I turn to face her, my hand wrapping around her hip where my road name is permanently etched. I run my thumb over my brand.
“Yeah, sunshine. Figured you’ve had my name on your hip, showing the whole world that you’re claimed for years. Least I could do is the same,” I mutter, giving her hip a squeeze.
“I—I—”
I watch as tears well up in her eyes again, but she blinks them back before she smiles. She twists my arm so that she can see her name clearly, careful not to touch the new ink. Then she shakes her head.
“A crown?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.
“My princess,” I grin.
Bending down, I wrap my palms around the cheeks of her ass. With a grunt, I pick her up and turn to take her to the bed and toss her on it.
I climb up and lay down, my eyes focused on hers, on the way she strips out of her shirt, then her bra, before she straddles my thighs and crawls up my body.
I wrap my hands around her hips when she’s close, and yank her down on my mouth. My need to taste her is above anything else right now.
“Oh, fuck,” she groans as she leans forward, wrapping her hands around the top of the headboard for stability.
Reaching up, I cup her breasts and tug on her nipples, which only causes her to moan and move a little faster against my face. I want her cum. I fucking need it. I’m goddamn starved for it.
I watch her, the way her eyes widen, and her lips make that perfect O shape. Fucking shit, she’s gorgeous. How I ever went elsewhere for pleasure, I’ll never know. Drugs make you fucking stupid.
She comes, and her taste floods my mouth as her cries flood my ears. Holding her up, I move her boneless body until she’s on her back. Sliding deep inside of her, filling her pulsing cunt with my dick, I groan.
I have the urge to fuck her until she can’t walk, but I don’t. The small smile tipping her lips, the satisfied and relaxed look on her face, plus the emotional drama of earlier—my woman needs slow tonight.
“I can’t believe you put my name on your arm,” she whispers as I slowly pull out before I slide back inside of her tight heat.
“I’m yours,” I announce, wrapping my hand around the back of her knee to spread her legs further apart.
“Sloane.” Her breath hitches and her hand wraps around the side of my neck. I tip my head down to look into her soft, brown eyes, and I grin.
“Sunshine, this shit is fucking real,” I announce as I continue with my slow pace, though it’s fucking killing me not to pound into her tight cunt.
She leans up and presses her lips to mine before she speaks against my mouth. “Fuck me, baby.”
I rear my head back and look at her, her mouth and eyes smiling. I grin before I pull out and then drive into her with all of my strength.
“Yes,” she hisses.
I don’t stop thrusting inside of her, slamming my hips against hers as I fuck her, harder than I should but unable to control myself.
She whimpers as she spreads her legs wider for me, and I can’t help but moan as her pussy flutters around me.
I press her legs open with my palms, grasping onto her thighs harder than I should, surly bruising her tender flesh as I take her.
Then I come, deep inside of her, while she cries out with her second release, the pulse and tight grip of her pussy telling me all I need to know—that she’s satisfied.
My wife.
My sunshine.
Chapter Seventeen
IMOGEN
Stepping into the shower the next day, I moan when the hot water hits my shoulders. I slept like a baby. I was completely emotionally exhausted after the events of yesterday.
Now my body is physically tight from all of the stress lately. I’m being selfish, I know. Selfish as shit for staying here, in his bed, and not leaving immediately. I just want a little more of this, of this Sloane that is so easily lovable.
I finish shaving my legs and turn the water off before grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my body. Then Sloane calls out from the other room. “Sunshine, you want to go to the store in a bit?”
“I don’t like the one here. I was going to go into the city,” I say, scrunching up my nose.
“Baby, I know you don’t like the store here,” he says shaking his head. “I have to go out on another run in a few days, so I want to spend time with you. I’m planning on taking you to that natural bullshit expensive store you like, c’mon.”
I stand, with only a towel wrapped around me, my eyes wide with wonder and surprise as I stare at him. He grins over at me and winks.
“You know which store I like?” I ask breathlessly.
“Yeah, I know which store you like,” he says, his voice gruff as I walk up to him. “Go finish getting ready and we’ll head out.”
I rise to my toes and press my lips to his in a kiss before I do as he says. I hurry out of the bathroom and into the closet to find something to wear today. Looking around my closet, I take in the vast array of clothes that I have.
There are formal dresses for the gatherings with our families, expensive outfits for parties or just luncheons with them, and then all the things I bought and accumulated over the past three years that I just unpacked.
Then I look at my Shasta clothes. Jeans, plain tees, jackets, all things that I cannot wear in San Francisco, but all things that I’m supremely comfortable in.
“What are you thinking?” Sloane asks from the doorway, his eyes completely fixated on me.
“I really have lived a double life, and it’s all right here. Both of my lives,” I whisper as I turn back around to take in my shoes, the expensive bags, and accessories that I have.
“Which one is you, Imogen?” he asks gently.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Want to know what I think?” he asks. I spin around, curious as to what his thoughts might be on the subject. “I think that you’ve been living this life and thinking it was temporary. I think that you’d go back to Frisco and play dress up to please our families, but you’ve been waiting for something to change so you haven’t found you yet. All the while, I fucked around, fucked you up, and selfishly did whatever the fuck I wanted to, with no regard to you or your feelings.”
