Page 13 of Surrender
“Oh my God, you’re an athlete. Of course you are!” She pulls up the strap of her bra that slipped down her shoulder and squats down in her boots to scoop up her dress.
“I said I’m not expecting anyone!”
“I don’t believe you!” she barks.
“You have no reason not to!”
This brings her up short, but she’s clearly not convinced.
“Except for the fact that you soccer players are the biggest sluts in Manchester. That’s what everyone says.”
“I haven’t fucked anyone in a bloody year!” I roar but instantly feel bad for shouting in her face. I take a step back and soften my tone. “I have no idea who the fuck could be here at this time of night.”
Still only wearing a condom, I rush over to the screen and tap the button to see who’s in the white Mercedes. A bearded, man-bun freak stares back at me. “Christ, it’s Tanner.”
“Who’s Tanner?” Sloan asks, clutching her dress to her chest.
“My brother,” I growl through clenched teeth. “He’s here to watch the match tomorrow, but he wasn’t supposed to be here until the morning.”
I press the admittance button without a word, and Sloan and I begin scrambling for our clothes. I pop into the loo and yank off the condom that has to contain my biggest load to date. When I stride out, Sloan approaches.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing down at her fully dressed state.
“I need a minute!” she snaps, moving toward the loo. “Just go down and stall!”
I shake my head and slide back into my jeans, still feeling semen seep out of my tip and into the denim. The texture is bone-chilling, but I’ll probably be leaking for days after that epic fuck. I yank my shirt down over my head and make my way downstairs, barefoot, trembling, and exhilarated beyond belief.
Euphoria overcomes me as I swing open the door just as Tanner strides up the steps with bags in hand. A curvy, dark-haired woman stands beside him, frowning at something behind me in the house.
“Tanner!” My voice booms, deep and throaty, maybe even a bit hoarse from all the dirty talk I just did. I nervously smooth my hair and adjust my shirt over my groin as my eyes dart back and forth between him and the entryway behind me, unsure what the fuck Sloan is doing. I cough out an uncomfortable noise and say, “Surprised to see you tonight.”
The girl frowns at Tanner. “Didn’t you tell him you decided to come early?”
Tanner shrugs. “Didn’t occur to me.”
The girl looks like she’s about to apologise for my brother’s rudeness when Sloan’s hand touches my arm to move me out of her way to exit. The sensation is like needles.
“It’s fine. We’re all done here,” she states, smooth and confident, like she didn’t dominate me upstairs five minutes ago. She throws an empty garment bag over her shoulder and smiles.
“Who’s this?” Tanner smirks, amazement on his face.
“This is no one,” I answer quickly, wanting to knock the look off his face before Sloan bolts. Her eyes look to mine with barely contained fury. “I mean, she’s someone, but…Sloan is my personal shopper.”
“Personal shopper?” Tanner’s curious tone gets right up my nose.
“I prefer celebrity fashion stylist,” Sloan corrects, her tone crisp and unforgiving as she moves past us. I stare wistfully at her retreating frame, hating that whatever just happened has ended so abruptly. “And I really need to be going. I only did this late call as a favour. Good luck at your event tomorrow, Mr. Harris.”
Without a glance back, she strides toward her car. Tanner’s friend frowns as she watches Sloan leave. I wonder if she notices the messy appearance of Sloan’s ponytail.
“Who the fuck was that really?” Tanner asks, placing a hand on my shoulder and waggling his brows at me. “Cam and I thought you were fucking celibate!”
I roll my eyes. I pretty much was until a few minutes ago.
While standing in the kitchen with my brother and Belle—the woman he’s fake dating for the next month to get out of some salacious media scandal—my phone vibrates from where it’s plugged in on the counter. The two of them are busy making googly eyes at each other, so I unlock it and read the text that came in.
Sloan: That WILL NOT be happening again. Ever.
My brow furrows, disappointment clouding my buzz. Begrudgingly, I type back.
