Page 55 of It Happened on a Sunday

“I’d do anything for you, Sloane. I’ll walk away if that’s what you want.

All you ever have to do is tell me you don’t want this anymore.

But we’re not doing this bullshit ever again, okay?

” he says as his fingers slip inside me.

“You don’t walk away to save me. You only walk away if you don’t want me anymore. ”

He moves his hand, and my whole body convulses, electric shocks running through my veins.

“I was trying to protect you,” I cry out as the need continues to build and build inside me once again. Goddamn, this man will be my undoing.

“By breaking my fucking heart?”

His words twist me up on the inside, but I’m too far gone to give them the attention they deserve right now. How can I when every cell in my body is threatening to spontaneously combust?

“By getting myself as far away from you as I could,” I answer brokenly. “Your reputation—”

“Fuck my reputation. Fuck the media. And fuck anyone who thinks they get to tell me what my priorities are. You are my priority right now, Sloane.”

He pushes deeper, and I see galaxies of light as I try to fight back the pleasure threatening to topple me over the edge again. But Sly’s saying important things, and I don’t want to miss any of them. “And until you tell me otherwise, we’re in this together, you and me. Understand?”

“I—” My voice breaks.

“Tell me,” he whispers, his mouth right up against me again. “Tell me you’re mine and that we’re in this together. But only if you believe it, too.”

“I’m yours,” I babble, my hands clutching at his shoulders, his hair, any part of him I can reach. “I’m yours and we’re in this together.”

“And I’m yours,” he says right before he sends me spinning off the highest cliff yet. The pleasure is so intense this time—so immense and overwhelming—that I burst into tears even as I drown in ecstasy.

Sly gathers me in his arms immediately, pulling me close as he whispers sweet nothings in my ear. I cling to him with every ounce of strength I have left as we both wait for my oversexed, overheated body to slowly calm down.

When I can finally breathe again, I whisper, “It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s that I don’t want you to have to go through what I have.”

He wipes the last vestiges of my tears away before whispering right back, “Corazón, what you’ve gone through is a travesty, and it’s going to stop. It may take me a while, but the misogyny and assholery directed at you is over.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Sly. It’s not your job to take bullets for me.

” He gives me a look that says we’ll see about that , and I’m too tired to fight him on it.

“We’re going to come back to this discussion when you haven’t wrung every ounce of energy I’ve got out of me right before I have to give a two-hour concert. ”

“We can talk about it all you want, but my answer isn’t changing.” Though he does drop me gently on the couch before crossing to the fridge in the corner and pulling out an energy drink. “Here. You should probably drink this.”

“You think?” I ask sarcastically.

He smiles like a man who knows exactly how big his dick is. “Next time, you probably shouldn’t send me a text like that.”

“Next time, I’ll make sure you’re banned from the building,” I shoot back.

“You can try,” he replies. “But then who’s going to make you come until you cry?”

“Nobody.” I give him a drop dead look. “That’s the point.”

“Weak point.” He crouches down next to me on the couch and presses soft kisses to my forehead.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said tonight that I agree with.” I lean into him because I can’t not. Because he’s Sly and he’s magic. My magic.

“I think you mean the second thing,” he says as he slides the torn remnants of my fishnet tights down my legs. “Also, you’re going to need another pair of these.”

“You do have a talent for understatement, don’t you?” I reach for my phone, which is somehow still in the pocket of the dress I’m wearing, and text Lucinda about a wardrobe malfunction. “Are you staying for the concert?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve got curfew in about forty-five minutes.” He sounds as reluctant to leave as I am to let him go.

All I say, though, is, “Well you sure as hell aren’t missing that.”

He grins ruefully. “Something told me you’d say that. In fact—”

He breaks off at the knock on my door. “Ten-minute warning, Sloane.”

“That’s Olivia,” I tell him with a sigh. “Which means I really do need to get going. I’m not looking forward to explaining this wardrobe malfunction to Lucinda, by the way.”

“Oh, I’ll take credit.” This time, “self-satisfied” is the only way to describe his look as he leans over and kisses me once more. “Have a good concert.”

I can still taste myself on his lips. “Thank you,” I murmur, though I don’t know if it’s for the sentiment or the truly impressive number of orgasms he just gave me.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles against my lips, then nips at the bottom one before pulling back.

When his eyes grab onto mine, I can see the seriousness in them—and the hurt that hasn’t yet gone away. “I can’t stay because of that damn curfew. But I’m going to call you tomorrow morning. Please tell me you’ll answer the phone.”

I’m tempted to ask, Or what? But I have no doubt he’ll demonstrate. And right now, neither one of us has time for that.

“Text me when you get back to the hotel so I know you’re safe,” I tell him.

He nods. “Back atcha.”

Then he drops one more kiss on my lips and disappears out the door just as Lucinda walks up to it. Her eyes go wide as she looks from him to my torn-up tights lying in the middle of the dressing room floor.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe I was choking and he used them to save my life, would you?” I ask, brows raised.

“Not unless he went for your throat by way of your vagina,” she answers as she lobs the new panties and tights at my head.

“Apparently, that’s how they do it in Texas,” I tell her with a wicked grin that she is more than happy to return.

“That’s what they all say.”