I find a seat until the pizza comes, ignoring the small bits of conversation floating over my head. An hour later, four, hot, delicious, cheesy pizzas, overflowing with pepperoni arrive. I snag one before they can get to it.
At the first bite, I moan and close my eyes. “Oh my God, so good.” I’m almost purring. I’ve been deprived of pizza for weeks. I take another bite and moan again.
“Stop it, Georgie,” Sloane growls, ruining my pizza-induced near orgasm.
I narrow my eyes at him and take another bite, swallowing back my pleasure with effort. I don’t want to flame his temper, with him being pissed already.
Finished with my first piece, I get up and take a beer from the counter, popping it open and drinking deeply.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Drinking a beer, Sloane,” I answer dryly, finishing it off and crushing the can. Spying a trash can, I bounce on my feet and try to slam dunk. As usual, I miss. I go to grab a second one, but one look at Sloane and I change my mind. “Sweet baby Jesus, but you’re uptight.”
He growls. When he’s coming in me, I love the sound. Directed at me outside of bed, not so much.
“You excel at growling. How’d you get so good?”
He smirks at me. I scowl at the unspoken insinuation that he learned the art of growling, as he honed his mastery of fucking.
To forestall an argument—especially with an outsider there—I turn to said outsider. “Do you want a beer?”
He dabs his napkin over his mouth. “I don’t drink.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Do you smoke?”
Not surprisingly, he shakes his head.
“What do you do?”
“Teach,” he says simply.
“You’ve never had a girlfriend?”
Sloane jumps to his feet. “Georgie, we need to talk.”
“Several,” Sam answers evenly. I don’t know if I like him or not.
I sigh when Sloane begins to drag me toward another room, but dig my heels in. “Can we dance or something?”
“Dance?” he echoes, like I’ve just suggested he roast a small animal.
I nod. “Or go out, maybe? I have several fake IDs.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
I glare at Kiln’s tired sounding words. “Maybe, because you’re a dickhole and you’re suspicious of everything?” I say sweetly.
“One of these days, your mouth will get you into deep trouble,” he returns.
Sloane doesn’t say anything, but his face is red. Satan is possessing him. The only reason he hasn’t blasted me is because of Sam’s presence.
Sloane snatches a beer and opens it, pacing as he drinks. Kiln’s eyes are roaming between the two of us. Sam looks out-of-place in his button down shirt, bow tie and black pants.
“Here, Georgie,” Adam offers. Music suddenly sounds from his iPad.
Mysterious Ways by U2. “Come on, Sloane,” I encourage, raising my hands above my head and rolling my hips to the music. “Dance with me.”
He doesn’t touch me, though. He watches my movements, the way my hair swings and blankets my arms and back. I hold his gaze for as long as possible before the dance I’m doing around his body forces me behind him. I stop and flatten my palms against his back, tempted to feel him and grip his cock.
Is he hard? Does he want me like I want him? Right now, I’d give my soul to have him inside of me again. Yes, I’m sore, but I need him. The only time I know he’s completely mine is when we’re joined.
But I can’t touch him. I don’t know how Sam will react. I’ve already given him more than enough cause to suspect something, so I do the only thing I can to divert his attention.
I move away from Sloane and head to Sam, as Throwing Your Arms Around The World starts to play.
Sloane
I’m. Going. To. Fucking. Gut. Jaeger.
And then geld Sam. For all his attempts at stoicism, his dick is hard, pressing against his zipper as she dances around him, purposely touching him because she can’t touch me. I don’t trust her not to tug his head down and tongue kiss him, to fuck with me.
She uses her sexuality to get her way. That’s what Crowell taught her. That’s what I decided would help me to control her, using her desires against herself. But…fuck. The prospect of Georgie discovering my affair with her mother is powerless against my draw to her. The promise of Helen divulging Steffie’s death and my father’s version of what happened to her, the exposure of the systematic way I seduced Dietrech with sex and drugs, the fact of my real reason for cleaning up, doesn’t matter. Despite the extremes I’ve gone to, to protect my sister and sister-in-law, not even they matter to me if it means Georgie won’t thrive, or will become lost in the shuffle. I even fool myself and insist I’ll soothe Georgie, if she ever discovers I fucked her mother. All of it, sanity, just brushes over my head.
Attraction. Concern. Desire. Saving her. My roles meld until I’m lost to all the ways she’s claimed me and tied my emotions together. I forget all I have at stake. Except jail time.