No time like the present.
I laugh as I throw off the covers and slink to the bathroom. There’s an entire basket of bath supplies from gel eye masks to scented bath oils: almond, peppermint, lavender, sandalwood… I settle on lavender and start the water, pouring some in. I add bath bubbles and smile as I watch the white peaks begin to swell.
The large upstairs bathroom fills with the floral aroma, and I feel myself relax instantly. Why not set the mood? I pad out to the bedroom and grab my phone, pulling up a playlist that seems fitting.
I sink into the full tub to the tune of “Everybody Loves the Sunshine” by Roy Ayers. The scented oil coats my skin, and I run my hands along my legs, enjoying how silky smooth it feels. I grab the eye mask and put it on, closing my eyes to settle back against the back of the tub and completely relax.
“Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak comes on and my mood shifts. My fingers, coated with oil, slide down my inner thigh until I find just the right spot, remembering what happened last night in the hallway.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Magnus this way.
But here I am…
I go to work, taking my time with it. I laugh as I realize even this one act that should be all my own is usually dictated by Douglas & Foster time, giving new definition to the word “quickie.” Now, I can go at my own pace, letting the swirling water help me along.
I wonder what the Shark’s fingers are like. I wonder what his tongue is like. I wonder what his dick—
The first orgasm comes fast and hard, forcing my body into a rigid arch only to fall back into the water, a shivering mess. I can almost hear the echo of my loud moan still reverberating around the massive bathroom.
But why stop there?
I keep at it, allowing myself a few repeats, even as Chris Isaak transitions into “Doin’ It” by LL Cool J. What can I say? I’m a sucker for old school tunes.
With my body completely satisfied, I linger for a while until my fingers turn to prunes—a sure sign I’ve been wasting time.
I drain the tub and grab a soft, fluffy towel to dry off. It feels like I’m surrounded by a cloud of luxurious cotton. With the oil still coating my skin, I simply wrap the large towel around me rather than get dressed right away.
Why hurry the day along?
I pass through the bedroom and make my way downstairs, wondering what the morning view is like from the balcony in nothing but a towel.
So sinfully deviant.
Good grief, this city is already rubbing off on me.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner, the bubble of pleasure is firmly popped when I see who’s sitting on the couch.
Magnus Reinhardt.
Chapter Twenty-One Magnus
It takes every ounce of will power to keep my natural instinct from taking over, namely certain bodily functions that Mother Nature intended men to take advantage of at will.
I’ve long since finished my usual morning run during the wee hours before Monte Carlo sleepily wakes to life. The winding streets of the city add power to my legs and stamina to my system that only enhances my performance during pentathlons. The adrenaline that accompanied this morning’s exertion has nothing on how stimulated I am now.
It certainly didn’t help that I heard Sloane while she was in the bath. I’ve been here since I first heard the water flowing, patiently waiting for her to make her way downstairs.
She’s a moaner.
Men aren’t the only ones blessed by Mother Nature with a natural inclination.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” She demands, trying to hide her embarrassment with a show of bravado.
“I did mention I’d be by today.”
“You also said I should feel free to sleep in.”
“I did,” I say, making a show of keeping my eyes firmly on hers, which only belies where they want to wander. “But we have business to discuss, and since I’ve already secured your services, I suggest we get started.”
Now, I do allow my eyes to travel up and down the length of her.
She grips the side of the towel, and I see her debating whether or not to rush upstairs and get dressed.
“You’re free to put on something decent if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
Once again, she seems to debate this idea, then her eyes cool in a cynical way.
“You know what? I’m fine like this. Because we need to set some boundaries here,” she says, taking one of the plush armchairs across from me. It causes the bottom of the towel to hitch up just enough to torture the senses, and she does nothing to try and stop it. “You might as well get your fill while you can. This is as much of me as you’ll ever see, Magnus.”
My eyes slide back up to her face to find her giving me a cynical smirk.
“Which brings me to my first rule. Just because you own this hotel, this suite—probably even this city, doesn’t mean you can just drop in like this unannounced. Do it again, and I’m gone, I don’t care what…” she falters just a little, her eyes blinking before returning to their firm focus on me. “I don’t care what that means in terms of returning to New York.”
I think about the news Jaques relayed to me last night regarding Linus Caldwell. I wonder if Sloane knows yet.
“Understood,” I say, nodding ever so slightly.
She seems slightly thrown by my easy agreement to this demand.
“Well then,” she continues, straightening back up. “Second, I expect you to behave like a professional…and a gentleman.”
I can’t help the sly smile that comes to my face, which only causes Sloane to harden her gaze.
“Will that be a problem?” she asks.
I lean back on the couch and cross one leg, placing the ankle on the knee of the other as I assess her.
“As
