by Anne Harper
“Let’s see if this will make it into the blog.”
Sloane didn’t even have a chance to blink—or maybe she did; she sure as hell wasn’t about to focus on anything other than a naked Brady—before his mouth made the journey across her lips, her breasts, her stomach, and then to her inner thigh.
There he paused long enough to smirk.
Sloane held her breath.
Was he about to—
“Holy Snapchat filters.”
Brady’s mouth went from her thigh to a place Sloane hadn’t had a man go in a really long time. Every urge to say something awkward or teasing dissolved into acute pleasure as his tongue found the holy grail. She threaded her fingers into his hair and moaned as he sweetened the deal by reaching his own hand up to find her breast. He worked both in tandem while Sloane slowly lost her damn mind.
If she had known this was what they could have been doing?
Boy oh boy, the only favors she would have been giving out would have been in service to the orgasm god.
The same one she was about to praise.
Brady quickened his motion, employing his free hand to up the action. Sloane never stood a chance. It was all stars and fireworks as a wave of pure bliss shuddered through her body. When Brady pulled away, she was panting.
“I-I’d write an entire book just on that.”
Brady chuckled.
“Time to get down to the sequel, then.”
Nothing could have pleased Sloane more, but then the angel on her shoulder decided to finally make herself known. She pressed her hand against Brady’s chest to stop his descent on top of her again.
“Did you bring a condom?”
It was like she’d slapped him.
“Fuck.”
Sloane groaned. “Why didn’t you bring one?”
“When you said you wanted to decorate a boat today, I thought that meant you wanted to decorate a boat today,” he said with humor.
Sloane’s body was absolutely vibrating. It made everything that much more frustrating.
“Ugh, I hate to say this, but Callum probably has some in his bathroom. He’s at work doing some special project, and there’s no way he’ll be home until supper.”
Brady was tan lightning. He was off her and running, a naked streak with a bite-your-lip fine ass. Sloane used the small break to press her hand against her chest. Her heartbeat was galloping.
What if he didn’t find one?
Maybe they could fashion something out of a Walmart bag or—
Brady ran back in and shut the door with a little victory dance. In his hand: the Golden Snitch.
“Praise be,” Sloane yelled.
Brady laughed. “Praise be.”
Then he was on top of her and tearing the packet open with his teeth in a movement that was damn near breathtaking. He rolled the condom along his length, then gazed down at her naked body again.
“Ready to have some fun, sweet cakes?”
“You bet I am, sweet cakes.”
She pulled him against her, and in another mind-blowing movement, he pushed deep inside her.
Sloane yelled out in pure pleasure. Brady caught her lips and kept a slow and agonizingly amazing rhythm. It pushed her closer and closer until one hit harder. She cried out in ecstasy as a shock wave of pleasure and magic pulsed through every fiber of her being.
But Brady wasn’t done.
Not by a long shot.
Pun absolutely intended.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The storm kept on longer than expected.
Brady didn’t mind.
He had a naked Sloane against him and not a care in the world.
“Well,” she started after a long stretch of them just being. “That’s another first.”
Brady angled his chin down to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed red. A sight he also very much enjoyed.
“Those weren’t even my best moves.”
“I meant you’re the first person I’ve ever done any moves with in this room. I feel like my teenaged self would be proud of the development.”
Brady chuckled. Sloane readjusted at the movement so her cheek was against his chest instead of his shoulder.
It felt nice.
Something had shifted between them at the bar the night before. He’d felt it, and, considering how extra-atomic cherry red Sloane had been when he showed up at her door earlier, Brady bet she’d felt it, too. The feelings they were supposed to be faking had started to become real.
The worry and concern Brady had felt when Emma had called saying Sloane was in trouble.
The protectiveness that had driven him to kick Derrick out and then share his first-time story.
The pride that he’d smiled through as Sloane had won over Cassidy’s patrons as she judged each embarrassing story—and there had been quite a few—hook, line, and sinker.
The simple pleasure he’d taken at holding her hand.
Yeah, something had changed for him, all right, and while he hadn’t set out to do what they’d just done, he was damn sure glad they had.
They lapsed into a contented silence after a few more minutes of talking. Then Brady dozed off and on. Sometime later, he woke to a newly clothed Sloane smiling. The power was back on.
“I guess someone didn’t get much sleep last night,” she said, voice all warm.
Brady sat up and cracked his neck. “I didn’t, actually. For the first time in a long while, it was hard to get everyone out of the bar. After you and Callum left, I got caught in an hour-long convo with Dewey, Stanley, and Dixon.”
“Don’t act like you weren’t having a blast talking to everyone.”
Brady shrugged. “It wasn’t half bad. They did offer to walk next to the boat in the parade and wear the shirts Santana ordered. Stanley even said he’d do a little dance if we wanted.”
Sloane walked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of socks. She’d gone from his now-favorite dress of all time to a tank top and some leggings he equally wouldn’t mind seeing on the bedroom floor. As she separated them, she paused.
