Page 77 of Logan
“Do you like it?” I ask, noting how she cradles the soft leather.
She unfastens the clasp and peeks inside. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”
“Then get it. My treat.” I reach for my wallet.
“You don’t need to buy me anything. I have money,” she protests, shaking her head.
“I didn’t say I needed to. I want to.” Plucking the bag from her hands, I pass it to the merchant to ring up.
“A beautiful woman like her, impossible to say no, eh?” The man grins at Sloane, teeth flashing white against his dusky skin. Teeth that I suddenly want to knock down his throat.
I’m standing right here, and this asshole is hitting on her in front of me. We may not be an actual couple, but he doesn’t know that. I imagine my fist wiping that sleazy smirk off his face.
“Want dessert?” Sloane asks as she accepts the shopping bag from the still-leering vendor.
“I’ll have my dessert at home.” I look her dead in the eye, feeling a thrill as her pupils dilate with understanding. She’s turned on, and I fucking love it.
“Umm...okay.” She licks her lips. “Let’s go then.”
“Don’t you want to see more of the shops?” I gesture at the stalls we haven’t visited yet.
“No. Let’s go. Now.” She grasps my hand and starts tugging me toward the exit.
I chuckle under my breath, letting her lead the way, anticipation simmering in my blood.
As we step outside, the lively strains of music reach our ears.
Sloane’s eyes widen. “Let’s check it out.” Without waiting for an answer, she follows the sound, and in no time, we find ourselves near a dance floor near the market entrance. A man stands to the side, manning the music and calling out instructions to the couples spinning in the center.
Must be a dance class or something. At least ten pairs of dancers whirl to the beat in perfect unison, clearly familiar with the steps.
“I want to try it,” Sloane declares, bouncing on her toes.
I shake my head. “No. You said you wanted to leave.”
“Please, just one dance. It’ll be fun!” She clasps her hands under her chin, giving me puppy dog eyes.
“I don’t dance.” I cross my arms. At least not in public, and definitely not whatever this is. Tango? Salsa? “I don’t know these steps.”
“Neither do I, but it looks like a blast. Please?” She pouts up at me through her lashes. “I’ll make it up to you later,” she wheedles, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “On my knees, your cock in my mouth, deep in my throat...”
Fuck me. I’m only a man.
Swallowing hard, I raise an eyebrow. “Did you seriously just offer to trade a dance for a blowjob?”
“Is it working?”
God help me, it is. “Fine. One dance.”
“Yes!” She fist-pumps, grinning like she just won the lottery.
We make our way onto the floor, and I wrap Sloane’s waist with my hands, pulling her against me. Sneaking a peek at the other dancers, I try to copy their steps. Screw it, we’ll just wing it.
Ignoring the actual choreography, I simply spin her around to the music, dipping her back over my knee with a flourish. By the time the song ends, she’s breathless and glowing.
“Thanks for humoring me. I know you hate dancing, so I appreciate the effort.” She goes up on her tiptoes to smack a kiss against my jaw.
I brush a thumb along her flushed cheekbone, and ask, “Did you have fun?”
