But first, we had things to discuss—top of that list was the shit she pulled tonight. There had been times in both my careers in law enforcement when I had to make tough calls that I sometimes second-guessed, but any decision I’d made had been necessary for the safety of those around me and for the operational integrity of the investigation. But not tonight. All rational thought fled, and selfishness guided my decisions. Selfishness and anger. The infinite amount of determination it had taken not fuck Sloane in the privacy room was only fueled by my suspicion the rooms were wired for video. That and my disgust for the mansion in general, though in that moment with Sloane pressed up against me, her face soft, her thoughts dirty and body willing, I wasn’t thinking about the mansion or the reasons why I couldn’t allow myself to have her—my control had snapped on that. It was the thought of me fucking her being captured on video that had stopped me.

“You’re home early.”

The relief in Sloane’s voice registered and instead of appreciating her concern, it pissed me off.

“We need to talk,” I declared like an asshole. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

On my way past Sloane, I tagged her hand and jerked her into motion. I didn’t use the time it took to get to my bedroom to calm down. I didn’t think about the consequences of my next move or the aftermath, or the destruction they would cause. I allowed all my pent-up emotions to get the best of me and as soon as we entered the room, I threw the door shut and slammed my mouth on hers.

Without hesitation, Sloane opened hers and shoved her tongue past my lips. Every fucking swipe, every stroke, every lick wrought an unquenchable need. The kiss built until Sloane’s hands were ripping at my shirt and my hands were on her lace-covered ass cheeks.

This was where it should’ve ended. I’d been hanging onto my resolve by the barest of threads, knowing having her would only prolong the ache in my chest when I was gone. But that thread had snapped. There was no more holding out, there was no more denying Sloane was my fate—either to have or to mourn—but she was mine.

All fucking mine.

By the time the back of her legs hit the bed she’d untucked my shirt and her hands were roaming my back. I toed off my shoes, broke the kiss, and looked into her lusty eyes.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to be sure.”

She blinked some of the fog away and nodded.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” she whispered.

“No, baby, I’m gonna ruin us,” I corrected and began unbuttoning my shirt.

Sloane’s hands slid over my ribs and then down until they were working my belt. To further communicate she was on board with our demise, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my chest. She waited for another button to open, and she pressed another kiss there. Then another and another until all the buttons were undone and her mouth was at my navel.