Wicked Lust (The Wicked Horse #2) Page 15

  “Why is it personal to you?” Callie softly asked.

  Sloane’s voice was strong as she told a bit more detail than she gave me a few days ago. “My mom had some lower back surgery. Got prescribed some pretty addictive stuff. She couldn’t give them up. That was compounded by the fact that she was severely depressed. She took too much… overdosed. I found her not long after she took them and was able to get help in time.”

  “Oh, God,” Callie said with her hand coming to cover her mouth in astonishment. She then just as quickly puts her other hand over Sloane’s and squeezes it. “I’m so sorry. Is she okay now?”

  “That was a few years ago,” Sloane said, running her finger around the edge of her wineglass and staring at the red liquid to avoid Callie’s questioning gaze. “She’s off the pain pills, but she still has issues.”

  Luckily at that time, the waiter came up to take our order, so Sloane got a reprieve from further questions. The minute he left, I gently steered the conversation back to Sloane’s request to volunteer, and the girls were off and running again.

  Woolf and I talked about football.

  Eventually, the talk turned away from politics and we all had a good time hanging out. That had never been a chore between Woolf, Callie, and me, seeing as how we all knew each other for years. But it really didn’t surprise me that Sloane fit in so well. She’s laid-back like us but sharp as a tack, with an amazing sense of humor. We all four lingered after dessert for over an hour, just talking and laughing, and it was almost 10:30 PM by the time we left.

  By the end of the evening, Callie and Sloane had made plans to get together the very next day to do some shopping and “talk politics”. It seems as if Sloane is not only getting back into a hobby she enjoyed but has also made a new friend as well, and I’m glad. I suspected they would like each other, and honestly… that eases my conscience that she’ll perhaps have a friend she can lean on when I have to cut her loose next week. Callie’s going to give me so much shit about it, but at least she’ll understand as she knows all about the sex club. And she’ll also give Sloane some comfort as well.

  Ordinarily on a Saturday night around this time, either I’d be working at The Wicked Horse or I’d be fucking someone in The Silo or fantasy cabins. But tonight, after we say goodbye to Woolf and Callie in the restaurant parking lot, I ask Sloane what she wants to do.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Go back to my place?”

  The last two nights, I worked, but it didn’t keep me away from her. I drove all the way back to Jackson and let myself into her apartment, pleased to find her already naked and waiting for me. But tonight, I kind of want her in my bed.

  “Or my place,” I throw out, inviting her to my home for a second time. This is stupid because it smacks of a strengthening relationship, which is fucked up since I have no intentions of keeping this going in the long term.

  “Okay,” she says with a smile.

  I take her hand as we walk over to my truck, head already spinning with what I want to do to her when we get there.

  Sloane straddling me, riding my cock.

  My hands on her hips, helping her to bounce up and down.

  Fantastic tits jiggling.

  One of her hands between her legs, rubbing her clit.

  Sloane fracturing apart and crying out as she orgasms.

  That’s all I need. I slam her down on me as I plant my feet firmly in the mattress and punch my hips upward. My cock goes so deep, she gives a startled yip even as she shakes and shudders. I unload viciously, gritting my teeth and riding out a pleasure so intense, it almost doesn’t seem real to me.

  Sloane immediately collapses on top of me, her body as slick with sweat as mine. My arms come up and around her, my hand to her back where I feel it rising and falling as she gasps for breath.

  “Am I crazy?” she says between pants. “Or was that really, really good?”

  “You came three times,” I say, equally out of breath. “I think I just blew the head off my dick. So yeah… that was really, really good.”

  Sloane giggles and nuzzles her face into my neck.

  And I fucking love that sound and that feeling, and fuck… I’m going to miss that for sure.

  The sounds of Bullet with Butterfly Wings starts playing and Sloane jerks, sitting straight up on top of me, looking at her purse sitting on the floor. She scrambles off me, my cock sliding free and now feeling utterly cold and abandoned. Dragging the sheet off the bed with her, she hastily wraps it around her body before grabbing her purse and diving in for her phone.

  It comes up to her ear. She gives a slight cough to clear her throat and answers, “Mom? Are you okay?”

  Leaning up on my elbows, I watch as worry crosses Sloane’s face and she listens intently on the other line. Her eyes rise to meet mine, and she gives an apologetic look while holding up one finger to me. I return an encouraging nod and she walks out of my room, taking the privacy she just wordlessly requested of me.

  With a sigh, I roll out of the bed, pulling the condom off as I go, dumping it unceremoniously in a garbage can on the other side of my nightstand. While I’m totally cool with walking around butt-ass naked, Sloane covering herself with the sheet to talk to her mom told me one thing.

  That this conversation was potentially upsetting or painful, and she needed some type of protective cloak, even if it was just shielding her nakedness from me. So in deference to her, I pull my jeans on without the underwear and sit back down on my bed.

  My house is so small that I can hear Sloane even though she’s talking quietly. I don’t think she’s trying to hide what she’s saying though, because while her words are soft, they are clear.

  I’m sorry you’re having a bad night. Did you try to call Kent?

  Long pause as she listens.

