Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

“ J esus Christ, Morgan, what the hell got into you?” Slade’s voice was a mixture of breathless wonder and concern, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he pulled away slightly, still trying to catch his breath.

“I want to go again,” I breathed, my voice husky with urgency.

Slade blinked, taken aback by my demand. “Give me a few minutes to recover.”

The moment Michael was out the door, I grabbed my phone and dialed Slade. The need to alleviate the pent-up sexual frustration was overwhelming. When he arrived, I wasted no time. I dragged him to my bedroom, my hands feverish with anticipation. I sank to my knees and took him in my mouth, desperate for the release that had eluded me. Afterwards, I mounted him, riding him fiercely, rubbing my clit to reach the multiple orgasms I craved. Slade, always a passionate lover, lasted much longer than I’d anticipated.

“You feel so good inside me,” I whispered, the aftershocks of my pleasure still rippling through me.

“But I’m losing it, so why don’t you climb down so I can cuddle you?” Slade’s voice was tender yet edged with exhaustion.

“Will we go again?” I asked, my voice soft but insistent.

“Yes, I promise we will,” he assured me, his arms encircling me as I slipped off him and curled up beside him.

Slade’s embrace was warm, his lips pressing a gentle kiss on my shoulder. “You’re very frisky today. Were you watching porn?”

“No, why would you think that?” I murmured, the edge of annoyance creeping into my voice.

“You’re just very naughty tonight. I could’ve come over earlier. I was working on some reports but nothing big.”

“Then you would think I was a sex fiend,” I replied with a playful smirk.

“You are a sex fiend, but I love it. Can we check the score on the Mets game?”

“Sports and sex, a perfect match,” I teased, grabbing the remote and flipping through channels.

Slade leaned over to check the score before stopping at the news channel. I was half-asleep when Slade’s mutter jolted me awake. “I can’t believe that son of a bitch is alive.”

“Who’s alive?” I mumbled groggily.

“Michael Elliott.”

My heart skipped a beat. I blinked at the TV screen as Michael, looking freshly groomed and composed, appeared in a live interview. He was recounting the story of his disappearance and the months he’d been away.

“Sounds like he might start his company back up. You want a job?” Slade’s tone was light, but I could detect a hint of underlying concern.

“Why would I need a job? I work at Abbott. Are you planning on firing me?” I asked, trying to mask the unease in my voice.

“I’d prefer you home, barefoot and pregnant,” Slade joked, though his eyes betrayed a seriousness that didn’t match his playful tone.

I bit his tanned forearm gently, then replied, “That will never happen. I’m too independent.”

“But you will think about taking some time off when you get pregnant, won’t you?” he pressed.

“Not when I get pregnant. When I give birth. It’s not necessary to stay home until then,” I explained firmly.

“I want you to be safe.”

I snorted. “Plenty of women work up until they give birth. I’ll be fine.”

“Can I wrap you in bubble wrap?” he teased, though his concern was genuine.

“Sure, if you can find something fashionable. Why are we talking about this now anyway? I want to enjoy a year of marriage before we decide to have children.”

“A year? How about six months?” Slade’s tone was half-serious, half-playful.

“Why six months?”

“Because neither one of us is getting any younger.”

“Slade Abbott, are you saying I’m getting old? You want to trade me in for a younger model?” I asked, feigning offense.

“Never. I’ve loved you for seven years and I’m not letting you go,” he declared, his gaze unwavering.

Slade’s kisses were soft and tender, trailing from my face down to my earlobe, which he sucked gently. Within moments, he was hard again, pressing me back onto the bed. “You’re so fucking hot. Do you even realize how much?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” I breathed, a shiver running through me.

Slade’s eyes flicked over me as he spoke, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I see men giving you the eye when we go out.”

“Does that bother you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued as I shifted closer to him on the bed, fingers trailing lightly over his chest.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze softening. “Sometimes,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “But then I realize you’re wearing my ring,” he said, his thumb grazing over the diamond on my finger, “and they have no chance.”

I smiled, leaning into his touch, letting my hand rest on his. “Exactly. You shouldn’t worry about other men.” My voice lowered, taking on a sultry tone as I ran my fingers along his jawline. “They have nothing on you.”

