Page 13 of Last Resort

I’m a few steps down the alley toward the front entrance of Club Coquette when the door is shoved open behind me. “Collins.” I turn to see him standing there, framed in the light of the door closing at his back while goosebumps chase over my skin. “Don’t go.”

My bravado returns as he closes the distance and stops right in front of me. “I thought you didn’t beg,” I say.

He emits the sexiest groan before he pushes me against the wall at my back and takes the kiss he’s been working for all night.

And holy hell can this man kiss.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sutton

Nine Hours Ago

My body burns—every muscle, every nerve ending, every inch of my skin—as our mouths brand and tongues taste and teeth nip. If I thought our kisses in the club’s alley and then in the backseat of our taxi to his impressive suite at The Mark were incredible, I was severely underestimating the talent of this man.

And I’m definitely not complaining.

But now as his hands slide down to cup my ass while we stumble our way into his suite, all I can think about is how I want more. Him naked. Him filling me. Him fucking me.

Desire this intense is completely new to me, and I plan to revel in every damn second of it.

Alcohol and the lack of inhibition it brings me is more than welcome as we discard our clothes in a flurry of movements. My dress. His shirt. My bra. His pants. Each one kicked or thrown aside without thought as our lips continue to find one another’s and our hands begin to explore.

My hands immediately go to his strong shoulders, run down abs I can’t see in the dim light but can feel ridge after ridge of. Impatient, I slip my hand beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs where his more than impressive bulge is all but testing the integrity of its fabric. He’s warm and hard and thick and the feel of him only makes the ache to have him even sweeter.

He dips down and out of reach so that his mouth can languish on my breast. My hands, desperate to have a purpose, thread through his hair. His tongue circles my nipple before his lips close over it and he sucks. The soft moan that is low in my throat becomes strangled as his hand finds its way beneath the waistband of my panties. His fingers part me, sliding between the slick flesh he finds there, and his groan melds with my quick intake of air.

“All this for me?” he murmurs against my skin as he laces open-mouthed kisses back up to the curve of my neck. I don’t speak, can’t, because my focus is on the feel of his hair between my fingers, the warmth of his breath on my neck, and the utter bliss as he lifts my foot onto a nearby chair before tucking a finger into me.

My breath catches and my knees become pliant as he slides that finger back out and up to my clit. He gently rubs over the bundle of nerves there so that I’m practically pushing my pussy into his hand to do more, to make me feel more. With each addition of friction, sensations ignite fireworks within my core.

His mouth finds mine again. “You didn’t answer me, Collins,” he murmurs between kisses. “I asked you if this is all for me.”

My brain is trying to fire but it’s so focused on his fingers. How they slide back between my seam. How they push into me and hit exactly where they need to hit inside me.

I’m shocked into the now when Johnnie fists his hand in my hair and pulls my head back. My mouth falls open and my neck is exposed as I’m forced to look into those amber eyes that are inches from mine.

“Your ex may have allowed you to be silent, but that’s because he was a selfish prick. I want to hear you say what you want. I want to know I’m making you feel how you want to feel. I want the neighbors on either side of these walls to call the front desk because you’re screaming so loud one minute and begging me for more the next. Is that understood?” The dark promise of his words feels like a rumble through my body. A finger flipping a light switch on. A tremor of adrenaline-laced desire.

His hold on my hair prevents me from looking away like I normally would. There is no room to be shy. No space to back away and collect myself. There is only the ragged rasp of my breath and the slick sound of my arousal as his fingers continue to work their way so casually in and out of me. It’s as if he owns me.

I have never been more turned on in my life.

“The woman in Coquette had no problem firing a quick comeback and telling me what she thought of me. Was that confidence all a show?” He twists his fingers tighter in my hair, adding the tiniest bit of pain. His eyebrow raises, a silent challenge to see if I’m as mouthy here as I was in the bar. “Now tell me, Collins, what is it that you want?”

My breath shudders as my body edges closer to that high, his words only spurring my arousal on.

I’ve never been spoken to like this. I’ve never been asked, demanded, coaxed—whatever you want to call it—to express what I want in bed. It had always been Clint’s needs that came first. It had always been me feeling so dissatisfied. Frustrated. Wanting.

And it’s both heady and empowering to be spoken to this way. To be asked to voice what I want.

I’ll never see this man again. Hell, we don’t even know each other’s names . . . so isn’t this my chance to just go for it? To wear the shoes of whoever this woman I’m being tonight and enjoy the ride?

Pun intended.

So I take a slow, fortifying breath, my eyes meeting his stare for stare, and say something I’ve never uttered in my entire life. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me feel. I want you to make me come.”

His fingers still inside me as his approving chuckle rumbles through the room. “There she is,” he croons as a smile curves his lips. “I love a woman who knows what she wants.” He presses a teasing kiss to my lips and then whispers, “But you have to earn my cock first, Collins.”