  I know you don’t like the way they make you feel, but you need to stay with it.

  A shorter pause.

  Yes, Mom… it’s important.

  And then in a lower voice. I’ll try to come home soon. Maybe in a week or so I should be able to.

  A really long pause, and then, finally… It will be okay, Mom. You know to call Dr. O’Loughlin if it gets bad, right?

  Short pause.

  All right. I have to go, but I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow to check on you.

  I wait a few more minutes, assuming Sloane will walk back into my bedroom, but she doesn’t come. Pushing myself off the bed, I pad down the short hall into the living room. She’s sitting in my recliner, feet curled up under, tightly wrapped in the sheet. Holding her phone in front of her, she stares at the screen and gives a curse under her breath, then her thumbs are flying across it as she messages someone. Her face is livid with anger. The subtle whoosh sound of an outgoing text chimes even as Sloane continues to glare at her phone.

  “You okay?” I ask her and she jerks, immediately shutting off her phone. I expect to see worry and exhaustion perhaps from the side of the conversation I just heard, but instead, she shoots me a slightly guilty look.

  I glance down at the phone and then back to her, wondering who she just texted and why it would cause her to look angry and then guilty, especially right after ending a call with her mother.

  Sloane’s worried features smooth out, and she gives me a quick smile. “Yeah. Fine. That was just my mom. She’s a little blue and wanted to talk to me.”

  “Is anything wrong?” I push at her as I walk into the living room, coming to stand before the recliner.

  She looks up at me, thumb idly stroking the edge of her phone. Taking in a breath, she lets it out. “My mom just got out of the hospital about a month ago. A psychiatric hospital. She had a bit of a meltdown and voluntarily checked herself in.”

  I kneel down in front of Sloane, bringing my eyes level to hers. Placing my hands on her thighs, I squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Well, it’s not something you just tell total strangers,” Sloane says with a humorless laugh.

  “We’re not
strangers,” I tell her.

  “We’ve known each other a week.”

  “But look at the things we’ve done in that week,” I counter argue with a smile and a pointed look. “And here you are, laying all your dark secrets on my doorstep.”

  Another flash of guilt in her eyes, and I realize she’s not sharing all her secrets with me.

  “Is your mom okay right now?” I ask so she doesn’t shutdown.

  “Yeah,” she says softly, pushing her legs out from underneath of her. I move my hands so she can uncurl herself and place her feet on the floor to either side of where I kneel. “She’ll be okay. Sometimes she just likes to hear my voice… I think it grounds her.”

  “Sounds like you’re planning a visit back to see her soon,” I say offhandedly as my hands go back to her thighs that are enshrouded in layers of sheet.

  Sloane blinks at me in surprise, so I clarify, “I overheard your end of the conversation.”

  “Oh,” she says distractedly and I can see the wheels in her head turning, trying to remember exactly what she said. She’s definitely hiding something from me.

  “Who were you texting?” I can’t fucking help asking. I just found out that Sloane’s got some serious shit to worry about with her mother clear across the country, something’s upset her tonight, and she sent what looked like an angry text out just a bit ago. It’s driving me nuts not knowing what this is all about, particularly because now I want to help her in whatever it is.

  “My brother,” she says quickly.

  Too quickly and I know it’s a lie.

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah… Kent. Older than me by four years. He lives in the same town as Mom. I want him to check on her.”

  Well, shit… that sounds plausible, but still. I don’t think that’s right. The tone of voice she uses just now in talking about her brother is soft… loving. There’s genuine affection there.

  She’s not pissed at him. At least not tonight, but I decide to let it go for now.

  I’ve certainly got no business poking around all of Sloane’s dark secrets. Not when I have my own. Especially when I intend to cut her loose in a few days, making any of this interest moot.

  So instead, I do something I know both of us love and choose to hold onto that connection instead. I push the sheet up her legs, running my fingers over her bare skin as it’s revealed. When her pussy is open to me, the sheet bunched around her waist, I put my hands under the backs of her thighs and haul her legs up over my shoulders.

  Pressing my mouth to her, I give her a rough lick. She cries out as her hands go to my head to hold me tight.

  Yeah… I’m going to miss this too.

  So fucking much.

  Chapter 20

  Sloane

  Callie Hayes is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the privilege to know and hang out with, and that little fact right there has compounded the guilt on my shoulders. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny. Overly compassionate and equally passionate about issues that matter. The oppressive weight of my culpability feels like a cinder block on my chest, only made worse by the fact I have now targeted this lovely lady. My mission is clear. I’m to find some sordid dirt on this unsuspecting woman merely because she happens to be the daughter of a politician and my magazine wants to profit off the situation.

  “Want a margarita?” Callie asks as we’re shown to a table at the back of The Merry Piglets for lunch. We spent the morning just browsing some of the stores on the town square, not with the idea in mind to shop, but really more of a casual meeting where we could get to know each other better.

  The thought of food or alcohol actually makes me want to puke because my stomach is so knotted up, so I just shake my head with a smile and say, “Too early for me.”

