Page 37 of Surrender
Steeling myself, I reply, “Tonight was about you taking pleasure for yourself, and that’s what you did. That’s ultimate control.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I have to tell my eyes not to look at her breasts when the action pushes them upward. “This is so stupid!”
“It’s what I think is best,” I grind out, the words as painful to say as they are to hear. She stares back at me with barely contained fury, and a sick part of me wants to laugh. She’s cute when she’s mad. “Don’t be angry, Sloan. We’re in a marathon, not a sprint.”
An audible growl rips from her throat as she tears off my T-shirt and fumbles to yank on her coat, affording me the glorious sight of her body one last time. It’s an image that will help me later.
“For someone who wanted a woman to take charge, you sure seem to be calling a lot of shots.”
She stomps around the bed toward the door in long, hacked off strides. I have to conceal my smile because, bloody hell, she’s dazzling. I trail after her down the stairs. It’s involuntary. She’s like a fucking magnetic force that pulls me in.
“I’ll call you later,” I say as she bends over and picks up the bag she dropped on the floor by the front door.
“No, you won’t!” she exclaims and twirls on her heel to face me. “I’ll call you if I can still stand you after this.”
A laugh breaks its way from my chest. “You’re awfully hostile for someone who just had two orgasms. I’m the one with blue balls here.”
She looks down at my dick and the fire in her eyes has it stirring again. “Don’t you dare jerk off!” she states, her golden eyes flashing up to me with sudden renewed determination. “That bulge in your pants is mine, not yours. If I decide I can handle your mood swings, I’ll be the one to take care of it.”
My stomach somersaults. In a heartbeat, Sloan has all the control again. I swallow slowly and reply, “Very well, Treacle.”
She narrows her eyes and growls a deep rumble as she turns and storms out of my house. I lean against the doorframe, shirtless, barefoot, and hard as stone all over again as I watch her beautiful figure get smaller and smaller.
Gareth, you’re a fucking idiot.
“GOOD MORNING!”FREYA SHOUTS TOme over the noise of the sewing machine as she strides in through the back door of the house. Her face falls to what I’m working on. “What is that?”
I lift my foot from the pedal and take a sip of my coffee. “A suit.”
Her face screws up. “I can see that. Why are you sewing it?”
“Because I feel like it,” I reply through clenched teeth and pull the fabric out and cut the thread with my scissors.
She looks down at what I’m wearing. “Why are you still wearing your coat?” I frown up at her and sniff as she adds, “Why do you look like you’ve not slept?”
“Because I haven’t,” I mumble, shoving the fabric under the needle and pressing the pedal to full speed again. “And I’m not wearing much underneath this.”
I’ve been up all night making this suit, carefully cutting out the custom pattern I drew to be exact to Gareth’s measurements. Regretfully, I’ve just barely finished the pants. I’m out of practice. I shouldn’t have let my sewing skills rot these last few years in Manchester.
Yet another way I’ve let men control my freaking life.
My machine suddenly stops. With wide, confused eyes, I look over and see that Freya has pulled the power cord from the wall. “What are you doing?” I bark, rage bubbling up inside of me.
“Explain why you look like a hungover Jackie Kennedy, then I’ll give you power back.” She props her hands on her hips and taps her foot expectantly.
“Because Gareth Harris is infuriating!” I growl loudly. “He wanted me to have all the power, but just when I started to get my footing, he ripped the rug out from under me.”
Freya’s green eyes are wide with excitement as she drops down on the chair beside me, plug still in hand. “Are you shagging Gareth Harris? Oh, God, please say yes because it would be the perfect sort of real-life fantasy my therapist says I need to engage in!”
“I didn’t even get a chance to shag him last night!” I peal, my voice nearly an octave higher than normal.
She glances down at the sexy bra peeking out from under the trench coat. “You showed up in that and nothing happened?”
I narrow my eyes and point my scissors at her. “Oh, something happened.”
She plasters on a fake smile and slowly clasps my hand in hers and lowers the scissors. “Let’s not use sharp instruments for vocabulary emphasis when you’ve had no sleep, shall we?”
Her sing-songy tone does nothing to calm my rage that’s been bubbling all night. “We messed around and then he told me to go home and think! What is that about?”
