Page 34 of Scorned Beauty
“You have some nerve,” Sloane muttered when he was out of earshot. “Showing up here just because you think I reneged on our agreement.”
“You were ignoring my texts.”
Sloane laughed without a measure of mirth. “And you? I didn’t hear from you for weeks.”
There were two more floors before I stripped her naked, or maybe I was gonna spank her first.
“And you sent that picture to get my attention?”
“That colossal ego of yours is like the size of an overgrown tumor.” She muttered the words under her breath and stomped up the steps ahead of me.Just a little more defiance, Firecat. You’re getting me so hard.
Sloane unlocked the door and walked in. With the way she disappeared into the bathroom and slammed its door, she was as furious as I was.
The water started running.
“Sloane.”
“Would you give me a minute, you fucking jackass.”
The edge and irritation in her voice sent warning bells through me that the evening wasn’t gonna end in cathartic angry sex. I sensed these things. There was zero sexual tension coming from Sloane. In fact, it was like she was done with me.
In retrospect, and if I was thinking like a sane person, she had more reason to be pissed at me because I kinda ghosted her. Kinda…because we had no expectations of each other. And from what I’d learned about Sloane so far, she was a practical girl. No nonsense. This woman wasn’t pining for any man.
I waited patiently for the water to stop running. Was she showering in there?
When she finally came out, I was leaning against the wall.
“You could have waited for me in the living room.” She made a feeble gesture with her arm.
“I’m fine right here.” My eyes studied her. Why didn’t I notice her pinched expression earlier?Because you were all about your outrage, asshole.“Did you get sick?”
“No,” she groaned. She was still wearing her tall boots and shuffled to the couch and plopped on top of it, falling sideways, burying her face in a pillow. Ginger immediately jumped up, but Sloane pushed the cat away. “At least not from the alcohol.”
“What is it, Sloane?”
“I’m feeling nauseous,” she whimpered, drawing her legs into herself in a semi-fetal position.
A chill crawled up my spine, and I walked toward her like I was approaching a coiled cobra. “Are you pregnant?”
Might as well get that question out of the way, no matter how the thought made my erection deflate and my balls retract.
She laughed into the pillow. “No, jerk, I got my period. The cramps are killing me.”
“Oh.” Relief swept through me and the weakening in my limbs made sitting down a good idea. As I sank into the couch, I thought of a sympathetic response to say. Somehow, sayingI don’t mind period sexwould come off as insensitive, even as a joke. I had a partner before tell me sex helped with cramps. I didn’t mind messy. I didn’t mind blood. But I did mind when a woman was uncomfortable with it, and judging by how pale Sloane’s lips were, she would feel better sleeping it off. There was an overwhelming need to make her feel better. I wasn’t down about leaving her alone, especially when I’d decided to spend the night with her.
“You’re not getting sex tonight.”
“I’m getting that,” I clipped. How dare she think I would be so selfish with my needs when clearly she was in pain? I wanted a woman to enjoy sex. I might not be husband or boyfriend material, but if we were talking about ego, I prided myself on giving a lady pleasure first.
She snorted. “I should have ended it with you right outside if I didn’t think doing it in front of Phil would bruise your outsized ego.”
She was ending it? Whateveritwas?
“We’re not talking about this right now.”
“I don’t care,” she said and shifted with difficulty on the couch.
My mind was contemplating on what to do next, and since I was still wearing my overcoat, I walked back to the pegs right beside the entrance to figure out my next moves.