“Wait. Is this the Stanley who threw a butter knife at you? The comedian you heckled?”
Brady laughed. “‘Comedian’ is a strong word, but yeah, that was him. I guess I was lucky his aim was as bad as his jokes.”
“And now he’s willing to dance for you.” She shook her head and tsked at his past rudeness.
“Hey, that’s the power of selling alcohol. The bartender may taketh but he giveths, too.”
“Well, last night you definitely givethed to everyone at Cassidy’s. I think you might actually have fans now. I heard a lot of people say they were going to go to the pageant just to cheer you on.”
“To cheer us on,” he corrected with a grin. “I wasn’t the only one charming men and women with my general awkwardness and gifability.”
Sloane tossed her head back in laughter. Her hair was down and wild, a storm cloud. Electric. There was something different about her now. Or, maybe, it was just him. How he saw her. How he wanted her.
Either way, Brady couldn’t stop his body reacting at the sight of a carefree Sloane De Carlo.
He liked it. And he wanted more.
“You know, when we played two truths and a lie, I never found out which lie you told.” He threw off the covers and left the bed and everything covering him behind. It was hard not to laugh when Sloane dropped one of the socks she was holding. He stopped a breath away from her and leaned in. “You said you were going to jump into the water, and you did. So, that’s one truth. You said you worked a wedding where you caught the groom cheating with the bride’s sister. And then you said you and Emma have matching, and very well hidden, Beetlejuice tattoos.” Brady ran his thumb across her bare arm. “Now, I can’t recall seeing the tattoo, so either it’s really well hidd
en or that was a lie.”
Sloane’s face might have been burning bright, but her voice was nothing but smooth.
“How about instead of me telling you, you try and look for it again? I certainly won’t stand in the way of your pursuit of knowledge.”
…
“I knew this wasn’t going to work out. I just knew it.”
Sloane had her hands on her hips and not an ounce of teasing in her voice.
Instead there was a flatness to her words. A finality. A warning that everyone in the vicinity better watch what they said next lest they be smited by the wrath of a southern woman.
Brady wanted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but he wasn’t that brave. There was a lot to be said about southern women, but one thing he knew not to say? Some kind of smart-ass joke about parade floats when social statuses were on the line.
Okay, maybe that was a little too specific to be a recurring concern, but Brady wasn’t taking any chances by incurring a Sloane-size wrath.
Not when he’d already had a taste of her pleasure.
He motioned in front of them, empty bucket in one hand and a scrub brush in the other.
“It’s nothing we can’t fix,” he tried to assure her instead. “Just a little love and elbow grease.”
He should have chosen his words a little more carefully. Sloane whirled around to face him, rain jacket making a swish noise at the movement. Her eyes and hair were wild.
It was oddly adorable, considering the reason behind her wild distress.
“We’re supposed to turn this boat into a parade float in two days, and right now it looks as appealing as the boat in Jaws.” Brady gave her a questioning look at the reference. She sighed. “You know, the boat after it was half eaten by the shark.”
Brady let out a laugh that did double duty, propelling him toward the object that was in the center of Sloane’s lack of affections. It was almost ten in the morning on Wednesday, and the rain from the day before had finally let up that morning, allowing them to retrieve Roger’s boat so they could start the decoration process for the parade. Now Roboata was parked beside Sloane’s childhood home, looking like some kind of ghost vessel lurking in the shadows.
“It needs a good scrub is all.” He motioned to the patches of dried mud, green mildew, and yellow pollen. The trinity of living outside in Arbor Bay. “Until then, just think about her inner beauty and not her outer gunk.”
A whisper of a smile swept over her lips when Brady turned back to her, arms spread wide, trying to physically draw her attention to his point.
The same lips he’d made swollen from their time spent in her room, not more than a quick walk inside the house behind them. Callum had already called in and said he was staying late at the office again and wouldn’t be around until nine or ten later that night.
Definitely enough time for a repeat of Brady and Sloane’s earlier performances.
And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t really, really want an encore even now, standing in front of a time-sensitive chore in the form of a boat that had seen better days.
“There you go sounding like a fortune cookie again,” Sloane said, seemingly fighting a full-blown smile. “Maybe not the most eloquent one, but you’re right. I’m sure everything will fall into place once we have a clean slate to look at.”
She picked up the soap next to her feet and the rolls of paper towels.
“After you, El Capitan.”
Roboata was small and, Brady bet, not that fast. Yet it still was more than he expected as they climbed aboard. There was enough room for the two of them to scrub, spray down, and clean their areas without bumping into each other.
Close proximity but, with their efficiency, it felt like they were miles apart.
Brady didn’t like it.
So he made a move that could have cost him everything.
He turned the water hose around and sprayed Sloane right in the beautiful backside.
“Brady!” She dropped her towels and spun around, more fire in her eyes than before. “What on God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?”
Brady put on the most innocent expression he could manage.
