Page 28 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)
CHARLIE
“They want Sloane married to Marshall,” I said, my voice rough from the whiskey and rage of the night. “With her, they’ve got the Carringtons in their pocket for good—leverage, money, influence.”
Atlas broke the silence, his voice a low rumble. “Survival.”
Sloane’s voice cut through, clear and urgent. “Can Dominion Hall protect my family?”
Ryker answered fast, his grin fierce. “Hell yes, especially with our family connection.”
The brothers started jibing, Marcus tossing a quip about old flames, but Sloane sliced in again, her tone sharp.
“I asked for a reason.”
They fell silent, giving her the floor, and I watched her, her eyes blazing, wheels turning, a new confidence radiating from her that took my breath away.
I braced myself, expecting fear or caution, but Sloane stunned me.
“If we can protect my family, we don’t wait,” she said, her voice steel. “We go after Marshall now—him and Department 77, they’re the same poison, and they need to be wiped out.”
Marcus let out a low whistle, his grin wide. “Damn, little brother, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”
I flipped him off, but when I glanced at Sloane, she was grinning, a fierce, intoxicating confidence transforming her, like she’d shed the polished heiress and stepped into something raw and unstoppable.
She wasn’t done.
“Give Marshall what he wants—me,” she said, and I started to protest, but she cut me off, her eyes locking on mine. “It’s a show, Charlie, a trap, and with your brothers backing me, I’ll play the part better than he ever dreamed.”
The room buzzed with approval, Ryker nodding, Elias’s eyes glinting with strategy, and I felt a surge of pride, my usual role as the youngest fading as Sloane’s boldness lifted me.
Marcus, of course, shattered the moment with a good-natured jab. “Careful, kid, she’s stealing your spotlight.”
I laughed, the tension breaking, and suggested we get some sleep, proposing to set the meeting with Marshall for morning. No one argued, but Ryker and Noah shot me knowing looks, their smirks saying they knew my real motive—to be alone with Sloane.
They weren’t wrong.
If I’d been drawn to her before, now I was hook, line, and sinker, her fire and courage burning through me like a drug.
As my brothers filtered out, Sloane leaned close, her breath hot against my ear. “It’s my turn,” she whispered, and when I asked for what, she grinned, her eyes wicked. “I’m gonna fuck myself so deep into your memory, you’ll never look at another woman again.”
Her words hit like a spark, and I followed her to my suite, the corridor’s shadows swallowing us as we moved, her hand in mine, her confidence a pulse I could feel.
We reached the suite, the door clicking shut, and Sloane didn’t hesitate, pushing me against the carved oak, her lips crashing into mine, fierce and demanding, tasting of defiance and desire.
She took control, her hands tearing at my hoodie, yanking it off as she bit my lower lip, drawing a growl from my throat.
I reached for her, but she swatted my hands away, her grin wicked as she shoved me toward the bathroom, the marble tiles cool under my bare feet.
“Not yet,” she said, her voice a sultry command, and stripped off her T-shirt, revealing her bare breasts, nipples hard, her jeans dropping to the floor, leaving her in black lace panties that made my cock strain against my jeans.
She stepped into the glass-walled shower, turning the water on, steam rising as she crooked a finger, beckoning me.
I shed my clothes, my pulse hammering, and joined her, the hot spray soaking us as she pressed herself against me, her skin slick and warm, her eyes locked on mine with a promise that set me on fire.
Sloane grabbed the showerhead, detaching it, and turned the pulsing jet on herself, the water cascading over her breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs, her moan low and primal as she angled it against her clit.
I watched, mesmerized, as she arched into the spray, her free hand sliding down to part her pussy, fingers teasing herself, her eyes daring me to stay still.
“Touch yourself,” she ordered, and I obeyed, gripping my cock, stroking slow and hard, the sight of her pleasuring herself under the water pushing me to the edge.
She stepped closer, the showerhead now aimed at my cock, the pulsing jets hitting me like a thousand tiny tongues, and I groaned, my hand faltering as she dropped to her knees, the water streaming over her back.
Her mouth found me, lips wrapping tight, but she didn’t suck—she teased, her tongue flicking the tip, then tracing the veins, her hands cupping my balls, rolling them gently, the sensation so intense I braced against the wall, my breath ragged. She took her time, and I enjoyed every bit of it.
She stood, turning the showerhead back on herself, and climbed me, her legs wrapping around my waist, guiding my cock to her entrance, but not yet inside, rubbing her slick pussy against me, the water amplifying every slide, her moans a symphony that drowned out the world.
She pushed me down, onto the shower’s built-in bench, the marble cold against my back, and straddled me, but not how I expected—she faced away, her ass against my stomach, and leaned forward, her hands on my knees, giving me a view of her pussy, glistening and open, as she lowered herself onto my cock, slow and deliberate, taking me inch by inch.
“Do you like watching me, looking at me?” she asked.
I could only nod.
Her tightness gripped me, hot and wet, and she rocked, not up and down but in circles, her hips grinding, her ass bouncing, the showerhead now in her hand, aimed at her clit, the dual sensation making her shudder, her cries sharp and wild.
I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging in, but she was in control, setting the pace, her movements fierce, each grind pulling me deeper, her pussy pulsing as she came, her scream echoing off the tiles, her juices mixing with the water, dripping down my thighs.
I was close, but she wasn’t done—she stood, pulling me up, and pressed herself against the glass wall, one leg hooked over my shoulder, opening herself wide, guiding my cock back inside, the angle hitting new depths, her pussy clenching as I thrust, hard and fast, the glass shaking with our rhythm.
Her hands roamed her body, pinching her nipples, rubbing her clit, and she came again, her body convulsing, her scream a raw, primal thing that pushed me over, my release exploding, hot and endless, filling her as I groaned her name, the water washing away the evidence but not the memory.
We sank to the shower floor, panting, the water still pouring over us, Sloane’s body curled against mine, her breath hot against my neck.
She’d done it—fucked herself into my memory, a brand I’d never erase, her confidence and fire searing me deeper than I thought possible.
The steam swirled around us, the world outside forgotten, and I held her, my hands tracing her wet skin, marveling at the woman she’d become. Her grin was wicked, triumphant, and I knew I was done for—hook, line, and sinker, just like she’d promised.
The shower’s heat faded, the water cooling, and we stood, toweling off, her eyes still glinting with that new, intoxicating confidence.
I pulled her close, kissing her slow, savoring the taste of her, and we stumbled to the bed, collapsing in a tangle of limbs, the night wrapping around us like a shield. For a moment, I believed we could face Marshall, Department 77, anything, as long as she was with me.
Sloane’s breath evened out, her body soft against mine, and I let myself drift, knowing morning would bring a fight, but tonight, she was all that mattered.