Page 94 of Last Resort

We move in a slow, luxurious sync. Our hips grinding, our tongues tangling, and our bodies slowly whirling in the eddy of pleasure together.

He lets me control the pace. A deepening of the kiss as I rise and then slowly lower myself back down onto his cock. I grind my hips, letting him feel how wet he’s made me. Letting him know how much he turns me on.

He palms both cheeks of my ass and then guides me back up again. I tighten my muscles almost as if my body is desperate for us not to part. His groan at the sensation is sensual foreplay. It’s a sexy rumble that turns into a growled sigh when I seat myself back down on him once again.

We move like this for some time. There are no words. No whispered promises. Just him needing and me wanting.

I feel like I can’t get enough of his touch. Of his taste. Of his soft groans that wash over me. Of the ecstasy when he slides in and out of me.

I just want him. More of him. All of him. Endless amounts of him.

There is no hurry as our bodies climb and then crash over the edge. His guttural groan as I pulse around him and he empties himself in me.

And when we follow each other to his bed afterwards, we know that without uttering a single word, things have irrevocably changed between us.

Making love a second time only cements that. The way he worships my body and caters to my pleasure leaves me at a further loss for words.

And when I fall asleep, curled up against him in the early hours of the morning, there is only one constant stream of thought.

Regret.

That I waited this long to do this with him.

That our time is limited.

That . . . I’ve fallen for him when I know there’s no future.

That we have an expiration date.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Sutton

“Stay in bed,” Callahan murmurs against the top of my head when I startle awake.

“It’s early. Where are—”

“I’m going to drive my brother to the airport.” A soft kiss on my lips. “When I come back, I want to find you in exactly the same place as you are right now.”

“Callahan.” I sit up and stare at his silhouette in the open doorway. He turns to look at me with a soft smile. His hair is wet and wavy from the shower.

He nods ever so slightly, almost as if to tell me, yes, he is coming back.

And even though I know he is, I stay staring at the empty doorway long after I hear the front door shut.

I put my fingers to my lips as if I can still feel his kiss. But I don’t need to touch them to feel it.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Or him.

With a sigh, I flop back on the bed and wrap sheets that smell like him around me.

You get one hour to feel sorry for yourself, Sutton. One hour to be angry at yourself for waiting so long to let this happen. One hour to cry about what’s never going to be.

You knew this going in to whatever this is.

You knew he wasn’t staying.

You knew he wasn’t a keeper.