Possession (The Plus One Chronicles) Read online

  A moan erupted from her chest. More, she needed it. Craved it. Grabbing his arms, she locked her ankles around his waist and rode him. Every thrust built the sensual agony, taking her higher until she panted with near sobs.

  “Fuck. Your pussy’s gripping me tighter. You’re going to come.” Sloane’s jaw clamped, neck bulged, skin slick with sweat. He thrust harder, deeper.

  At the same time, his eyes pierced her, seeing all of her. “Let go. Come.”

  Sudden fierce pleasure bowed her back, snapping her head against the door. The hot spasms gripped her body in wave after wave.

  “Oh Christ.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and spun them. His shoulders hit the wall. Sloane held her and pumped hard and fast, his shoulder and chest rippling. His nostrils flared, mouth open as savage desire overtook him. With one last thrust, his cock grew thicker, more rigid, hot enough to brand her, and his seed burst inside her.

  When they both settled into tiny aftershocks, he tucked her head against his shoulder. “Not broken.” He kissed her hair while stroking her back. “Beautiful.”

  His tenderness nearly undid Kat, touching her too deeply, reaching to the part of her starved to be touched, praised and cared for. But Sloane had been honest, told her he didn’t do romance and relationships.

  So that warmth flowing like a gentle river in her chest and stomach? It was just a post-orgasmic glow. That’s all it could be.

  No matter how good it felt.

  * * *

  Moonlight poured through the skylight in the massive bathroom. The jets bubbled the warm water, and steam drifted up in tendrils. Kat was tucked between Sloane’s thighs, her back pressed against his chest and his hands folded beneath her breasts.

  “What was it like to fight in front of all those people? Weren’t you nervous?” People staring at her usually made her edgy.

  “Not exactly. I’d get an adrenaline surge. Once I was in the cage though, it was all about winning. All I cared about.”

  She dragged her fingers through the frothing bubbles and tried to puzzle out Sloane. He sounded cold and determined when he said things like that. But then he’d been kind and patience after her panic attack. Who was he? Which was the real Sloane? “Why’d you stop fighting?”

  “I was ready for a new challenge.”

  Irritation bubbled in her chest. “Now tell me the real reason.”

  His hands barely twitched against her rib cage. But she caught it. Would he change the subject? And why the hell did she keep pushing for more from him? Did she want to end this relationship with a broken heart?

  “There wasn’t one reason. Part of it was I had avoided sustaining a serious, career-ending injury. I’d had small ones, like broken fingers.” He held up his left hand. “Broke the first and little finger.” He lowered his hand. “Also had a broken nose, cuts and torn muscles. But my luck wouldn’t hold forever no matter how good I am.” Sloane palmed her breast and leaned close to her ear. “I’m good, Kat.”

  Her nipples tightened, and his words shivered over her exposed skin. “Are we talking fighting or sex?”

  “Both.”

  Was he trying to divert her attention? Why? She pressed him for more. “So injury was part of your reason. The others?”

  “Money. Power.” He paused, looking over her shoulder as he trailed his fingers over her stomach. “I’ll never be that helpless kid again. So I looked for opportunities to expand and grow. I started representing fighters. I studied how other powerful men and women became successful and learned. I also learned from those who failed. Some things worked, some didn’t, but I managed to build SLAM.”

  Running her own small business gave her enough knowledge to know that was a spectacular feat. And yet Sloane still had an edge to him. What did he want? He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for a family, so what? But she wasn’t dumb enough to ask that and find herself on a quick and silent ride home. “You’ve achieved a great deal in thirty years. You’re an impressive man.” So what was he doing with her?

  “What brought up my fighting career?”

  “When we were in the car, you mentioned losing fights in front of thousands.” She shrugged, trying to think how to voice her thoughts. “You don’t have panic attacks.”

  Palming her chin, he tilted her face up to his. “I wanted people to see me. I wanted to be right in their face and force them to see me.” That’s why he commanded attention. “You hid. Withdrawing to protect yourself. When I first saw you, you were tucked behind a column.”

