Page 35 of Room Serviced
“You okay?” he asked, but she was already laughing. “Shit—sorry.”
“Probably not the best place,” she admitted, pushing herself back up. “Oh well.”
“There’s a bed,” Max offered, but she was already reaching back for him, guiding him in. “We could fuck like civilized people.”
Sloane rocked back, and Max watched his dick disappear inside her. It looked like a magic trick. It felt like a magic trick. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” she asked, and Max had an idea.
“Hear me out,” he said, and leaned over her back again, grinding in hard, listening to the way it made Sloane’s breathing go harsh and ragged. He wrapped an arm around her chest, braced himself as best he could, and pulled her up until he was kneeling and she was sitting on his dick.
“Fuck,” she said, tilting her head back. “Okay. Fuck.”
Max grabbed the corner of the bed and, somehow, managed to spin them both ninety degrees so Sloane could get a hand on the comforter. He was pretty sure he gave himself rugburn but couldn’t have cared less because now Sloane was pushing back against him, gravity doing its job as she rolled her hips and he thrust up, shallowly, then harder.
It took a minute to get the angles and the rhythm right, a minute where Max felt like he might actually fucking die, but then he grabbed her hips and pulled her where he wanted her and she said Oh fuck do that fucking again, fuck, and Max did.
Thirty seconds later, he got his fingers on her clit, his mouth on the back of her neck, and she came in shuddering waves, one hand clenched in the comforter, forehead leaning against it. Max fucked her through it and then followed her over, breathless and sweating and practically boneless with relief.
“Sorry about the suitcase,” he said when he could think again.
“I could have moved,” she mumbled.
“But that would have taken time, and you were on your hands and knees, begging for it,” Max pointed out, but he squeezed her hip and kissed the knob of her neck as he did so.
“I wouldn’t say I was begging,” Sloane said, and rested her head on her forearms to look over her shoulder.
She wasn’t moving yet, still warm and solid and on his dick, so he kissed her shoulder blade. “No?”
“I think I was making some very reasonable requests,” she said. “Given the circumstances.”
Max’s knees were beginning to complain, so he sighed and gently bit the spot where her neck met her shoulder and then rested his chin there.
“I can agree on reasonable requests,” he said, and that got a smile out of her. “Speaking of which, we gotta get up.”
Sloane cleaned herself up first. When Max finished in the bathroom, she was on her laptop, wearing panties and a tank top without a bra. Using his incredible skills of deduction, Max figured that they were probably going to fuck again later and didn’t bother putting a shirt on while he retrieved his laptop from his own room.
“I’ve decided the mystery writing on the walls is actually mystery scribbling and have moved on to figuring out how to tell if someone’s summoned a demon recently,” she said. As pillow talk, Max thought it was pretty good.
“I think the presence of a demon is usually a pretty big clue in those cases,” he said, pushing some pillows against the headboard and then sitting against them. “You know, red beings, big horns?”
“Oh, is that what they are? I thought those were weird cows.”
“Now you know.”
“Did you smell any brimstone last night?” she asked, rolling onto her side. “Or see any footprints, hear any unexplained shrieking, or feel any compulsions to do evil?”
Max tried to look her in the eye and looked at a nipple, visible through the tank top, instead. “Does fornicating count?”
Sloane scrunched her nose in thought, her chin leaning on one hand, the other scrolling something on her laptop. “I think that’s a sin, but I’m not sure it’s evil.”
“I thought sinning was evil.”
Sloane frowned at the distance for a minute, then shrugged. “Above my pay grade,” she said. “Demons will totally make you sin, though. According to modern demonology dot net.”
Of all the supernatural creatures, Max probably believed in demons the least. Like, if one popped up with horns and superpowers and started causing havoc, he’d probably believe it, but until then, not so much.
“That reminds me,” he said, opening up a video file on his laptop. “Guess what I found in the attic last night while I was recording.”
“Another pentagram,” she said immediately. “More laundry symbols. More currency symbols? A skull. Two skulls. A locked book of evil spells with a mouth on the front.”