“Sorry, sweet cakes. It was an accident. My hand slipped.”
Sloane wasn’t buying what he was selling. She unzipped her jacket and slid it off with an undercurrent of mumbling. After she laid it down on the captain’s chair, she inspected the back of her pants.
They were wet.
And form-fitting.
Sloane caught his eye. She wagged her index finger at him.
“Don’t you stand there and lie to me, Brady Knox. And stop looking at me like that!”
Brady put down the water hose but kept his eyes trained on a reddening Sloane.
“Look at you like what?”
He started to walk toward her, eating up the short distance within a few beats. Sloane stood her ground, but he didn’t miss the small gulp she took.
Nervous Sloane was another shade that looked good on the woman.
“Like now I’m the guy on the boat in Jaws and—and you’re the shark about to get him.”
Her lips quirked up at the corners as Brady couldn’t help but laugh.
“Wait, are you saying that you’re Robert Shaw in this scenario?”
Sloane tilted her head to the side. “Who?”
That only made Brady laugh more. He reached down and grabbed a strand of her wild hair and tried to tuck it behind her ear, but it refused to fall into place that easily.
“The actor who plays Quint,” he explained, focus changing tracks to how he could smell her shampoo. It was citrusy and sweet.
Intriguing.
Sloane’s blush kept its place across her cheeks.
“Who’s Quint?” Her question was barely above a whisper. He could see that the rising and falling of her chest had quickened.
If Brady had to guess, the desire for a different kind of close proximity was starting to move through her as well. Chores be damned.
Brady leaned over, hand curving around her ear, tracing her jaw, and then tilting her chin up. Now her lips were close enough to kiss, but Brady wasn’t going to give anything to her yet.
Not unless she wanted it.
So he answered her question but not without a deeper voice, filled with a grit that Sloane pulled out of him on reflex.
“He’s the guy the shark gets after it attacks the boat.” Brady smirked. “You know, the man in your analogy.”
Sloane said “oh” and nodded, but Brady knew she was a goner. Her eyes swung down to his lips, and then it was all hands on deck.
Hopefully soon to be all hands on dick.
A bad pun, but the moment Sloane slammed her lips against his, Brady was ready to chart a more exciting course on Roger Norman’s boat and had no shame if that included turning every cheesy nautical term into something sexual.
The way Sloane parted his lips with her tongue and immediately pushed her body against his?
Shiver Brady’s goddamn timbers.
He dropped his hands to her hips and held her there, but, since this was not their first time anymore, he didn’t feel the need to be slow. They were on a time line, after all.
Brady slid his hands over her ass and moved her with purpose into the part of him that had already been growing since the moment he’d started inspecting her pants. Sloane made a noise of pleasure against his lips.
Then she course corrected and blew his damn mind.
Sloane broke their kiss, took a step back, and then pulled/pushed him into the captain’s chair and right on top of her discarded jacket. It made another swish as she moved around him and it and then dropped to her knees.
Brady stopped breathing for a moment, not sure if he was dreaming or not.
Sloane’s smirk as she quickly undid his jean
s and tugged until he made room for them to be pulled down suggested he was not.
As the cleaning supplies on the boat and birds overhead were his witness, Brady was nothing but awake as Sloane wrapped her hand around his first mate and stroked seconds before her mouth joined in.
This time, it was Brady making noise.
Every thought not related to the desire for the woman who wasn’t holding back at his lap flew out into the sunlight and dissipated. Worry at being caught, at some neighbor walking up the drive and seeing them just next to the house, was replaced by a mounting pleasure that threatened to explode if he didn’t focus.
And even then, that was hard.
Sloane moved up and down, her tongue wrapping around him in tandem with her hand.
It felt so good that he didn’t want her to stop…
Until he did.
“Wait,” he hurried, grabbing her hand.
She pulled back, eyes hooded and face red. “What’s wrong?”
Brady’s thoughts scrambled, but he managed to say what was important. “Check my back pocket.”
Sloane’s eyebrow rose, but she didn’t question him.
However, when she held up the condom wrapper that he’d been holding, she chided him with nothing but a playful teasing in her voice.
“I do declare, Mr. Knox. We were only supposed to be working on the boat today. What did you think was going to happen?”
Brady pulled Sloane up and reached for the top of her pants. She let him guide his hands beneath them, moving them down her body, until she slipped them the rest of the way off. She was still smiling as he moved her to his lap, pinning himself against the wet fabric of the panties he was absolutely about to move.
“I was hoping to show you the proper way to fuck on a boat,” he whispered while running one arm up the back of her shirt to keep her stable against him. The other hand he pressed against the side of her neck to keep her gaze down. “It’s the least I can do, since the last time, you were with a grade-A asshole.”
Sloane started to roll her hips forward. Her breathing turned erratic again. Her voice came out in almost pants.
The sound made Brady even harder.
“That’s good—that’s good of you,” she said. “Very, very good of you.”