The Resistance(19)

“Regrets? Sure I have them, but doesn’t everyone. I don’t think I’d change anything if I could though. Some things are meant to be. You just don’t find out until much later.” ~Johnny Outlaw





It’s amazing what bacon can do. It actually makes me forget how mad I am at Dalton. I owe him a thank you. The man did send me breakfast, after all.

After slipping on jeans, a T-shirt, and flip flops, I tuck my room key into my back pocket. I grab the cart of food and wheel it down the hall, down the elevators, through the casino, and up another elevator to the podium where the guard stands protecting his set of guest elevators. I stop in front of the security guard. “I want to deliver this to Jack Dalton’s room.”

Scrolling down his screen, he looks back up and asks, “Name?”

“Holliday Hughes.”

“You’re cleared. Go ahead.” He follows me to the elevator. When it opens, he sticks his keycard in the slot and presses the penthouse button. “Have a nice day.”

The doors close, reopening on the penthouse floor. I continue my journey and push the cart of food to his room. With a solid knock on his door, I hold my breath. I’m trying not to freak out from the anxiety of being back here and the possibilities of what might happen once I walk into that suite again. I see the peephole go dark and then hear the bolts undone. The door swings wide and Dalton smiles. “I didn’t order room service.”

Leaning my head to the side, I return his smile, and ask, “You sure about that?” I start to pull the cart backwards, teasing him. “I can take this away if you’re not interested.” I shrug for emphasis.

“Oh, I’m interested alright. I’m very interested. Now get in here.” He pulls the cart through the door and I follow him inside. The door shuts and he pins me against it, his arms trapping me, his lips just a quick breath away from mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Will you forgive me?”

“No sorries, remember?” His hand leaves the door and slides into my hair, tilting my chin up. His lips touch mine, feather light. No kiss, just breaths exchanged; my chest rising against his with each taken, falling away when released.

I react with a shiver, pressing my hands hard against the door to keep from ripping his clothes from his body and ravaging him. I silently count to ten to calm myself.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten…

In a flurry of frenzied desire, my arms wrap around his neck, my legs around his waist, and my lips smother his instantly. Pushing forward, he presses his body against mine, my back slamming against the door with a loud thud. His hands hold me by the ass, my body still wrapped around his, and he turns. Maneuvering to the couch, he drops me down and strips his shirt off. I do the same, dropping mine to the floor.

Crawling over the arm of the couch, he pushes my knees apart and settles between my legs, his erection pressing against me. Looking down at my body and back up to my face, he says, “I don’t know why you insist on wearing bras. Your tits are too fantastic to keep hidden from view.”

I giggle. “You want me to show my tits off in public and get arrested?”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he thrusts hard between my legs and replies, “I’m feeling quite possessive over your tits actually. So let’s agree that they’re not for public consumption. They’re only for me.”

“Only for you,” I repeat, lifting up enough to unfasten the clasp and take my bra off.

Dropping lower, his bare chest slides against mine, the heat magnified when he kisses me hard, taking my breath away along with any willpower to say no. Our feet hang off the end of the couch, my knees still draped over the arm, but he still manages to balance on top of me.

Dalton’s hips begin to move, deliberate thrusts hit me just right and I pull back to take in air. The feeling overwhelms when his hands squeeze my breasts as his mouth tastes my neck. I begin moving, needing, wanting, craving the sensation that’s building. Holding him tightly to me, I move with him, against him, despite him, because of him. I do everything to keep this feeling alive and growing inside. “God, please,” I beg for more.

We lose time to kisses and strokes, thrusts, and moans. Thrusts go from gentle and rocking to harder and erratic, uneven like his breath in my ear. “I’m so close.” His voice is just a murmur.

“Close. So close,” I say, encouraging him to keep going, to keep creating the magic between us.

“Shit!” His words are harsh, but his hands are gentle while kneading my breasts. His grip tightens and he pushes three times.