  “Then why did you see me?” All those polished women in pretty gowns and he’d honed in on her. It hadn’t made sense.

  “The pink streaks in your hair.”

  “Lavender.”

  His full lips twitched. “Whatever, baby, those streaks scream Look at me. This is who I am and if you don’t like it, fuck off. I wanted you then.” He stroked her jaw. “Still want you now.”

  Her mouth dried. “Because of my streaks.”

  “You looked cornered, yet you stood up to me right there in front of hundreds of guests. You might as well have waved a red flag in front of my face.” His tawny eyes took on a predatory gleam. “I was determined to find you after that.”

  Sexy or stalkerish? But unlike David, Sloane never touched her when she told him not to. “Here I am naked in a bathtub with you.” Something she’d have thought impossible a month ago. “So what are you going to do with me?”

  Sloane pulled her onto his lap, turning her so she sat on his left thigh, able to see his face. The water sloshed and bubbled around them. “Damn, woman, you do like flirting with danger.”

  “Me?” She scoffed at that. “I’m the baker who hides, remember?”

  “Not with me. You liked me taking you hard against the wall. The danger of trusting me to hold you as I fucked you turned you on. Knowing that even when I came, I wouldn’t drop you.” Sloane paused. “Danger and testing your limits excites you.”

  Her pulse skittered and nerves stretched. “You’re a bad influence. I used to be a nice girl.” He wasn’t wrong, though. When he challenged her in training or sex, she liked it a lot.

  “You didn’t like being nice.” He dragged his palm down her side, cupping her hip. “Tell me something you fantasize about that makes you bad.”

  Even beneath the water, his touch seared her. And his low, challenging voice made her feel bold. “Just because I fantasize about something doesn’t mean I want it.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Was it really so bad? “It’s your fault, you gave me the idea.” And what do you know, turned out she had an imagination for more than baking. Because she’d imagined it rather vividly.

  He drew slow circles on her belly. “You can tell me.”

  His words were as seductive and low keyed as his touch on her stomach. “Spanking.” It was so opposite of everything she’d been raised to be. Educated, in control and accomplished, elegant, worried about what others thought. “Why would a grown woman want to be spanked?”

  Sloane groaned. His cock thickened against her hip. “Sex spankings are hot. A little role playing, pretending that you’re in trouble. I’d make you strip and bend over my thighs. You’d be exposed and at my mercy.”

  Her folds swelled and ached, while at the same time, her heart pounded with trepidation. Could she do that? Why did she want to?

  “The first slaps sting, and that will get your attention. If you can take it, that pain will push past barriers in your head to heighten your pleasure more and more until your orgasm hits at nuclear strength.” He took a breath. “Wanting that isn’t wrong with someone you trust.”

  “I’m not ready for that.” He’d been honest with her, explained it to her as matter-of-factly as he did a self-defense move, so she told him the truth. “It excites and terrifies me.”

  Holding her chin, he looked at her. “You’ll tell me when you want to try it?”

  “You’re hard, I feel your cock. See you breathing faster. Is spanking a woman somethi
ng you like?” She didn’t know how she felt about that.

  He studied her. “I don’t have any need to give a woman pain. Not my thing. But I love your ass. So thinking about having you bent over me like that has my dick rock hard.” His smile spread. “If I spank you, Kitten, I’m going to make you come hard. Then I’m going to fuck you and make you come again. One more time, you’ll tell me if and when you’re ready?”

  How did he make this so simple? “Yes.”

  “There’s my bad girl.” He picked her up, stepped out of the tub, quickly dried them off and settled them in his bed. “Did I tell you about my fantasy? It involves your mouth on my cock.”

  Kat was in the mood to fulfill his fantasy.

  * * *

  Kat awoke alone in Sloane’s bed. His voice came through the opened French doors facing the ocean. A glance at the clock showed her it was five thirty. Curiosity drove her from the bed. She grabbed a robe and walked out.

  Sloane paced the length of the balcony, the muscles in his bare back, shoulders and arms flexing. He’d dragged on a pair of sweatpants. No shoes. “Don’t talk to them, Olivia. Not a word, or the money stops.”

