Page 20 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

CHARLIE

T he weight of Sloane in my arms, her breath soft against my chest, hit me like a tidal wave—shock and homecoming tangled together in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a kid, running wild on Sullivan’s Island with my brothers.

Lying on the stateroom bed, the yacht rocking gently beneath us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was both impossible and inevitable, like finding a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing.

Sloane Carrington, the airport brat I’d pegged as trouble, was the woman in red, her fire still burning through me, and every touch, every glance, felt like it was rewriting my rules.

The ocean stretched endless outside, and for a moment, it was perfect—her warmth, her scent, the quiet hum of something real. I traced the curve of her spine, my fingers memorizing her, and let myself believe we could stay like this, far from Charleston’s gilded cages and my family’s shadows.

But perfection never lasts, and the spell cracked when her phone buzzed on the nightstand, a sharp, insistent vibration that cut through the haze. She ignored it, her body tensing against mine, but it buzzed again, then again, the screen lighting up with “Momma” like a warning flare.

I propped myself on an elbow, glancing at the phone as it vibrated a fourth time, the sound grating against the stateroom’s quiet.

“You gonna answer that?” I asked, my voice low, trying to keep the moment from slipping.

Sloane sighed, her eyes flicking to the screen, then back to me, a mix of defiance and dread in her gaze. She shook her head, but the buzzing didn’t stop, each call a reminder of the world we’d left behind at the country club.

I nudged her gently, my hand on her hip. “Might as well. They’re not gonna quit.”

She hesitated, then grabbed the phone, her thumb hovering over the screen before she hit accept, putting it on speaker so I could hear. The air shifted, heavy with whatever was about to spill out.

Sylvia Carrington’s voice came through, sharp and worried.

“Sloane, where are you? The valet said you left with some man in a truck—do you have any idea how reckless that looks?”

Sloane’s jaw tightened, her eyes meeting mine, a silent question in them—should she tell her? I nodded, my gut twisting with a mix of nerves and resolve.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

She took a breath, her voice steady but edged.

“I’m with Charlie Dane.” The line went dead silent, so long I thought the call had dropped, and Sloane frowned, glancing at the screen. “Momma? You still there?”

When Sylvia spoke again, her tone was different—cold, almost frightened, like she’d just heard a ghost’s name.

“Are you okay, Sloane? Has he … are you safe?”

I bristled, but Sloane’s hand found my cheek, her touch soft, sending a thrill through me that cut through the sting of her mother’s words.

“Of course, I’m okay,” she said, her voice firm, her fingers stroking my jaw. “I haven’t been kidnapped, Momma. I’m fine.”

Sylvia’s voice tightened, pressing harder. “You need to come home. Now. There are things to discuss—Marshall was very forthcoming about your prior issues, and your father is beside himself.”

Sloane’s face went cold, her hand dropping from my face, her eyes narrowing like she’d been slapped.

“Marshall?” she snapped, her voice ice. “You’re listening to that weasel? Don’t believe a word he says.”

Sylvia’s tone turned desperate, almost frantic, like she was teetering on a panic attack.

“Sloane, this is about our family’s name. You can’t just run off with— with a Dane . Come home. Your father’s a wreck, and we need to sort this out.”

I nudged Sloane’s arm, my eyes meeting hers, silently telling her it was okay, that I could get her back.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and spoke into the phone, her voice sharp with snide defiance.

“I’ll be home, Momma. Don’t know how fast a megayacht can go, but I’ll tell the captain to step on it.”

She hung up before Sylvia could respond, the silence ringing in the stateroom like a gunshot.

Sloane tossed the phone onto the bed, her eyes meeting mine, frustration and something softer swirling in them.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. I leaned back, my hand resting on her thigh, the warmth of her skin grounding me.

“I can talk to them, if you think it’ll help,” I offered, though I wasn’t sure what I’d say to a woman who thought I was a kidnapper.

She shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Trust me, it won’t. Just … drop me off and wait for my call, okay?”

I nodded, relief and something sharper settling in my chest. “Of course,” I said, and her grin lit up the room, mischievous and warm, like she knew she had me.

She leaned closer, her breath hot against my ear. “Go rinse off,” she murmured, her voice a tease.

I raised an eyebrow, my pulse kicking up. “Why aren’t you coming with me?”

