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I wrap my fingers around my dick and give it a rough stroke. Sloane tries to hide it but watching me touch myself is turning her on, and I can’t help but wonder if the sight is enough to break her resolve.
“Are we even now, angel?”
“Not quite.”
“Tell me what I have to do to get back in your good graces.”
Touching myself doesn’t feel nearly as good as what she was doing to me moments ago, but I don’t stop because Sloane can’t take her eyes off of me. She’s biting her lip and tracking every stroke with her eyes and when I squeeze another bead of precum from my tip, she makes a breathy noise in the back of her throat. I’ve almost got her, but then I fuck it all up by smiling at her reaction to me, and her gaze snaps to my face.
“Don’t come.”
My hand stills immediately. “What?”
“Don’t come. After what you did yesterday, you don’t deserve to.”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose!”
“Tell that to the curls you ruined.”
I sit up and reach for her, but she’s already backing towards the door. And by the time I untangle myself from the sheets, she’s already bolted. The sound of her laughter echoes through the hallway as she rushes down the stairs.
Despite my neglected dick and the need for release pounding in my blood, I can’t stop myself from smiling at the sound as I head to the bathroom to shower and get dressed for the day.
“That fucking woman.”
* * *
It’s close to two in the afternoon when I finally make it to La Grande Nuit. I was supposed to be here sooner, but the meetings I had scheduled at Archway ran longer than usual, and then I got caught up in an emotionally exhausting conversation with my dad, who only ever calls to make me feel like a bad son for not visiting him in the assisted living home I pay for.
Agitation simmers in my veins as I rush into the lobby, praying that being dumb enough to take that call hasn’t made me miss the chance to see Sloane at work. When I left the house this morning, she said she’d only be in the hotel long enough to drop off some materials that got delivered to her office yesterday, but I’m hoping I can convince her to stay a little longer because a stolen moment in a remote corner would work wonders for my mood.
“Excuse me! You’re Nic Alexander, right?”
I spin around and see a tall, curvy woman with smooth brown skin, dimples, and red hair that’s cut closer to her scalp than mine is, approaching me. She looks familiar, and it takes me a second to realize she’s one of Sloane’s senior designers. I think her name is Sasha.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Great.” She thrusts the boxes she’s been holding into my hands. “Mal asked me to bring these by for Sloane because she’s out sick today.”
I look at the box of cabinet pulls I watched Sloane rush order from her tablet two days ago while I massaged her feet on the couch and try to hide my surprise. This isn’t the first time she’s sent someone else to bring my team a product they had to rush in. And it’s nothing weird about her utilizing her team members to run errands when she doesn’t have time, but it is weird for them to think she’s sick when I know for a fact that she isn’t.
She was perfectly fine when I left the house this morning, her cheeks still flushed with pride at sending me to work with blue balls. She even kissed me goodbye and teased me about still being hard. I smacked her on the ass and told her I would see her later and she hummed her agreement.
So what changed?
I take the boxes from Sasha’s outstretched hands. “Thanks for bringing these in.”
“No worries.”
Then she turns to leave, and I have to balance the boxes in one hand just to pull my phone out of my pocket and text Sloane.
Dominic: Playing hooky without me, angel?
Once the text goes through, I catch the elevator up to the eighth floor where my team is. Andre is working with another guy to grout some tile in the bathroom of a smaller suite.
“Hey,” I call from outside the door. “I have to go handle a personal issue. You guys good?”
Andre answers without even looking at me. “Yeah, don’t worry about us.”