  Kat flinched at the fury icing his voice.

  “Keep me informed.” He pivoted as he ended the call and caught sight of Kat. “Go inside, it’s cold.”

  Kat barely felt the chill. She couldn’t drag her attention from him, from the intensity carving his muscles and tendons into severe lines.

  He moved his thumb over the screen of his cellphone and made another call. “Liza, some reporter’s snooping around Olivia. Find out who it is, and kill the story.”

  Kat stood there like a moron, unsure how to process what was happening.

  Sloane strode by her, past the bed and kept going to the sitting area by the fireplace. He stopped at a bank of screens mounted on the wall, touched a keypad, and the monitors snapped to life.

  It took her a second to grasp what she was seeing on the screens—a half-dozen different views of the front of Sloane’s house, including outside the gates. Twenty four/seven camera surveillance must be part of his security system.

  “Fuck.” He dragged his phone back to his ear. “Ethan, reporters out front. Dissuade them.” He hung up.

  She had no idea what to do. Was this business? Personal? Hugging the robe closer, she looked around for her clothes.

  “Coffee?” Sloane went to the granite bar in the corner of the room. It was equipped with a small fridge, coffeemaker and who knew what else.

  “What’s going on? Do you need to leave?” Kat crossed between the dark four-poster bed and marble fireplace to the sitting area.

  After setting the machine to work, Sloane pulled out cream and sugar and doctored the first cup of coffee the way she liked. “Better to wait and see if Ethan can chase off the reporters. I don’t want them to spot you.”

  Nope, not going there. Sloane had been in public with her, he wasn’t hiding Kat like an illicit secret. She was pretty sure Sloane meant that as protecting her privacy or something along those lines. She took the cup. “What’s this about?” Curiosity bubbled. She gathered that Liza worked for him from the way he’d spoken to her on the phone. “Who’s Olivia?” She knew so little about Sloane’s life.

  He slid another cup under the drip and started that brewing. His shoulders bunched with tension.

  Was he going to answer or just ignore her? He was closed off, a different man from the one she’d been with last night. Unnerved, she sipped the hot coffee.

  “Olivia is my mother.” He gripped the edge of the counter.

  Kat lowered the mug. “That was your mother you were talking to on the balcony? You call her by her given name?”

  “Yes.”

  “The money stops,” Kat repeated what she’d heard him say. “You pay her not to talk? About what? You? Did you do something…?”

  “Reporters. If they paid Olivia, she might tell them anything. I don’t trust her. So I pay her more than anyone else to keep her quiet.”

  That made Kat’s issues with her parents seem damn near silly. Paying his mom not to talk? “You weren’t kidding when you said the two of you weren’t close.” But then, Sloane had told her he’d spent time in foster homes. There could be a good reason why that had happened; maybe his mom had been sick. But to a kid, that had to feel like the ultimate betrayal.

  His large hand circled the remaining mug, making it appear child sized. Sloane faced her. “Not even physically. She’s in Florida, the one state I avoid.”

  Kat didn’t know how to help him. Sloane was coldly upset. “I’m sorry. Do you ever see her?”

  “Once a year. On Sara’s birthday.”

  His dead sister, the one whose initial he had inked on his right biceps. “To remember Sara?”

  He stared out the opened French doors, his profile jagged and unforgiving. “To punish each other.”

  “But you don’t see her on your birthday?” It just wasn’t making sense. His mother had lost a child. Wouldn’t she hang on to Sloane more?

  “I don’t celebrate my birthday.” He set the coffee down. “I’m going to take a shower.” He vanished behind the bathroom door.

  Locking her out.

  Oh God, what had happened to his sister?

  Chapter Three

  Moving quietly, Kat came down the curving stairs into a massive room. The west side of Sloane’s house was floor-to-ceiling glass panels overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Walking through the foyer that flowed into a formal sitting area, she passed by a stunning double-sided fireplace that separated the formal space from the kitchen and family room.

