Page 26 of Last Destination

“Thank you, Madman,” I whispered into the darkness, letting the dregs of sleep take me under and away from my plight.

I’d run in many kink circles as the rogue bi boy in London, but never had I been edged to the degree Marley and Madman’s muffled groans and slaps of skin had done to me last night.

Gray skies and buzzing flies greeted me after a mere few hours of sleep, but it was the generous collection of blood in my cock that made itself known the moment I opened my eyes, the pain in my shorts bordering on unbearable. As much as I enjoyed an audience, finishing myself with Tessa and Jamie in attendance was a low I couldn’t stoop to, no matter how aroused. I laid on the hard ground next to Ambrose in the first few glimmers of dawn and cursed every corner of the universe for the loaded gun between my legs with no avenue to pull the trigger.

Insomnia had claimed me since the flood, each night bringing a battle of wit and will against my restlessness, which appeared to be winning. I’d remained on watch — whatever I was watching in the pitch black with only one working lens was truly the question — when I’d caught wind of Marley and Madman’s murmured words and hitched breaths. It took every ounce of pride not to release my dick from its confines right then and orgasm alongside them.

But last night hadn’t been about me, as much as I’d have begged to see the spectacle instead of the audio experience with poor sound quality. Marley had needed Madman, and, in spite of his standoffish stoicism, it was clear he’d needed her, too.

The snake attack had made us all wary of our own shadows, and the hyper-vigilance without coping mechanisms was wearing down every sane atom in my brain. His need to protect had driven him to her body for comfort, and I couldn’t blame him — I had precisely the same thought after my near drowning. Nothing else mattered but the feel of her in my arms, safe, warm, and mine.

I’d never seen monogamy as a construct I’d enter into. With Marley as the center of our universe in this jungle, her connection with Madman and Ambrose seemed as natural as her connection with me. As long as she considered me hers, I took no issue with the others claiming her as theirs.

Which was currently very noble of me, but damned inconvenient when another man was cuddling her on the other side of Ambrose.

The other temptation in our midst was the delightful little package of powder innocently tucked in Madman’s bag. Cocaine had never been my brand of indulgence, but begging men could not choose. My chest had housed a feral hummingbird since my last drink, and a tiny line certainly wouldn’t push me over the edge. Quite the opposite, I’d wager.

My skin was itching — literally — for reprieve, to the point I was certain it was not a matter of if, but when. The cling film square had already been opened at one corner. Surely, no one would notice a thumbnail’s worth go missing?

Saliva filled my mouth in anticipation of the pinprick sparks of respite that would flood through my veins the moment I took a small sniff. A warm glow swept through my body like I’d already inhaled a hit. Could I unzip the backpack without anyone noticing?

Ambrose shifted beside me, then rose to his feet. Cracking one eye open, I admired his retreating backside as it marched with purpose toward the spot we’d dedicated for toiletries. He released a quiet groan, stretching his arms upward before he disappeared from view.

His actions distracted me from my secret substance pining. I would never understand morning people. How did one just rise from bed without needing to give themselves a sordid pep talk and bribe themselves with at least three treats? Their instant energy was as baffling to me as men who couldn’t get a woman to orgasm.

No more orgasm talk, Nikki. Stop. It.

My eyes flew open as I considered the male form standing just feet away. He blushed every time I licked my lips or shot him my most flirtatious grin. Ambrose Park was most certainly interested in what I had to offer — expressed curiosity, at least. What better time to gift him the opportunity of sexual exploration before we took on the most dangerous task of our lives?

I’d lived my life in pursuit of dopamine in any form, and fucking Ambrose would truly be the smallest hardship.

Channeling my inner Sherlock, I stealthily pushed upward, careful to keep my motions near-silent. Waking anyone before I made my move meant I’d have to carry a sword in my shorts the whole duration of our day. I’d only wish such a sentence on my childhood bully, who’d also fucked me in a closet long before he came out of it.

I rounded the corner just in time to catch my sexy, uptight techie five paces away, shaking his sizable dick, the other hand holding out the waist of his trousers. His eyes widened when his gaze crossed mine, honey irises trailing down my bare arms like a slow waterfall and landing on the perfectly pitched tent at my crotch.

My lips twitched at his attention. His stare fixated on exactly what I wanted him to see. “Every time I catch you alone, you’re leaking.”

As if I were a film director and he were my star on the main stage, his cheeks flushed a delicate pink on cue. Fuck me, unraveling him was a delectable experience.

“Fuck off, Nikki,” my movie star grumbled, shifting his body to hide his erection from view. But oh, I’d seen it. If just the sight of my clothed cock was enough to get him hard, how quickly could I make him come?

How I loved a good challenge.

His shoulder brushed mine when he attempted to pass me, but halted immediately like a good boy when I placed a hand across his chest. Turning my head, my lips hovered just above the shell of his ear. I whispered the words in a practiced, seductive purr.

“Do you really want to walk away now, baby?”

My hand delicately slid along the hard planes of his pecs and over the ridged lines of his abs, resting my fingers against the waistband of his khakis. His spine stiffened to attention at the same time as his cock, his pelvis tilting ever so slightly to drop my fingers lower.

“No.” Pink cheeks were now replaced with rose red, my favorite color of seduction. Hooking one finger into a belt loop, I pressed him just a bit further.

“No, what, baby? I’m afraid I need to hear the words.”

Would he rise to my challenge or walk away? I was certain I hadn’t misread his interest, but interest and intent were two very different things.

Each beat of my heart was an aggressive metronome, counting down the seconds to deliverance or rejection. I was hornier than a dragon, but he wasn’t just a convenient hole — not entirely. I wanted this. I wanted him. I’d known from the moment I’d laid eyes on the pedantic asshole he was precisely my type, and when that ginormous brain of his saved Marley not once, but twice? It had cinched it.

Intelligent men with dicks the size of their brains were my kryptonite. Had our roles been reversed at this moment, I’d be helpless to say no.