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Chapter forty-one

A note – I’ve edited this chapter.  …*** replaces material that, well – you’ll get the idea.  If you would like to see the removed part I can e-mail it to you.

Abbey stretched her arms sleepily as she arched her back against the soft cushions of the sofa.  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.  Her fingers haphazardly caressed the worn cotton squares of the patchwork quilt tucked around her.  She smiled to herself.  Sloan must have laid it over her after she had dozed off.

Since their night at the pub had concluded early, Sloan brought Abbey back to the penthouse with him.  Actually he hadn’t given her much of a choice.  The ride from the pub had been direct and silent.  It was alright with Abbey though.  She loved watching Sloan at work.  But all the errands she ran before she met up with the guys tired her out.

Abbey looked up as she heard a pain filled moan.

“Sloan, are you alright?”

Sloan sat hunched at his easel with his back to her, his latest creation for their book half brought to life in vivid color before him.  He rubbed his bare shoulder with his fingers, leaving rainbow stripes of pastel dust raked across his hard flesh.

“Sloan?”

He answered her finally with a grunt.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?” Abbey persisted.

“That lunatic at the bar,” he answered in his thick Irish brogue.  “I wrenched it when I hit him.  I cannot even hold the pastel sticks anymore.”

“Let me rub it.”  She stood and gently laid the quilt across the back of the sofa. She crossed the loft to him.  She listened to him exhale as she kneaded the tight muscles in his sore shoulder.  She stopped briefly at the foreign touch of the caterpillar-like scar that began from his shoulder blade and trailed to his mid back.  She closed her eyes as she felt his muscles loosen, his body relax, his breathing become easier.

Abbey pulled her hands away as Sloan slowly spun his chair around.  He grasped her hips in his hands and pulled her between his legs.   He slowly manipulated the buttons on her sundress, leaving bright colors of dust on the white fabric.  His hands explored her warm skin as he buried his lips against her stomach.

Abbey gasped as she wove her fingers through his unruly black locks.  She felt herself tremble at each soft kiss he placed on her flesh.  Sloan tugged her onto his lap.

“Abigail,” he purred, “I know I have pushed you into many things but I won’t this time.  If you don’t want this please tell me now.”

“I’m not leaving, am I?”

Sloan let loose a deep, low growl as he ripped free the final few buttons of her sundress…*** 

Just as suddenly as his passion ignited, Sloan pulled free from her.  A soft grunt echoed from his throat as he stood her up from his lap.  Without a word he strode to the door, tugging his thin grey t-shirt on as he went.  He pulled on his tennis shoes and left with the slam of the door.

Abbey pulled the remnants of her sundress around her as she leaned against the arm of the sofa.  What had she done?  No answer came to her.  She blinked back sudden tears but let go a sob, losing herself to her breaking heart.

After a couple of moments she stood, grasping her purse from beside the sofa.  “Screw him,” she thought miserably to herself.  “I could care less what he wants right now.  I don’t care if he thinks it’s dangerous for me to go home by myself.  I’m going home.”

She turned as the foyer door opened.  Sloan stared at her from the doorway then slowly stepped in, latching the door closed behind him.  He kicked off his shoes.  With the flick of a wrist he tossed a small box onto the end table.  He peeled his shirt off and dropped it on the couch.  He crossed the loft to her, tugging her sundress open and slipping the straps from her shoulders.  He gently rubbed a tear from her cheek.

“I just want to play it safe, luv,” he consoled in a soft, sensual whisper.  He brushed his fingers against her stomach.  “I just want you safe.”

Abbey gazed into his deep, blue eyes as the realization of the moment washed over her.  She grazed his lips with her finger, urging them apart then sinking into them with her own, the taste of him fueling her desire to touch him,…***

…taking her hand in his.  He picked up the box of condoms in his other hand and led Abbey up the “L” shaped suspended staircase to the loft – and his bedroom.

Abbey took the room in for a moment.  It surprised her.  If she ever had the chance to see Sloan’s bedroom Abbey expected to see dark fabrics and leather.  Instead Sloan’s large oversized bed was covered with a thick, soft down comforter.  The furniture was made of dark maple wood with deep ingrained veins. 

Abbey forgot what the room looked like as Sloan sat on the mattress, tugging her to him to straddle his lap.  Abbey obeyed silently, burying her fingers deep in his ebony hair then placing a deep, slow kiss on his lips…***

Sloan gently pulled her down to the bed beside him and buried his face against her neck as he groaned.  “I have wanted you all my life.  I have dreamed of this night all my life.”

Abbey pulled from his arms and climbed off the bed.  She grasped the comforter from the bed and wrapped it around herself.  She glared at him then retreated to the row of windows that overlooked the city street below.

Sloan sat up.  “Abigail, what is it?”

“I don’t understand you.  One minute you’re hot.  Then you’re cold.  One minute you despise me then you make love to me.  How can your feelings go back and forth like that?”

“Abigail, do not be so…”

“Don’t call me naïve.  I am no longer naïve.  I can’t keep up with you.  I can’t figure it out.”

Sloan stood up and strode across the room to her.  She held her breath in awe as the moon and neon lights from outside illuminated his naked body.

“Then I will explain it to you as plainly as I can, my lady,” he whispered.  “Abigail, I love you.  I have since I laid eyes on you.  I don’t want to frighten you away from me, so I play the game as your moods change.”  He brushed a lock of hair from her face as he continued.  “I need you, Abigail.  I see my babes when I look in your eyes.”

“Sloan, I…”

He nuzzled his nose against her ear.  “Stay tonight.  With me.  Wake up with me tomorrow.  Please?”

She nodded and took his offered hand.  The comforter slowly slid from her body as she followed him back to the bed.

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About triciaandersen

I am the author and illustrator of the children's book "The Peculiar Princess". I am also the author of two adult fantasy romance novels, "The Sorceress of Savon" and "The Woodcutter King of Muladin". Along with being an author I am married to a wonderful guy and have three beautiful children. I coach youth track and field, sew and chase my children around to their various activities.

Posted on June 20, 2012, in author, books, fiction, novel, romance, story, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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