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Sloane is mine.
My first love, my last love, my only love.
My mate.
38
“I love the way you look in my clothes,” I say sleepily, watching Sloane roll up the waistband of a pair of black boxer briefs she poached from my drawer.
She tosses me a sultry little glance as she finishes rolling the band tighter to her hips. “Funny, I love the way you lookwithoutyour clothes,” she replies, licking her lips as her eyes drop to my bare chest, the smoldering heat in her gaze unmistakable.
I cross the room to her as she drops the hem of the grey t-shirt she’s wearing over the boxers. Though that particular shirt is tight on me, it completely swallows her up, the fabric grazing the tops of her knees. And damnit if she doesn’t wear it well. “You should know better than to look at me like that,” I murmur, grabbing a fistful of the shirt and yanking her toward me. Her body crashes against mine, a surprised little puff of air escaping her lips before I crush my own against them.
She flattens her palms against my pecs as she returns the kiss with equal fervor, her warm, wet tongue stroking against mine. I wind my arms around her waist and start walking her backwards toward the bed with only one thing on my mind. The backs of my calves meet the edge of the mattress and I lean back to fall onto it, aiming to take her with me- but Sloane plants her feet on the ground and pushes against my chest, sending me sailing down onto the mattress solo.
My eyes pop open as I land on my back, blinking up at Sloane. She’s standing over me with her hands on her hips, a feisty spark in her eyes.
“You promised me breakfast.”
I groan as I curl up to sit, my ab muscles straining. “Tease.”
Sloane smirks. “Horny bastard.”
She’s not wrong.
If I thought I was insatiable before when it comes to this girl, it’s nothing compared to how things are now that we’ve sealed the mate bond. The post-mating fever is in full force, and my dick has been permanently hard since our bond snapped in, no matter how many times we’ve fucked. Which is basically all we’ve been doing since we tackled one another in the forest last night.
“Fine,” I concede, raking a hand through my unkempt hair and pushing up to stand.
Sloane scampers over to my dresser, pulling open the drawers and picking through my clothes. She spins around with a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts in her grasp, shoving them toward me, and I slip them on while she taps her foot impatiently.
For such a little wisp of a thing, the girl is serious when it comes to her food.
Once I’m dressed, I grab a hat off the top of my dresser to cover up my bed head, slip it on backwards, and follow Sloane out of my room.
“So what are you gonna make me?” she asks as we stroll down the long hallway, a playful lilt to her tone. “I hope your cooking skills have improved over the last eight years. Oh my gosh, remember the salmon omelet?”
I scrub a hand over my face, chuckling. “Shit, don’t remind me. I almost burned this place down.”
“I still don’t understand how you managed to both undercookandovercook it,” she giggles.
“Hey!” I object, grabbing a handful of her ass and dragging her body against mine. “You said it was the effort that counted.”
I lean down to kiss her, but pause when the sound of voices drifts up from downstairs. Voices I recognize.
Sloane’s body goes rigid. “Is that…?”
The two of us exchange a panicked look, then break apart and practically sprint down the hall to the stairs- because nothing pulls you out of your post-mating sex haze faster than hearing your parents’ voices.
I grab onto Sloane’s hand and the two of us bound down the stairs, taking them two at a time until we reach the bottom and round the corner into the dining room.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Avery croons, sitting at the table with a shit-eating grin on her face. “About time you made it downstairs.”
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, sweeping my gaze around the table full of people. In addition to my sister, my parents are here, as well as Sloane’s whole family- Brock, Astrid, Tristan, Marigold, and her mate, Rhett.
“Did I miss the memo about family brunch?” I ask warily, taking a cautious step forward. I can’t help but be suspicious that this is some sort of ambush given the history of these people meddling in our relationship.
“It was my idea,” Avery announces proudly. “I thought it’d be a fun surprise.”