Unless their name is Michael Elliott. As Slade’s rhythm took over, my mind wandered to the man who had so suddenly reappeared in my life. The raw intensity of our previous encounters had left a mark on me that I was struggling to shake. Despite my decision to marry Slade, the echo of Michael’s touch and his confessions haunted me.

As Slade brought me to the edge once more, I reminded myself that I had made my choice. It was Slade I would build a future with, despite the turmoil in my heart.

Over the next three months, Slade and I meticulously planned the final details of our wedding. I threw myself into it, trying to focus on the excitement, the future we were building. Michael stayed out of my life, and for that, I was thankful—mostly.

His presence made me weak, and I knew being around him would unravel everything I was trying to hold together. Still, I couldn’t help but keep an ear out for what he was up to. He’d restarted his business, back in his old office at the Fox Building. I wasn’t surprised—Michael always had a way of landing on his feet.

Two weeks before the wedding, I saw a picture of him at a newsstand while I waited for my coffee. He was at a charity event, arm draped around a petite blonde, both of them looking far too cozy. My stomach twisted, the sight of him next to her igniting something sharp and hot in me. It made no sense, but the anger was there, festering. By the time I got to Slade’s place, it was like a storm brewing inside me.

I opened the door to find him sprawled on the couch, watching a baseball game. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, potato chip crumbs scattered across his t-shirt. I stood in the doorway, irritation surging through me.

“Are you serious right now?” I snapped, crossing my arms as I glared at him.

Slade blinked up at me, confused. “What did I do?”

“You’re a fucking slob,” I hissed, pointing at his shirt. “Look at you—crumbs everywhere.”

He glanced down at himself, then started picking the crumbs off with a wet finger, popping them into his mouth. “Gross. You’re disgusting,” I muttered, turning on my heel and marching toward the bedroom.

“Wait, what the hell is your problem?” Slade followed me, his voice rising with frustration.

“Nothing,” I said curtly, pulling open my dresser drawer. “Forget it.”

“No, we’re not just forgetting it,” he insisted, stepping into the room. “You’ve been snapping at me all week. I know you’re stressed about the wedding, but it’s not just you getting married, you know.”

“I know that,” I bit out, yanking off my blouse and tossing it aside, leaving me in my black lace bra. His eyes trailed over me, and I could feel his gaze heat up, despite the tension.

“Can you just try to be a little neater?” I asked, more out of reflex than anything.

“Funny,” Slade said, stepping closer, “my potato chip eating never bothered you before.”

I turned to face him, trying to hold on to my anger, but he was already stripping off his t-shirt, exposing that tanned, muscular chest. It had been four days since we’d had sex, thanks to my period. I knew he was waiting—he always did, even though he never cared about the mess.

“You’re sexy as fuck,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he moved closer, his hands reaching for my waist.

“Is that what you’d like to do to me?” I asked, my tone laced with mock annoyance.

“Fuck you?” he grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Of course. I’ve been waiting for four days. You know I don’t mind during your period.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t, but I do. It’s messy.”

“Sex is supposed to be messy,” he said, pulling me toward him. “Are you finished?”

“This morning.”

“Good,” he breathed, a wicked smile spreading across his face. With a swift movement, he reached behind me, unclasping my bra and sliding the straps off my shoulders. The lace fell to the floor as his hands explored my bare skin.

He pushed his boxers down in one smooth motion. “We should elope,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard.

“What?” I laughed, watching as he bent down to kiss my neck, then trailed his lips lower. “Are you out of your mind? We’re so close to the wedding.”

“Do you really want to deal with all that hoopla?” he asked between kisses. His mouth moved to my breasts, lips and tongue teasing my sensitive skin. “I know how much you love being the center of attention.”

“Hardly,” I murmured, shivering as his mouth closed over my nipple.

“I was being sarcastic,” he added with a grin before sucking harder, sending waves of pleasure down my spine.

I tangled my fingers in his thick hair, tugging lightly. “You need a haircut.”

“I’m getting one before I make you my wife,” he mumbled against my skin, his hands sliding down my body.

“And after?” I asked, arching into him.

“I’m going to become a mountain man,” he teased, his fingers dipping lower.

“You certainly will not,” I gasped as his mouth returned to my nipple, sending another pulse of heat through me. “I forbid it.”

“You’ll see,” he chuckled, his breath hot against my skin.