  Oh man that kitchen made her drool. A huge center island big enough for two adults to sleep on. Even better, it had a deep double sink, making it a dream workspace. Four high barstools with padded seats and backs lined up on the outside edge. The kitchen also had top-of-the-line appliances and excellent lighting—the room made her itch to bake.

  Kat glanced over at the living space. A flat-screen TV was mounted over the fireplace. A leather couch and a few chairs—all large enough for a room full of Sloane-sized men to be comfortable—were placed around an exquisite rug that probably rivaled the cost of her condo. The entire room had a sense of relaxed wealth.

  Unsure what to do, wait for Sloane or figure out a way to get home, Kat explored the kitchen and discovered a walk-in pantry. As long as she was stuck in a kitchen made of awesomeness, she was so going to use it. She located flour, white sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, and vegetable oil. If she could scrounge up milk, butter and—

  “Hello there, pretty lady.”

  She whipped around. Her right knee buckled, and Kat grabbed the nearest shelf, catching herself before she fell on her ass. “Oh!” Dragging in air, she took in the tall, thin man leaning tiredly against the doorjamb of the spacious walk-in pantry.

  “I’m Drake. And you are?”

  Her heart hammered, but she recalled that Sloane had a friend staying with him. “Kat. I’m, uh, Sloane’s…” Hell, what did she call herself? “Friend.”

  “Well, Kat, right now you look a little cornered. Come out, so you don’t feel trapped in the pantry.” He shuffled slowly back.

  Kat frowned. Sloane had said Drake wasn’t well. “You just startled me,” she assured him. Had Sloane told Drake about her panic attacks?

  “You were concentrating on something.”

  “Blueberry muffins. Do you know if Sloane has fresh or frozen berries?” How old was Drake? He was nearly as tall as Sloane, but older and much thinner. His sallow coloring suggested that he wasn’t just unwell, he was very sick.

  “In the freezer.” His eyes lit up. “You’re going to make blueberry muffins? Right now?”

  “You like muffins?”

  “Hell yes.” Drake opened the massive stainless-steel freezer and pulled out a bag of blueberries. “Tell me what to do. I’ll help if I can have some muffins.”

  “Sure thing.” For the first time this morning, energy filled her. “Do
you like to bake?”

  “I like to eat. Or I did until the damned chemo and radiation. And then Sloane hired this team of nurses and nutritionists, and I swear they strip all the joy out of food.” He shook his head in disgust.

  Chemo. Radiation. Cancer. The words resonated through her cells. Sloane was close enough to this man to take him into his home. He’d hired specialists to help Drake. Once she had worried that Sloane had no one to rely on, now she suspected he did—this man.

  And he was very sick.

  Was Kat doing something wrong? Some people adhered to special diets, believing that would help the body fight off illness. People should do whatever gave them a sense of power over their condition. Was she overstepping here? “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

  He sank onto a barstool, looking like Kat had kicked his dog. “No muffins? Not even one?”

  Damn it. She was a total sucker. “I’ll try, but Sloane might, uh, I might have to leave.” It wasn’t her place to reveal Sloane’s personal information. She searched the cupboards, finding the rest of what she needed. After setting the flour and sugar in front of Drake, she had him measure it out for her.

  “He can wait. I want muffins.”

  Kat grinned. “How long have you known Sloane?”

  “Long time. Fifteen years probably. What I can’t figure out is why you’re down here by yourself. Did he run off to the gym or work and leave you?”

  Kat shook her head and gave him the muffin pan to line with paper cups. “He’s taking a shower. I thought I’d scrounge up breakfast.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. She’d felt restless and out of place. That drove her to the kitchen. “I don’t know if he even eats breakfast.” She carefully folded the blueberries into the batter. “Especially carbs and fat…Sloane’s, well he keeps in shape.”

  “Shape? Humph. The boy trains like a demon. Usually he’s at the gym early in the morning and often after work.”

  After sliding the muffins into the preheated oven, she looked at Drake. “Trains? He doesn’t fight—”

  “Kat?”

  She spun at Sloane’s voice, catching herself on the counter.