Page 12 of Resist
“I like to flirt, there’s no harm in telling someone I think they’re attractive.” I pick up her arm. “Even if they’re wearing a stop sign on their body.”
“Pretty sure I’m in this damn catsuit until I die.” She wiggles her hips. “It’s riding up places latex should never be.”
“I could be a gentleman and help you with that.”
“You could, if you wanted to lose a nut.”
That makes me grin, I like her fire, her confidence, and the way she’s not afraid to speak out.
I can’t forget what happened to Mom forever, but maybe, with Cecelia’s help, I can forget for tonight.
CHAPTER 4
Cora
All thoughtsof leaving the club dissipated when Sterling stuck his hand out to shake mine. I figured if I have to spend the next hour or so in close proximity to that intoxicating smell with a pulsing pussy driving me insane, then I’ll take one for the team so Phoenix doesn’t shove me in a private room with a rando.
She totally would, too.
Something about the smolder in Sterling’s eyes has me imagining being shoved in a private room with him, but I’m not here to have sex.
No.
I’m not.
No matter how loud the alarm in my stupid catsuit is.
I mean, I could make it look like an accident. Oopsie, I tripped over my own feet and the zipper on my very suggestive catsuit opened revealing my super slick lady flaps.
Ugh.
Not sexy, Cora. Not sexy at all.
Cora. Cecelia. Foxy’s going to grill me when we next talk. But for tonight, I want to be just another girl. I don’t want tobe Cora Blackwell, heiress to Blackwell Publishing, recent orphan, and neck-deep in patriarchal, red-tape bullshit her father probably thought was cute.
“Are we going to stay in the corridor all night? Or do you want to go in?” Sterling’s silken voice skims my skin, making me want to brush my hair to one side so his words can dance along more of my body.
“We can go in.” I’m not sure I can stand in a viewing room watching someone having sex beyond the glass with a man so enchanting as Sterling. I know it’s lust, a feral, base attraction. I don’t know anything about this man other than the fact that he works with my friend at a sex club.
Aaaaand I want him to take my clothes off and fuck me against the glass.
Wait. What?
I shove that not-so-quiet voice down in the back of my mind. Or try to. My libido has woken up solely because I stepped through the doors of Protocol. If Sterling hadn’t been here, it would have been someone else I’d have sexually-imprinted on like some weird horny werewolf. Yup, that’s it. It’s desperation making me want him, not design.
He opens the door for me, and I step inside, there are a couple of people milling around watching what’s going on behind the glass. There’s a tall, dark, and impressively handsome man through the glass with a beautiful, curvy blonde woman spread out and bound to a wooden table by her hands and feet.
The man is pouring melted purple wax from a small silver jug onto her tits. It’s kind of genius. There’s a candle inside the jug, a little flame flickers when he moves his hand, and it melts the wax so he can drip it wherever he wants.
I’ve never tried wax play before, but from the delectable way she shudders when the wax lands on her sensitive skin, I might be convinced to give it a try.
As the wax drips onto the woman’s creamy, naked flesh, I heave out a sigh before pinching the bridge of my nose. I wish there was a way for us to put down our stress for a little while, like a box at the door to put it into. I’d pick it back up on my way out of the building, I wouldn’t leave it for someone else to handle, but fuck me pink and call me Rosy, I’d give anything to unknot the tension in my shoulders and step out of my own skin right now. Just for a short time.
It’s the same reason I told Sterling my name was Cecelia.
For just a beat, I get to choose whoever I want to be. I get to be someone else.
I don’t have to be the woman whose father just died.