Page 46 of All Yours

“What kind of trouble?” she giggled, her eyes scanning down my body.

“You like it that you can do this to me.” I said, laughing, indicating my erection.

“Who me?” she asked, batting those big baby blue eyes at me.

“Yeah, you,” I said, pulling her away from the truck and opening the door. “I’m not done with you.”

She smiled, hugging my jacket to her, and climbed into the truck. “Promise?”

“I sure do,” I said, closing the door and making my way around to the driver’s seat. “Do you mind if we stop at my place and grab a few things?” I asked, settling behind the wheel.

Sloane draped her arm over the center console, her hand coming to rest on my thigh. “I don’t mind.”

It was a quick two-minute drive over to Hart Valley’s only apartment complex. I fought to pay attention to the road with Sloane’s hand leisurely rubbing my thigh.

“Here we are,” I said as we pulled into the complex of plain three-story rectangles.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” Sloane said, exciting the truck.

“You’ll love what I’ve done with the place,” I said, grabbing her hand and heading to the building.

“Oh, I’m guessing nothing.” She grinned.

I unlocked the door and held it open for Sloane.

She walked past me in the small square foyer and into the living room. And I could tell she was observing a sparse room—a couch, chair, table with a lamp, and the 55-inch flat screen television.

“What is it with men and ginormous TVs?” Sloane asked. “Is it a symbol of your manliness?

“It’s not that big,” I said, closing the door.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sloane giggled. “It felt big enough to me.”

“You’re dirty,” I said with a smile, surprised that timid little Sloane had gone there.

“Well, I used to write dirty books,” she said, collapsing onto the couch. “So dirty things come to mind sometimes.”

“Used to? Sloane, you’re still a writer.” I should go pack my bag, but I made a beeline to the woman on my couch with her fringe skirt riding up her leg. She’d kicked off her heels and crossed her legs, sending my gaze straight up her thigh. Damn it, I was hard again.

She sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I think that guy stealing the laptop was a blessing. Now that awful thing I was working on won’t be subjected to the world.”

“What was wrong with it?”

“No heat between the characters.”

“What would give this scene some heat?” I asked, sitting next to her, taking in her cleavage for the millionth time tonight.

“Well, we would move closer together. Perhaps drawn together by an unseen force,” she said, leaning toward me. I was already moving in her direction. “As we move closer, I reach over and run my hand up your chest, around your shoulder, and up the back of your neck into the hair at the nape.” She made the movements as she spoke.

My breath stopped as her lips brushed over mine, her tongue licked my top lip. I involuntarily lunged forward, taking control of her mouth. Our lips and tongues tangled around each other. A surge of need and long suppressed physical desire tore through me and out of the cage I’d locked it in. Something primal inside me took over. I pulled Sloane on top of me, hiking her dress around her hips so she could straddle me, and continued to plunder her mouth with my tongue. Then moved down her neck to kiss the smooth, white cleavage. As my hand slid up her body to cup her breast, she stopped me.

“You should know,” she stammered, gasping for breath. “That’s false advertising.”

“What is?” I asked, stumped. My brain struggled to reengage, searching for the meaning in her words.

“It’s a push-up padded bra,” she said. I couldn’t tell if the pink flushing across her face was because of embarrassment or our activity. “This is me, up here,” she referenced the cleavage. “But most of it is all padding to fill out this rental dress.”

“Okay,” I said, still confused why she stopped the good stuff to tell me this.

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