I nod because I’d come to the same realization not long ago, but I don’t know how to fix it. I also don’t know if I should even attempt to fix it—especially since I’ll be leaving soon.
My body practically weeps at the idea of walking away from Sloane. He’s the only one who knows me that way. He’s the only one who, no matter the circumstances, can make me ignite.
“What do you want to wear, sunshine?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I look around my closet, and I shrug.
“What makes you happiest?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper truthfully.
“Your fancy shit make you happy? Or your jeans and tee’s?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly. “Whatever makes you happy, sunshine, that’s what I want you to have.”
“I don’t feel like I’m the jeans and plain tee girl, but I don’t feel like I’m the society girl either. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere at all,” I admit.
Sloane closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into my chest.
“I’ve fucked up, for so goddamn long,” he rasps.
“No, it’s me, this is all on me,” I say.
He looks down at me, shaking his head. “Bullshit,” he barks. “I fucked around on you, fucked you over, and I was a complete fucking asshole. You were eighteen when I married you. We should have been building this life together, instead of me doing whateverthefuck I wanted to do and hurting you repeatedly in the goddamn process. Instead of me leaving you alone and ignoring you. My drug use and the women, fuck, they completely obliterated you. I completely obliterated you.”
“Sloane,” I murmur.
“It’s the truth, and it fucking sucks that I wasted so much of our
time that way. I wish there were better words for me to say but, sunshine, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be a better man for you, a man who could walk away from you because, honest to fuck, Imogen, I should.”
I blink. Then, without another thought, I wrap my arms around him. My towel falls to the floor, but my nakedness isn’t what I’m focused on right now. Right now, I’m focused on the words I never thought that I would hear him say with sincerity.
I’m sorry.
Two words that alone don’t count for much, and sometimes when they’re said they don’t really mean much. Sloane has only ever said them one other time, and that was just recently. I know that he truly means them, they are from his heart.
“Jeans and a cute top,” I whisper against his neck.
“What?” he asks as I step back.
“I think I’m jeans with a cute top. A mix-match,” I shrug with a small smile.
“And I think you’re fucking amazing. See you in a few. Get ready, baby.”
I watch him turn and walk out of the room, and it’s as though a huge boulder has been lifted from my chest. There’s something lighter in the air. This all needed to be said, it needed to happen, and I’m glad for it.
Then my mind shifts to Graham and that lightness disappears. I have a feeling that Graham’s dark cloud is going to follow me for eternity.
I wish that all of this with Sloane would have happened about ten years ago, but life hands us pieces of happiness to grab a hold of, and I’ve finally found my piece. I plan on riding it to the bitter end.
SOAR
I try not to let the guilt consume and eat me alive. The asshole I was, for the length of time that I was, I probably should.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I call Kipling. I need to make sure he’s good. It’s been a couple of days, and he’s got a ton of shit on his plate for an adult, let alone the eighteen-year-old kid he is.
“Sloane,” he murmurs quietly into the phone.
“You asleep?” I ask in surprise.
Kipling is nothing like me. In fact, he’s my exact opposite. He doesn’t sleep in. He’s up at the ass crack of dawn doing whatever it is the good kids do. I wouldn’t know; I was never a good kid. I was up all night long and sleeping all day.
“Yeah,” he grumbles.
“Talk to me, Kippy,” I bark.
“Drank a bunch last night. Dad’s expensive shit. My fuck you to the bastard,” he says. I can practically see him shrug.
“Kip, that’s not you. Don’t let him turn you into someone you aren’t. His actions do not have any bearing on you,” I say. He grunts.
“He had six other fucking kids. Six, Sloane.”
“I know, and he’s a fucking piece of shit, a bigger piece of shit than I imagined. He knew about them; to what extent, I’m not sure I ever want to know, but you know what?” I ask.
“What?”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you are Kipling Huntington, a man who has been accepted into Harvard; a man who will do great fucking things without Sloane Huntington, II. You make me so goddamn proud, Kippy. Every day, I wish that I could be half the man you are,” I admit.
“Sloane,” he moans.
“I’m serious. You’re driven, you’re fucking smart as shit, and you’re going places. Do not let that asshole drag you down. Don’t fucking do it. You do, and you’ll wake up one day like me,” I whisper. “You’ll wake up having wasted twenty years of your life on drugs and whores. Hurting a woman that you love with all of your being for almost fifteen fucking years, for no other reason than drugs and daddy issues. Don’t do that, man.”
We sit in silence for a moment and I can tell that my words have hit him hard. Kipling has known and loved Imogen his entire life.
I know that the past three years, as he’s grown closer toward manhood, he realizes how I’ve treated her. He knows, in general, what I’ve done, and he hasn’t liked it. His many angry letters that were delivered to my prison cell stated just that.
“I love you, Sloane, but I don’t want that for me,” he whispers.
“No fucking shit, Kippy. I don’t want that for you, either. Why do you think I’m being a dick?” I chuckle.
“You’re not being a dick. I’ve been drinking and feeling sorry for myself,” he admits.
