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Everything from last night flashes in my mind. Him standing between my thighs. The incredible burn the first time he pushed into me.
The grip of his hands on my thighs. The slide of his tongue over my skin. The feel of his cock in me. Drowning in pleasure like I’ve never felt before.
“If you’re going to be thrown to the wolves, at least pretend you know how to howl.
Sitting on the opposite side of the conference table from where we stand is the man who was wrapped around me—was in me, was on me—last night.
Oh. Fuck. This can’t be happening. There are three of them. Identical triplets. All three stunningly handsome. All three staring directly at me. And I swear to God, I have no idea whose scent is still in my nose and whose taste is still on my tongue.
The snapshots are like a reel in my head. A reel I can’t stop. I’m aroused. Confused. Dumbfounded. So fucking screwed.
Snap out of it. Act normal. Act like one of these men didn’t ruin you for other men.
“All good things in life should scare you a little. That’s how you know you’re really living.”
I read once that women leave relationships emotionally way before they leave physically. And I just proved that theory.
Him, as in the devastatingly handsome—devastating everything—man who is standing a few feet from me.
He has dark lashes, a strong jaw, and a mouth that I already know was made for sin.
I’m not sure if it’s the dim lights of the club or just him in general, but he gives off a vibe that makes me want to step closer and see if it’s real.
For fuck’s sake, why is his arrogance so sexy? Why does his stoic expression and those words falling from his lips do things to my insides?
“Everyone begs. When it’s good enough . . . you beg.” “Smooth. I bet you get all the girls with lines like that.”
I study this man who makes me feel uncomfortable in all the best kinds of ways.
“You sure think highly of yourself.” “It’s not my fault women aren’t looked after properly. I mean, if a man can’t find his way around a woman’s body . . . is he even a man?”
Shoving the door open, I welcome the sudden silence, the cool air on my face, and the immediate distance between me and a man who flusters me in ways I’ve never experienced.
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.
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.
“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?”
“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.”
And of course, someone as gorgeous as him would have to have a perfect dick. Thick and hard and Jesus . . . he was right. Some things are worth begging for. And that is one of them.
I obey. God, I never thought I’d say those words in my entire life, but I fucking obey. And I do so with more eagerness than I’ve showed for something in a long time.
It’s amazing what desperation will do. To want something so damn strong you’ll do things you swore you’d never do. Like obeying a man you just met. But I do it. I move to the bed, lie down, and spread my thighs.
Of his lips on me. Of his hands touching me. Of the way he looks at me.
The man is gorgeous. Simply put. From his eyes to his hair to his body to his cock. He’s a damn Adonis, and all I can fathom as I lie here with a goofy grin on my face in my post orgasmic haze is that it’s a travesty I almost denied myself this.
“I’m big.” He gives a shameless but arrogant shrug. “This will help open the back of your throat up so you can take more of me in.” Well, holy hell. I think I just came again from those words alone.
He licks a line up the length of my neck and I swear to everything holy, my body aches for him to never stop touching me. It burns in places I never knew could burn. My nipples. My mouth. My pussy. My skin.
To have a man in control but who’s not controlling. One whose demands are only to bring me pleasure. To only make me want more.
I’m on sensation overload.
Each one is a new experience. Each one something I focus on and drown in simultaneously.
“You are incredible and I’m going to need to have you again.”
And practical, dependable, colors-insides-the-lines Sutton Pierce literally just had her brains fucked out by a man—perfection in the male form—without a single regret.
There are things you say during a one-night stand. Admissions you make. Liberties you take. Inhibitions you forget. And all of those are done with the presumption that you never plan on seeing that person again. Ever.
Collins—er, Sutton—the woman with the sweet pussy and incredible ass that I had to drag myself away from this morning, really was just sitting across from me.
It’s normal to want her again after not having her for a few hours, right? Because the sex was that good, I’d go again right now if I could. The fact I sent her Starbucks says enough right there.
I don’t ever look back when I leave after a one-night stand. Ever. But I looked back. I ordered her damn coffee with her name on the cup because I wanted her to know I remembered. And now look where that got me?
This was our dad’s. He built it from the ground up and as much as world domination isn’t in my blood like it is in theirs, I can’t walk away just yet. This is the only piece of him I have left. How dare they use it as an ultimatum?
And when I’m done, I’ll walk away from this fucking company and live the life my dad never got to because he was so busy working. I refuse to allow Sharpe International to own me. I refuse to allow anyone to own me.
It’s fucking cruel to her. Keeping her wondering, guessing if I’m him. Johnnie Walker. But isn’t that the best for both of us? If she doesn’t know then it’s cleaner that way. Her feelings can’t be hurt. Things will have to remain platonic.
But how do you keep your hands off the best sex of your life? There. I said it. She was. It was. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it or her since I walked out of the suite that morning.
She wouldn’t have known who I was if we’d never met again, so why should it be any different now? The problem is me. I want her again.
I see a lot of jerking off in my future.
I’ve never had this problem before. The urge to have seconds. The need to have more. Or even the want to.
Sutton Pierce. Jesus Christ. The woman is stunning. There’s no other way to describe her other than absolutely stunning.
All this talk about I won’t be sleeping with him because he’s my boss and at the first affirmation that Callahan is in fact him, my mind immediately goes to his many . . . um, skills.
She taunted me. Sat there and fucking taunted me with her bullshit comments about how one should experience other Sharpes and see which one fits the best.
You promised that you wouldn’t, Callahan. The woman has moxie, that’s for sure. And why is it such a turn-on? Fuck me and my promises.
The woman is definitely something else. Doing something that most can’t—push my buttons.
I kept the promise for twenty-four hours. That’s longer than most attempts. At least I’m making progress. Hell, if I’m going to be accused of being the black sheep, I might as well earn the title.
