Page 43 of Surrender
I don’t want to be nervous. I want to be brave. I want to dive into this arrangement head first and live for once in my damn life. I can do this.
Once fully naked, I glance at my reflection in the glass wall of his closet. My heart falters. I barely recognise the woman staring back at me. She’s naked and curvy, and her hair is tousled in a sexy, effortless sort of way I could never recreate on purpose. She has a wild, excited look in her eyes that I haven’t seen in a long, long time.
The idea is insane because I work in fashion. Mirrors and appearance are the cornerstones of what I do. I take great care to present myself on a level that my clients will be comfortable with. I look the part of a stylish stylist.
But at some point, I stoppedlookingat my reflection. I was focused on the clothes, and the hair, and the makeup, but I didn’t actually see the person staring back. Maybe it’s because I didn’t like who I saw.
But I like who’s staring back at me now. I like her a lot.
“Sloan?” Gareth’s voice snaps me out of my reverie.
My reply is instant. “Stand up.” My jaw is taut, legs wide, eyes assessing his every muscle.
His furrowed brow lifts curiously as he uses his thick forearms to push himself to a standing position. Now that I’m completely naked and barefoot in front of him, he seems like a giant. I’m five-nine, but I push six foot in heels, so Gareth is normally only an inch or two taller than me. As we are now, my eyes barely meet his jaw.
It doesn’t slow me down. “I’m going to touch you, Gareth. A lot,” I state, stepping so close to him that I can feel the heat of his skin on my nipples. “Will that be okay?”
The wrinkle in his brow indicates that he’s nervous. “S—sure.”
“You have to trust me, Gareth,” I reply, pressing a firm hand on the thick bulge in his jeans. “If you put all your trust in me, you don’t have to worry about your texture sensitivity. I’ll tell you how to feel.”
His throat moves with a slow swallow as he nods. “Okay.”
“Good,” I husk and blow cool air against his chest.
A deep noise rumbles from his throat as goosebumps flare up over his pecs, his nipples becoming impossibly firmer.
“Take your jeans off.”
He does as he’s told. When he stands to his full height again—shoulders wide, legs thick, muscles tense and waiting—it feels like I’m standing at the helm of a ship during a perfect storm. A storm where anything could happen. Death, life, crash, or the most exhilarating ride of my life.
Without hesitation, I move to press my bare flesh against his. Smooth against scratchy. Soft against firm.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs when his bare cock rubs against my lower belly.
I press my lips to the mound of his pec. “I intend to,” I reply, dipping my head and swirling my tongue around his nipple.
“Christ,” Gareth falters. His hands wrap around my body in response, one in my hair and the other cupping my ass cheek.
I bite down on the nubby flesh and he hisses loudly. “You’re not supposed to be touching, Gareth.”
His hands drop, and I glance down to see them fisted at his sides in frustration. If I could see his eyes, I am sure they’d be shooting daggers.
“This is making me crazy, Sloan.”
“Good.”
“I want to feel you.”
“I’m letting you.”
“With my hands.”
“Well, where’s the fun in that?” I slide my hand down his forearm and twine my fingers with his, pulling them up so they are between us. “Besides, this is about my control. Not yours. Stop trying to rock the boat.”
The tense muscle in his jaw relaxes. “That’s your second boat pun. I’m going to start to confuse you with my brother Camden if you’re not careful.”
“Does this remind you of your brother?” I ask, placing his hands on my breasts.
