Page 53 of Just My Luck

A single dimple winked in the low lighting. “Thirsty.”

I shifted, hoisting myself to sitting as she took a step back. Bare-chested, I adjusted my sweatpants before standing and tossing the blanket onto the couch. Sloane’s chin tipped up to hold my stare.

“Can I ask you something?” Her shy eyes were downcast.

“Anything.”

She finally looked at me. “At dinner when you were finished... Why did you knock on the table before you got up?”

I studied her face. “I didn’t realize I did that.” With a soft sigh, I continued, “Old habit—something I learned in prison.You knock to let others know you’re just getting up to leave and not starting shit. It’s also a sign of respect.”

Her features went soft and she smiled. “Thank you.”

As we stood in silence, I let my eyes wander and soak up the sight of her. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, and her T-shirt—myT-shirt—stopping dangerously high on her thighs.

I smirked. “Nice shirt.”

Sloane gently tugged at the hem, which barely covered her ass. Her lips rolled. “Busted.”

Shaking my head, I laughed, stifling it so I wouldn’t wake the kids. I moved past her toward the kitchen. She followed as I pulled down a glass and filled it with ice water. Sliding the cup toward her, I reveled in her beauty.

Her slim fingers surrounding the glass, she held it to her lips and took a sip. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

I swallowed hard. “Like what?”

I knewexactlyhow I was looking at her.

Sloane slid the glass away, then leaned on the island. “Like you’re up to no good.”

I let my smile spread, slow and easy. “I’m just looking at my wife and wondering how the hell I got here.”

Her hand fidgeted with a stray piece of hair. Goose bumps prickled on her forearm, and I watched as her nipples peaked beneath the loose fabric of my shirt.

I moved forward. “You like that, don’t you?” I stepped into her space, keeping my voice low. “When I call you my wife?”

She swallowed and lifted her chin with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I might.”

Heat thrummed beneath my skin. My cock ached to feel her. Wanting Sloane the way I did was delusional, but there was no denying that she was standing right in front of me—a willing participant in whatever was developing between us.

It’s wrong. So wrong.

But what if I want to be selfish? To have her for a little while?

My fingertips played with the hemline of the T-shirt. Her soft thighs moved under my touch. “You’re my wife, Sloane.” I drew circles as I indulged in the smoothness of her skin. “You’re mine for as long as I can keep you.”

Sloane’s head tipped back and her legs scissored. I wanted nothing more than to drop to my knees to see just what waited beneath that T-shirt. Before I could, Sloane’s hands planted against my chest.

With a wicked look in her eye, she walked me backward until I was pressed against the opposite countertop. Her nails gently raked across my chest and stomach, sending chills racing through me. My dick throbbed under her touch.

Never breaking eye contact, Sloane started to drop to her knees.

I gripped her elbow to stop her. “What are you doing?”

“I told you”—she licked her lips—“I am going to be the best wife you’ve ever had.”

Sloane sank to her knees. Her fingertips toyed with the hemline of my sweatpants as my breaths sawed in and out of me. I glanced down the hallway. “The kids?”

Sloane smiled up at me, her dimples deepening. “Fast asleep. If you hear one coming, just tap me on the head or something.” She quietly giggled as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard herself say.

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