“Mom situated with a new place?” I ask, changing the topic.
Kipling tells me that she’s found a place, he hired movers, and that all of dad’s clothes and useless shit are out of the house. He says they’re going to keep all of his office documents and anything that looks important to go through later.
“So mom’s situated. I think you need to head to Harvard on Monday,” I announce.
“Sloane,” he murmurs.
“Not fucking with you, Kip. I want your ass there. Dad’s paid for the first semester, I’m paying for the rest. You’re fucking graduating. Don’t let mom’s anything keep you from it. I’ll take care of her, make sure she’s settled.”
“But you don’t live here,” he points out.
“Little brother, it’s not like I live in another state. Not a fucking hardship to check up on her,” I state.
“Okay,” he relents.
“Serious as shit. I’ll be making your flight arrangements, and you’re going.”
We end the call and I turn around to see that Imogen is standing in the living room with a smile on her lips. She looks sexy as shit in a pair of holy tight jeans, some fancy flowy top that she’s got tucked in, and a jacket.
Her hair is down and wavy, just like I prefer it, and her makeup is minimal—again, how I prefer. I grin when I see that she’s got a pair of sexy as shit heels on her feet. A perfect mixture of the society girl meets Old Lady.
“You’re a good big brother,” she whispers as she walks up to me.
“How much of that did you hear?” I ask, wrapping my hand around her hip.
“Enough to know how amazing you are. Enough to know that when we get home from the store I’ll be on my knees sucking your cock,” she exhales.
“Goddamn,” I grunt, moving my hand to her ass and giving it a squeeze.
“I love you, Sloane Huntington,” she breathes as I lower my face to hers.
“Mmm, I love you, Imogen Huntington,” I murmur against her lips before I take her in a gentle kiss.
We kiss for only a moment and then I clear my throat and tell her to take her sweet ass to the car. I think about taking hers, but I’ve missed driving mine, so we’ll go in muscle car style to the city and buy her fancy as shit, expensive as fuck, groceries.
Once we arrive, I grab the cart and follow her to the candy aisle. I swear, I feel like we’re teenagers again, standing in the candy aisle with my girl.
“Imogen, that’s fifty bucks for fucking jelly beans,” I state as she loads up a bag of candy.
“They’re the only ones I like,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.
“Babe, it’s candy. What are you, eight?”
“When you’re gone, I usually eat jelly beans and drink wine,” she shrugs. My eyes widen.
“No wonder you’re too skinny,” I grunt.
“What?”
“You heard me, sunshine,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around the side of her neck and tugging her close to me. “I don’t want to come back in a couple days and find you even an ounce lighter.”
“Days?” she asks.
“I’m leaving in a couple days. I’m going to make sure Kip is set up and on the plane to school, and then I have to go.”
“I didn’t know you could leave state lines,” she mutters as she ties a string around her jelly beans.
“I can’t,” I say. When she sucks in a breath, I give her neck a squeeze before I lower my head and whisper into her ear. “I’m not going out of the state, sunshine. I have no desire to go back to prison, not ever.”
She lets out a sigh of relief and together we finish shopping for her expensive as shit groceries.
Personally, I’m fine with whatever is f
ound in a gas station for food, but Imogen is an all-natural foods nut; so whatever she wants here, it’s hers.
Chapter Eighteen
SOAR
Walking away from a sleeping Imogen to go on a run is not something I want to do. For the first time, in a fuck’ve a long time, I find myself wanting to spend as much time with her as possible.
I’ve had moments where I haven’t wanted to leave her, but nothing like I’ve been experiencing since being sober and back together.
There’s something different about her now, a vulnerability that I feel the need and want to protect. Then there’s her smile, fuck me, I want to put it on her face every day and keep it there. It shines so goddamn bright.
Shaking my head of thoughts of Imogen, I load up some guns into my trunk. “This shit isn’t normal, is it?”
“Not typically, but they found themselves in short supply, and it’s their shit,” Grease shrugs.
“So, just deliver it to Kirill?” I ask as I slam my trunk closed.
“Yeah, deliver it to him, and make sure he doesn’t have anything else he needs from you,” he murmurs before he turns and starts to walk away.
“So, you made Serina your Old Lady?” I arch my brow before he gets too far away from me.
I watch as he turns around and a stupid as fuck grin appears on his ugly as shit face.
“Yeah. Not conventional, I know,” he says.
“You look happy. Pleased for you,” I say, lifting my chin.
“Glad to see you worked your shit out with Genny. Must be fun to fuck the bitch outta her ridged ass,” he smiles.
“You have no idea,” I say, laughing before I walk over to my driver’s seat.
“Glad you’re cleaned up, brother,” Grease says in seriousness.
I lift my chin to him in acknowledgement as I slide into my seat and start the engine.
I head out of the clubhouse parking lot, turning my car toward Los Angeles, toward Kirill, to drop off a trunk full of dope and guns.
Probably not the smartest shit to do while on parole, but who the fuck cares. It’s only stupid if you get caught, and since I’m stone cold sober, I don’t plan on ever getting caught again.
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