  Callie snorts and says, “It’s never too early for a margarita,” and then snags one of the waitresses walking by, latching onto the tie to her apron. “Kimmy… two classic margaritas.”

  “Sure thing, Callie,” the young woman says with a wink and heads over to the bar.

  “You’re popular here,” I comment with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

  “I used to work here in high school,” she says with a laugh. “Our family has known the owners forever… the Sanchezes… and my dad’s done political rallies standing right up there on the bar.”

  “Now that’s cool,” I say with admiration, because I could never imagine my dad doing something like that. Too much starch in his underwear back when he was representing the great state of Tennessee in the U.S. Senate. Of course, now he’s a bit different.

  “So what kind of hours could you commit to me on the campaign?” Callie says as she unrolls the utensils from the paper napkin. She places the cutlery on the table and tosses the napkin on her lap.

  “I work roughly thirty-five hours a week, give or take. I have early mornings open all week, and every other weekend off. I’m usually off by four PM, so use me however you want.”

  Callie’s eyes gleam mischievously. “Girl… you don’t know what you just offered. It’s easy enough to find people who are all gung-ho and fired up to help, but not so easy to find someone with your knowledge and experience. If I had the money to do it, I’d hire you for the campaign instead of asking you for some volunteer hours. But I won’t be able to take on employees for a few months yet until the campaign officially kicks off.”

  I try hard not to wince as that just added a whole new level of guilt onto my shoulders. And fuck, I hate doing this.

  Hate it, hate it, hate it.

  I hate Brant for making me do this. I hate my career and politics and my fucking father who started me down this path to begin with.

  I just hate it all, and I have the overwhelming urge to run straight out of The Merry Piglets, drive my rental car back to the airport, and book the first flight out no matter where it’s going. Leave everything behind, start over somewhere new.

  Except, the actual thought of not seeing Cain tonight is almost just as unbearable. Or not going to dinner at his mom’s house tomorrow.

  He has enough of a hold on me at this point in our very young relationship that I have constantly battled myself over what to do. The sane part of myself… the part that still has integrity… wants to tell Revealed magazine to kiss my ass and walk.

  The other part of me though… the one that will do anything to protect her mother, even if it means submitting to blackmail… well, it’s the part that’s winning the war within my conscience at this point.

  Yes… it’s come down now to blackmail.

  After I hung up the phone with my mom last night, I decided to check my texts. Acid backed up in my throat when I saw one from Brant that said, You’re not working fast enough. I want an update first thing in morning, and I need something solid.

  Asshole!

  He told me he’d give me two weeks last time we talked. It’s only been a week, and I was hoping that within the next few days, I’d be able to come up with a miraculous solution that would make all this go away and let me stay in Cain Bonham’s bed—possibly his heart—for, oh, about forever.

  I sent Brant a furiously quick reply back that merely said, You told me I had two weeks.

  Then Cain came into the living room, and I shut my phone off.

  Next morning, there was a message from Brant and he wasn’t fucking around. It simply said, Call me by 9AM or you’re fired.

  For a brief moment, I thought about not calling and taking the termination. It would be so easy and my conscience would be alleviated. I could figure out what to do with my life after that. But the thought niggled at me that if I called him, and told him there just wasn’t anything to be found, he’d let the matter go and put me on another story.

  So I called him as soon as Cain dropped me off at my house after we got a quick breakfast. It was 8:55am and I was pushing my luck, but I couldn’t make the call with Cain around. As soon as he pulled out from the parking lot to my apartment, I hit Brant’s number on speed dial. />
  The conversation deteriorated rapidly, any hope of me being able to salvage my pride and perhaps Cain and Callie in the process was obliterated.

  “Brant,” he answered, even though his Caller ID would have identified me.

  Asshole.

  “It’s Sloane,” I said in a tired voice.

  “Cutting it close,” he remarked.

  I didn’t respond and let the silence lay heavy.

  “I need some sign of progress right now. Apparently, investors are questioning the longevity of the magazine since sales have dipped last two quarters. We need something juicy to renew interest.”

  “I don’t have anything,” I told him, trying not to sound too whiny. “I’m getting nowhere on the sex club, and I just met Callie Hayes. I’m hoping to start doing some volunteer work with the governor’s campaign soon, but that could take a few more weeks to find anything.”

  It was my hope he’d understand the futility of it all and let it go. No such luck.

  “Then get in tight with the daughter. Get her to talk to you—get her to disclose her involvement. I’m sure it’s something a few bottles of wine will easily flush out.”

  I sighed because I knew he was right. Callie and I hit it off amazingly well at dinner. You know how you can just tell when you have a connection with someone? Well, I felt it with Callie, and I know she felt it with me. She has the potential—if I wasn’t here perpetuating a fraud upon her—to become best friend material.

  My heart squeezed so hard over the thought and I blurted out words that would eventually seal my fate. “I can’t do it, Brant. These people are nice. They’ve done nothing wrong. We can’t tie anything to the governor. This isn’t right.”

  “You’re not paid to bring your morality into this, Preston,” he barked at me over the phone. “And right now, you are entrenched and have made two good contacts with key players. You are going to stick with this and you are going to get the story, do you hear me?”