I was about to protest again when he bit down gently, the sharp edge of pleasure making me cry out. All the anger, the frustration, it evaporated in that moment, leaving only the need for him, for this.

“You’ll see.”

I was about to protest when he sank his teeth into my right nipple, sending shocks of pleasure down to my core.

“How was lunch with Erika?” Slade asked, his voice low as his fingers deftly unzipped my skirt.

“Do you care?” I raised an eyebrow, my pulse quickening.

“Not right now.” His lips curved into a wicked smile. “I’d rather hear you moan my name while I fuck you.”

He pushed my skirt down my hips, letting the fabric slide to the floor around my ankles as his lips grazed my belly. I shivered under his touch. He paused, straightening to meet my eyes, his hands resting on my hips.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused by the sudden break in his rhythm.

“Deciding,” he said, his gaze lingering on me, intense and deliberate.

“Deciding what?” My breath hitched in anticipation.

“Whether I should tear your panties off or be a gentleman,” he teased, the heat in his eyes making my skin prickle with excitement.

“You tear them, you buy them,” I shot back, trying to keep my composure.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing the lace. “If I remember correctly, I bought these for you at Boudoir Fashions. They weren’t cheap.”

“You rip them, and I expect a replacement,” I warned, though the heat between us told me I wouldn’t mind either way.

“Maybe I’ll just fuck you with them on,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric, igniting a fire beneath my skin.

“That might be a problem,” I challenged, my voice breathy as I struggled to hold back the growing need.

“Get on the bed, and I’ll show you. On all fours, ass in the air,” he commanded, his voice a mix of control and hunger.

I loved this forceful side of Slade. Without hesitation, I climbed onto the bed, positioning myself exactly as he wanted, teasing him with a playful wag of my hips until I felt him move behind me. With a swift motion, he wrenched my panties aside and slipped his cock between my folds, teasing me, pushing just enough to drive me wild before fully thrusting inside.

“God, I love this,” he groaned. “You’re so tight.”

His fingers dug into my hips, and he set a relentless rhythm, his thrusts hard and fast, sending me spiraling toward the edge. My body clenched around him, desperate for release.

“Don’t come, Morgan,” he ordered, his voice strained.

“Are you fucking mad?” I gasped, clinging to the bedspread. “I can’t hold back forever.”

“You ask me to hold it.” He slowed, his thrusts becoming shallow as he grinned against my skin.

“You’re the one driving,” I countered, panting. “Slow down if you want me to hold it. I don’t have that luxury with you pounding my G-spot.”

He came to a sudden halt, and just as I opened my mouth to protest, he delivered a firm slap to my ass. A sharp gasp escaped me, the unexpected sting sending a wave of pleasure rushing through me.

“Do it again,” I breathed, my voice shaky.

Slade didn’t hesitate. His hand came down again, harder this time, and the mix of pain and pleasure left me teetering on the edge. One more slap and I was gone, tumbling over as he started thrusting again, harder, deeper. My climax ripped through me, and I cried out his name as he emptied himself inside me, his own release following close behind.

“Now I know another one of your secrets,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

I blinked, still coming down from the high. “What secrets?”

“You like your ass spanked.” He gave me a teasing grin. “I might have to make that a regular part of our routine.”

I let out a soft laugh, relieved he wasn’t prying deeper into my soul. “It was... nice.”

“Nice?” He raised an eyebrow, still moving inside me, his hardness refusing to relent.

“Okay, more than nice.” I bit my lip. “It excited me.”

He smirked, delivering one last gentle slap before pulling out, leaving me to collapse onto the bed, spent.

“I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the silence as I lay there, half-asleep, floating in the afterglow.

When he returned, he found me still sprawled across the bed. “You should clean up,” he said, though his voice lacked any real urgency.

“Does it bother you that I’m lying here full of your cum?” I asked, a lazy smile playing on my lips.

“Not one bit.” He laughed softly, slipping into the boxers he had discarded earlier. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable.”

“I’m too tired,” I mumbled, my eyes half-closed.

“Do you want help?” he offered, though he seemed content as he grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on, resuming his ballgame.

“I’ll get up in a minute,” I muttered, though the comfort of the bed was too much to resist.

Slade settled in beside me, the hum of the TV filling the room. As I drifted off, I couldn’t help but think how much we were already living like a married couple, tied together in every way but one.