Her grin turned wicked, her eyes glinting with promise. “Because I’m gonna give you the best blowjob you’ve ever had, so you won’t leave me with the wolves.”

My cock jumped at her words, and I didn’t need any more convincing.

I was out of bed in a flash, heading for the stateroom’s ensuite, the shower a quick blur of hot water and soap as I scrubbed off the day’s exertion.

My mind was already racing, anticipation coiling tight, knowing Sloane was waiting, ready to blow my world apart again.

I stepped back into the stateroom, a towel slung low around my hips, water still dripping from my hair.

Sloane was on her knees at the foot of the bed, beautifully naked, her hair loose and wild.

She looked up, her eyes dark with intent, and crawled toward me, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up her prey.

My breath caught as she stopped in front of me, her hands sliding up my thighs, nails grazing just enough to send a shiver through me. She tugged the towel free, letting it fall, my cock already half-hard, and leaned in, her breath warm against my skin, teasing without touching.

“Ready?” she whispered, her voice a sultry challenge, and before I could answer, her tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around the tip, sending a jolt straight to my core.

Sloane’s hands gripped my hips, steadying me as she took me into her mouth, her lips wrapping tight, warm and wet, pulling me in deep.

She moved slow at first, her tongue swirling along the underside, each stroke deliberate, building a rhythm that had my hands fisting in her hair, guiding her without pushing.

She hummed, the vibration shooting through me, and I groaned, my head tipping back as she picked up the pace, her mouth a perfect mix of soft and firm, sucking hard then easing off to tease with light, maddening licks.

Her nails dug into my thighs, a sharp counterpoint to the heat of her mouth, and she looked up, her eyes locked on mine, the sight of her—fierce, hungry, mine —nearly undoing me.

She pulled back, her lips glistening, and used her hand to stroke me, firm and fast, while her tongue darted out, flicking the sensitive spot just below the head, driving me to the edge.

I growled her name, my grip tightening, and she took me deep again, her throat relaxing, swallowing me whole, the sensation so intense my vision blurred. I came hard, a white-hot release spilling into her mouth as she took every drop, her eyes never leaving mine, branding this moment into my soul.

I’d never forget this, never forget her.

I picked her up and lay her onto the bed, my chest heaving, her body curling against mine, her lips still curved in a satisfied smirk. The stateroom was quiet again, the yacht’s hum a distant pulse, but the weight of what we’d done, what we were becoming, settled heavy between us.

I pulled her close, her head resting on my shoulder, my mind still spinning from her touch, from the truth of who she was.

Sloane’s phone lay silent now, but I knew the call from her mother had changed things, pulling her back to a world I didn’t fit into. I wanted to keep her here, away from the Carringtons and their games, but I knew she had to face them, just like I had to face my brothers and the trust I’d signed.

“You sure about going back?” I asked, my voice rough, and she nodded, her fingers tightening on my chest.

“I have to,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “But this isn’t over, Charlie. Not by a long shot.”

I kissed her forehead, the gesture more tender than I’d planned, and felt her relax against me, her breath evening out. The yacht was still cruising, the captain taking us nowhere fast, and I radioed Tom to head back to the marina, knowing we couldn’t outrun reality forever.

Sloane stayed quiet, her hand still on me, like she was memorizing this moment as much as I was. I thought about her mother’s voice, the fear in it, the way she’d said my name like it was a curse.

The Danes had a reputation—dangerous, untouchable—and I wondered what Sylvia Carrington knew, what stories had made her sound like she’d seen a ghost. I didn’t care about her approval, but I cared about Sloane, and the thought of her facing that cold, polished world alone twisted something in my gut.

I’d drop her off, wait for her call, and be there when she needed me, no matter what came next.

We dressed in silence, Sloane slipping back into her white blazer dress, the fabric wrinkled but still screaming money.

I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and led her to the deck, the Charleston skyline looming closer as the yacht approached the marina.

The sun was dipping low, painting the water gold, and I stood beside her at the railing, the salt breeze tugging at her hair.

She leaned into me, her shoulder brushing mine, and I felt that homecoming again, mixed with the shock of how fast this had all happened.

“You’ll be okay,” I said, more to myself than her, and she nodded, her eyes on the horizon.

“I will,” she said, her voice steady. “And you better answer when I call.”

I grinned, the weight lifting just a fraction, and promised I would, knowing I’d never let her go to the wolves alone.