"What is this the 1950's?"
I worship the ground that this long-legged, beautiful woman walks on, but right now I'd like to stuff a gag in her mouth, tie her to my bed, and fuck her well into the night. That would be my idea of a happy ending to this conversation. Alas, that would be entirely too easy.
Sloan has never been easy.
"No, princess. Neither of us were even born in the fifties," I deadpan.
"Exactly!" she says emphatically. "I know you're rich as sin, but I'm not like any of those little brats I grew up with in private school or the hordes of spoiled models and actresses you've slept with. I like to work. I want to work."
"And I want you to work, babe."
"But only if it isn't an inconvenience for you."
"I never said that."
Where the hell is my ball gag?
"You basically did."
"You're starting a fight for no reason other than to prove that you're right."
"I am right."
"No, babe, you're not."
"Do I say anything when you stroll in here at four or five am after you've been bouncing between the Tapas Lounge and the club all night? Smelling like smoke and minions."
Is she serious right now?
"No, but maybe that's because you can't say anything. You're right in there with me too, shaking your ass in the club every night."
"I'm in there some nights because when I'm there, I'm supporting your business," she says. Pointing her well manicured finger at me for emphasis. "Like a good girlfriend should."
"Let's face it. My fiancee is there for two reasons only." I make it a point to correct her. She is my fiancee, not my girlfriend, yet she continues to use the term a lot and it irritates the fuck out of me. "To keep an eye on me and the minions, and for the free drinks my bartenders keep comping you."
I actually love that Sloan is jealous. When we first met, she tried really hard to remain unaffected by everyone and everything. I suppose it was some sort of coping mechanism or a control thing. Like she had seen it and done it all. Seen one man, you've seen them all type of attitude. But that's not who my fireball is at all.
Sloan is territorial.
Sloan is jealous.
Sloan is possessive.
Sloan is my life.
"I'm sleeping with the owner." She mischievously grins. "Of course my drinks should be free."
"It doesn't seem like you're too interested in sleeping with the owner right now." I pout.
"Cutter freakin' King. I can't believe you. I'm an entrepreneur. Something which you encouraged me to pursue by the way. I cannot simply bail on a meeting whenever I feel like it. My interior design business is new, and it's basically a twenty-four hour hustle to get it off the ground. You should understand that. You're the greatest entrepreneur known to mankind right? God knows you never stop claiming that you are."
"Obviously I know what it takes to build a successful business," I say with restrained annoyance. “But your design work is second nature to you. It's your passion. Why do you have to spend hours holding meetings to convince these rich bastards to hire you? Your portfolio speaks for itself. I've told you a million times I can throw you a couple of clients that will keep you busy all year. No groveling necessary."
"I'm not groveling, and I rather book my own clients thank you very much."
Why does she have to make everything so difficult?
"What the hell for?" I gripe. "This business of yours is feeling too much like a job when it's supposed to be fun."
"I'm having loads of fun!"
"Well you seem to be the only fucking one."
"You're so spoiled. I swear. Why do I bother with you?”
Sloan tries to end the conversation by attempting to maneuver herself out of my grip, but she should know better. She can get up when I'm ready for her to get up.
"Obviously, I'm spoiled, darlin'. I'm a king."
"You're delusional."
"And hot."
"Puh-lease...and ridiculous."
"And the love of your life."
"Maybe,” she teases.
"Maybe?" I grab her left hand. "This ice on your finger definitely confirms that I am.”
"This?" she says indifferently.
Sloan stops trying to free herself from my grasp and holds her hand up to playfully glower at her engagement ring as if it's not much. It rubs me completely the wrong way, but I put faith in the fact that I know my girl.
"Yes– that." I playfully tickle her sides to lighten the mood.
"I hope that you realize that the size of this diamond is not some sort of accurate measure of our feelings, or our commitment for each other. It's just a ring."
I raise a curious eyebrow at that last statement.
Just a ring?
What the fuck is she talking about?
Sloan's poor choice of words seem to hang like a heavy funk in the air around us. We both are silent for what seems like an eternity, until I decide to diffuse the situation like I always do– with humor and sex.
"The size of this diamond might not be an indicator, but the volume of your orgasms are. You must love me lots, because they grow louder every time I'm inside of your pretty ass. Why don't we find out just how loud they can get right now?"
Then I pull out the big guns and tickle her under her arms.