Page 111 of Unleashed

CHAPTER 23

“Jesus Christ, Morgan, what the hell got into you?” Slade’s voice was a mixture of breathless wonder and concern, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he pulled away slightly, still trying to catch his breath.

“I want to go again,” I breathed, my voice husky with urgency.

Slade blinked, taken aback by my demand. “Give me a few minutes to recover.”

The moment Michael was out the door, I grabbed my phone and dialed Slade. The need to alleviate the pent-up sexual frustration was overwhelming. When he arrived, I wasted no time. I dragged him to my bedroom, my hands feverish with anticipation. I sank to my knees and took him in my mouth, desperate for the release that had eluded me. Afterwards, I mounted him, riding him fiercely, rubbing my clit to reach the multiple orgasms I craved. Slade, always a passionate lover, lasted much longer than I’d anticipated.

“You feel so good inside me,” I whispered, the aftershocks of my pleasure still rippling through me.

“But I’m losing it, so why don’t you climb down so I can cuddle you?” Slade’s voice was tender yet edged with exhaustion.

“Will we go again?” I asked, my voice soft but insistent.

“Yes, I promise we will,” he assured me, his arms encircling me as I slipped off him and curled up beside him.

Slade’s embrace was warm, his lips pressing a gentle kiss on my shoulder. “You’re very frisky today. Were you watching porn?”

“No, why would you think that?” I murmured, the edge of annoyance creeping into my voice.

“You’re just very naughty tonight. I could’ve come over earlier. I was working on some reports but nothing big.”

“Then you would think I was a sex fiend,” I replied with a playful smirk.

“You are a sex fiend, but I love it. Can we check the score on the Mets game?”

“Sports and sex, a perfect match,” I teased, grabbing the remote and flipping through channels.

Slade leaned over to check the score before stopping at the news channel. I was half-asleep when Slade’s mutter jolted me awake. “I can’t believe that son of a bitch is alive.”

“Who’s alive?” I mumbled groggily.

“Michael Elliott.”

My heart skipped a beat. I blinked at the TV screen as Michael, looking freshly groomed and composed, appeared in a live interview. He was recounting the story of his disappearance and the months he’d been away.

“Sounds like he might start his company back up. You want a job?” Slade’s tone was light, but I could detect a hint of underlying concern.

“Why would I need a job? I work at Abbott. Are you planning on firing me?” I asked, trying to mask the unease in my voice.

“I’d prefer you home, barefoot and pregnant,” Slade joked, though his eyes betrayed a seriousness that didn’t match his playful tone.

I bit his tanned forearm gently, then replied, “That will never happen. I’m too independent.”

“But you will think about taking some time off when you get pregnant, won’t you?” he pressed.

“Not when I get pregnant. When I give birth. It’s not necessary to stay home until then,” I explained firmly.

“I want you to be safe.”

I snorted.“Plenty of women work up until they give birth. I’ll be fine.”

“Can I wrap you in bubble wrap?” he teased, though his concern was genuine.

“Sure, if you can find something fashionable. Why are we talking about this now anyway? I want to enjoy a year of marriage before we decide to have children.”

“A year? How about six months?” Slade’s tone was half-serious, half-playful.

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