All-in-all, there’s nothing special here. I curl my lip in distaste. Once we begin our affair, I’ll see to it that he becomes more aware of his clothing choices, like Parnell always has been.
The opening door cuts into my musings. Sloane saunters in, halting in his tracks when his blue gaze lands on me. His nostrils flare and my heart hammers. I attempt to grin at him until I see his exploratory gaze. He glances at the bathroom door. It’s gaping open, the interior dark.
He’s searching for Georgie. I bristle, all my insecurities crashing back, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of offering an explanation. If he wants to know about her, he’ll have to ask and, certainly, he wouldn’t do that. Any interest in my daughter will reflect badly on him.
He brushes past me, grabs a towel from the sofa and swipes it over his face. “Where’s Georgiana?”
I narrow my eyes at his unyielding audacity, but he doesn’t back down. He merely cocks a brow at me. “She’s sick,” I sneer at him, although it’s the truth.
He’s silent, waiting for me to continue. I snap my mouth shut, pleased at his shrug.
“What are you doing here?” He heads to the mini fridge for a bottle of vodka, swigs from it, then sits in the closest chair to study me.
I can’t gauge his thoughts. His tone is neutral but inscrutability shutters his eyes.
“You aren’t happy to see me?”
He drinks again and eyes me from head to toe. I resist the urge to squirm like an insecure twenty-something, but my outfit is nothing I normally wear. The black leather dress and thigh-high stiletto boots are more Georgie’s style than mine. My stylist’s last minute scramble to find these clothes shouldn’t go unnoticed. Along with a response to my question, I expect a compliment.
“Well?” I prompt when he doesn’t answer.
“I’m surprised to see you, Cassandra. Other than that, I don’t feel one way or the other about it.”
The door swings open and the man who picked me up walks in, flanked by two girls, a huge grin on his face until he spots me. I say nothing, too busy sizing up my competition. Just as they do to me. They’re both golden headed and have dark roots, so I know their hair color is a result of peroxide rather than genes. One is pierced to Kingdom Come—lips, eyebrows, nose, and at least five in each ear. She runs her tongue along her lips, undoubtedly to show off the piercing there. The little clothes she wears allows me to see the dangling cross hanging from her pierced belly button.
The other one, an inch or two taller than me and Miss Pin Cushion, is so heavily made up she’s created a new layer of skin for herself.
Hostility radiates from them and it simmers in me. Both slightly older than Georgie, they think I’m a pathetic old woman. It’s in their eyes, the lack of respect they afford me, the sum total of what I offer them.
Zero.
“Cassandra?”
Sloane’s voice snaps my attention to him and nausea swirls in me at the amusement in his eyes. He’s laughing at me, too. Mortification sears my blood, but I raise my chin and fold my arms, retaining my dignity with the knowledge of my importance.
“We’re having a private party in my hotel room,” he explains before I can make my excuses and leave. “That’s Macie and Echo.”
Macie is the pin cushion.
“Two special friends of the band. If you’d like to party with us, Kiln will bring the three of you to the hotel.”
The girls squeal, missing the disgust that crosses Sloane’s face. Kiln snorts and the world seems to balance out again. I have more in common with these men.
Sloane glances between me, Macie, and Echo again, but his gaze lingers on me the longest and my belly tightens. He wants to fuck me again. Feeling bold, I run my tongue over my lips. Desire brightens his eyes. I don’t want to share him, so I try a different tact.
“I really must get home, but if I can impose on you for a few minutes, I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
He nods and, within moments, Kiln, Macie and Echo leave Sloane and me alone once more. I walk over to him, lift up on my toes, and kiss him. Although he isn’t surprised, he doesn’t respond, so I press closer to him and grind against his hard cock.
Grabbing my hips, he turns me. “Bend over,” he says harshly.
I’m too breathless with anticipation to say anything, so I comply. The sound of the condom wrapper being torn open sends a rush of wetness to my pussy. He shoves my skirt above my waist, pushes the seat of my panties aside and slams into me. I gasp and groan at the thick length of him. He works in and out of me roughly, almost to the point of pain, but I don’t care. I revel in the fact that he’s fucking me. Parnell didn’t have to urge him to do it, either. He’s having me simply because I offered him pussy.
I feel young and alive again. It’s addicting, more so than the orgasm that suddenly crashes over me. I scream out my release, not caring if I’m heard beyond the doors or not. If I am, that’s all the better.
I’m making my claim on Sloane, and I refuse to let anyone take him from me.