Page 68 of Colton's Last Resort

“That.”

Chapter 13

The room was dark. The sheets were blue. Their skin was damp and bare. She clung to him. Afraid she’d see all the dark and treacherous ridges of his desire, he touched her gently, feathering his hands in and out of her curves.

She rained kisses over him as she braced her hands on either side of him. “It’s your turn to tell me.”

“What?” Indulgent, he blindly traced the raised surface of a mole on her navel.

“How you like to be touched.”

He chuckled, then stopped swiftly when she closed her mouth over his nipple. It tautened and grew pebbly. The skin at the small of his back drew up tight and goose bumps took over. She would drive him over the edge.

He rolled over her, pinning her to the sheet. Taking her hand, he moved it between them.

Her gaze didn’t stray from his in the dark as he showed her how to stroke him. How to drive him over the edge—a firm-handed hold, a deep-seated stroke, slow to start, then quickening.

She kissed him as he let her take control, curling his hand into the sheet. He breathed hot against her mouth.

“More,” she told him.

Something like a growl leaped from his throat as he took her wrist. Taking her hand away, he turned it up against the pillow over her head. “Not yet.” He thought about his wallet on the pool deck. Out in the cold. “Damn it.”

She pointed to the nightstand. “Top drawer.”

Turning her loose for a second, he pulled out the drawer. Relief whistled out of him. “Were you a Boy Scout, Pearl? Because you prepare like one.” He tore the corner off the wrapper with his teeth.

She snatched it from him, then shoved his hands away when he tried to fight her for it. “Lay still, hard-ass,” she said none-too-gently.

Not only did he obey. He laughed deeply and fully. Then choked when she took her time rolling the condom into place, drawing out his needs. Her eyes glowed at him in the dark, watchful.

“I’m not sorry you’re not a hero,” she told him. “Or a prince.”

“That’s good,” he said helplessly. He tugged her back to him when she was done. Then he flipped their positions, so she was beneath him. He turned her knee outward with his. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, like all those other bastards.”

He slid home. Her nails dug into the bed of his shoulder blades. They scraped as he took her through the first glide.

It wasn’t soft. When she bit her lip, he wondered if he should be.

She has silk sheets, you meatball, he thought.Of course she wants it soft.

She sighed, tracing the line of his vertebrae with her fingertips. “Then don’t stop.”

He lost himself and didn’t look back.

She was perfect. The way she held on. The way she met him stroke for stroke. The way she pressed her heels to the bed and said his name. He forgot why they shouldn’t be together as she pulsed around him and her fingers found his, clinging.

Raising them above both their heads, he wove them together like a basket. He took her mouth as he tripped toward the edge and flung himself over like a man on fire.

He fell hard, tumbled end over end and face-planted.

Had that coming, he thought. The landing wasn’t any softer or safer than their lovemaking. He lay panting, wreathed in sweat, tuning in slowly to the brush of her fingers through his hair.

“Noah?” she said, muted.

“Hmm?” he managed.

“Are you all right?”

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