up and monitor every little word that slipped from your lips, she might have just walked away from the program and let fate have its way. She’d been that desperate a time or two over the years.

  But confession cleansed the soul.

  “Yes. I feel freer than I have in a long time. I’m not running-arms-open-wide, Sound of Music–style just yet, because I have to always temper my freedom with caution, but that’s part of the reason my attempts at romance or even close friends have failed. I viewed any physical contact as possession instead of simply seeing it for what it was or could be, if I let it. Two people enjoying each other.”

  His lips tightened. “Might I remind you, that wasn’t only what this was about with us.”

  “Oh, you just say that now because you don’t have a choice. You’re stuck to me like gum on a shoe. Wait until you’re free, and you have the opportunity to hit Club Greasy. Then we’ll talk.”

  He shook his head with a teasing grin. “No. That’s not why I say that, and I don’t go to Grease Your Pole anymore. I say that because I want you to give this attraction between us the chance to maybe grow. I gave up celibacy for you tonight. That was big. You owe me more than just a phone call in the morning.”

  “So, a question for you?”

  “Shoot.”

  “You clearly understand this defining-moment thing I had tonight. Why? And why the celibacy?”

  His eyes held a faraway gleam. “Because of a stripper named Sable. She worked at the Pole with Lollipop. She was just a kid, and she was killed in a car accident. She started out here with big dreams, got roped into stripping to make ends meet. The girls at the Pole all told her not to do it, because she was just a kid. Most of the women at the Pole know how it goes when you tell everyone you’ll only be stripping for a little while, until you can get on your feet. They’ve all been there. They’re still there. They looked out for Sable, loved her, cared for her when her family wouldn’t. Long story short, as I sat at her funeral, mostly attended by the men who’d watched her take her clothes off—including me—and the strippers from the club, something just clicked with me. I know you’ll find the comparison strange, and werewolves have eternal life for the most part, but if something happened to me, I didn’t want to end up with no one at my funeral but my drinking buddies who only care where the next six-pack of beer and a bucket of chicken wings is coming from, and a string of one-night stands who couldn’t identify me in a lineup.”