Page 147 of To Catch a Sub

He’d assumed they were done, but she’d asked for one more round, and wanted something specific.

That was when the dread had settled in her stomach, because while last night the marathon of fucking had been the result of all that pent up sexual chemistry between them, today felt desperate, as if she were trying to fill a silo full to the top.

Unable to find what she wanted in the playroom, they went out onto the club floor. There was one leather armchair that was just the right size. He sat and she straddled him, her knees and lower legs wedged between his thighs and the padded arms.

This time sex had been slow but merciless. He put a brutally large plug in her recently fucked ass, and peppered her body with sharp blows from a mini crop.

And while she rode his cock as he abused her sweet body, their lips stayed close. If they weren’t actively kissing, they were sharing each breath.

He’d never kissed someone that much while actively having sex, and it was unexpectedly intimate. At one point both Rolf and Andrei had walked past, but neither he nor Colette cared.

There’d been something different about her during that last interlude. She’d seemed sad both during and after. It wasn’t until—after some cuddling aftercare—Colette went to her room to “take a nap” that Landon’s dread crystalized into the understanding that she’d just said goodbye.

That’s how he’d come to be standing on the small balcony, an earpiece in so he could communicate with Andrei and Rolf, who were positioned in the hall downstairs and outside on the sidewalk respectively.

“Novak’s a zealot,” Andrei said. “It’s smart of her not to trust him. I’d run too.”

“I’m not asking her to trust him,” Landon snarled softly.

He was going to say more, but the faint sound of the door to the playroom opening filtered in.

He pressed himself against the brick wall, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

A second later the balcony door opened.

Colette ducked out from under the heavy curtain. She wore leggings, a tight tank top, and a leather jacket. A small pack was strapped to her back.

She held a coil of rope in one hand.

Fuck.

She froze when she spotted him, her face an unreadable mask. Landon pushed away from the wall and reached for the rope. She jerked it back.

“Colette, don’t do this. Don’t run.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t. Novak is an idiot, but he’s taken care of.”

“Maybe, but what if someone changes their mind and agrees with him? Or what if he’s angry enough that he deliberately slows down his investigation?” Colette’s cheeks were flushed. “How long can we hide here? What if the investigation takes months? Am I going to spend the rest of my life locked up in this club?”

Her questioned hammered at him. She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t wondered himself, but she was hurling them like accusations.

“It’s only been a few days. It’s going to take time.”

“And what happens when your boss makes you go back to Manchester?”

“You’ll stay here,” he said stubbornly. “I come back to London every few weeks for my turn as Dom in residence.”

“And I’m supposed to wait for you?”

“Yes, you fucking well are.”

“Landon—”

“You fucked me, let me fuck you, knowing you were going to run away.”

“Yes.”