Chloe's Last Night Escape
# The Last Night of a Good Girl Chloe’s leather slides made a soft, decisive sound against the polished hotel corridor floor. The air conditioning was a cool shock against her sun-warmed skin, a stark contrast to the low, warm buzz that ha
Chapter 1
Chloe’s leather slides made a soft, decisive sound against the polished hotel corridor floor. The air conditioning was a cool shock against her sun-warmed skin, a stark contrast to the low, warm buzz that had hummed in her veins since she left the shower. The oversized tee slipped off one shoulder, revealing the delicate strap of a lace bra that felt like a secret against her skin. The simple mini-skirt swished with each step, a whisper of possibility.
She’d told herself she was just going down to the hotel bar for one glass of wine. To sit in the buzz of strangers and feel anonymous for an hour. The anklet, a delicate chain of gold, brushed her shaved ankle with every movement.
The bar was dim, pulsing with a low bass beat. And then she saw him. He was leaning against the far end of the counter, a glass of something dark in his hand. He was tall, so tall he seemed to carve his own space in the room. His fitted black shirt stretched across a chest and shoulders that spoke of dedicated discipline, the sleeves taut around powerful biceps. His smile, when he caught her looking, was a flash of white in the gloom, disarming and boyish.
He moved with an easy grace, navigating the crowd until he was beside her. “You look like you’re plotting an escape,” he said, his voice a warm, rich baritone that vibrated right through her.
“Maybe I am,” Chloe heard herself say, the playful words foreign on her usually cautious tongue. She could feel the weight of her wedding band, a cool circle of gold, beneath the stack of bangles on her right hand.
His name was Marcus. His friend, Marcus, joined them moments later, a mirror of confident, athletic grace, his smile just as easy. The conversation flowed—light, teasing, charged with an undercurrent Chloe hadn’t felt in years. They complimented the intricate peacock feathers visible at the edge of her tee, traced only by their eyes. They noticed the small bird of paradise on her foot when she crossed her legs. Their attention was a tangible warmth, settling on her like sunlight.
When Marcus’s knee brushed hers under the low table, a jolt went straight to her core. Marcus’s laugh was a low rumble as he leaned in to hear her, his cologne a spicy, clean scent. The decision, when it came, wasn’t a decision at all. It was a gravitational pull.
“Our suite has a better view,” Marcus said, his gaze holding hers, no playful disguise left. It was a direct, hot challenge.
Chloe’s heart hammered against her ribs. She took a slow sip of her wine, the taste suddenly sharp and sweet. She set the glass down with a quiet *click*.
Without a word, she stood up. The leather slides, the swish of her skirt, the faint chime of her jewellery—it all felt like part of a ritual. She followed them, the eyes of the two devastatingly handsome strangers a physical pressure on her back, a promise that the buzzing in her veins was only the beginning.
Chapter 2
The door to the suite closed with a heavy, final thud. The room was vast, all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city’s glittering grid. The air felt charged, silent except for their breathing. Chloe stood just inside, her back against the cool wood, the delicate chime of her anklet the only sound as she shifted her weight.
Marcus moved first. He didn’t kiss her. Instead, he stepped close, his body a wall of heat, and his fingers found the hem of her oversized tee. “Lift your arms,” he murmured, his voice a low command that sparked straight to her core.
A shudder of pure want went through her. She obeyed, raising her arms, feeling the cotton slide up her torso. The cool air kissed her skin, and she was suddenly standing there in just her lace bra and the simple mini-skirt, her pixie-cut hair mussed. His eyes, dark and intent, roamed over her. He traced the edge of one peacock feather tattoo with a single, reverent fingertip, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing her spine.
“So fucking beautiful,” Marcus said from beside her. He hadn’t touched her yet, but his presence was a palpable warmth. He reached out and undid the clasp of her bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. His hands came up to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were tight, aching peaks. “Never had confidence?” he breathed against her ear, his voice laced with disbelief. “Look at you.”
Marcus dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding up her calves. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the bird of paradise on her foot, his tongue tracing the ink. Then his hands were on her hips, pushing the skirt down her thighs. It pooled around her ankles with her slides. She stepped out, utterly exposed except for the sheer, lace panties.
“On the bed,” Marcus said, rising. His six-pack flexed as he moved.
They guided her backwards until her knees hit the mattress. Marcus lay beside her, his mouth finding hers in a deep, consuming kiss as his hand slid down her stomach. Marcus positioned himself between her legs, his large hands spreading her thighs. Chloe gasped into Marcus’s mouth, her hips lifting off the sheets.
Marcus hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties and pulled them down, his breath hot against her. He looked up at her, his boyish smile gone, replaced by raw hunger. “So wet for us already,” he said, his voice rough. “All that shower thinking, huh?”
Then his mouth was on her, and Chloe cried out, her back arching. His tongue was a flat, demanding stroke against her clit, then delving deeper, tasting her with a greedy rhythm. Marcus’s fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, his other hand cradling her jaw, keeping her mouth on his. The dual sensations were overwhelming—the slick, focused heat between her legs and the possessive claim on her mouth. She was dissolving, a married mother of three disappearing into a whirlwind of sensation made just for her. Her hands fisted in the sheets, the stack of bangles on her wrist chiming softly with each tremble that wracked her body.
Chapter 3
The world narrowed to the hot, wet pull of Marcus’s mouth and the possessive crush of Marcus’s kiss. Chloe’s body was a live wire, arching off the bed, her fingers tangling in Marcus’s short curls. A high, desperate sound tore from her throat, swallowed by his lips. She was hurtling toward an edge, the coil in her belly tightening to a breaking point.
“Marcus,” Marcus growled, pulling his mouth from hers. “Let her breathe. Let her see.”
Marcus lifted his head, his mouth glistening. His hands slid from her thighs to her hips, lifting her effortlessly as he rose to his knees on the bed. Marcus shifted behind her, pulling her back against his solid chest, his arms banding around her waist so she was cradled, displayed.
Then Marcus stood before them, at the edge of the mattress. His hands went to the waistband of his trousers. The button popped, the zipper hissed down. He pushed the fabric away, and Chloe’s breath seized in her lungs.
She was in awe.
It was more than size, though the sheer, imposing length and thickness of him made her mouth go dry. It was the powerful, elegant shape of him, the dark, smooth skin stretched taut, the prominent veins tracing a map of pure male potency. It stood proud and heavy, a breathtaking contrast to the defined cut of his hips and the hard plane of his stomach. A soft, reverent “oh” escaped her lips, her gaze wide, unable to look away.
“You like that?” Marcus asked, his voice thick. He wrapped a large hand around himself, giving a slow, firm stroke. “All for you, Chloe. This pretty married girl.”
Marcus’s hands found her breasts again, squeezing, his lips on her neck. “Touch him,” he whispered into her skin. “You know you want to.”
Her arm felt weightless as she reached out. Her fingertips, with their perfect pink nails, brushed the hot, satin skin of his tip first. A drop of moisture beaded there. She traced down the rigid length, her small hand barely able to circle him. The feel of him—the heat, the iron-hardness beneath the velvet skin—sent a new, dizzying rush of wetness between her own legs. She looked up at Marcus, her shyness burned away by raw, hungry wonder.
He watched her, his jaw tight, his breathing ragged. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Get a good feel. Because soon, you’re going to get so much more.”
Chapter 4
Marcus guided her down onto her back in the center of the vast bed, the sheets cool against her heated skin. He positioned himself above her, his powerful frame caging her in. With a tenderness that belied his raw intensity, he nudged her thighs apart with his knee and settled between them.
The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, a blunt, hot pressure that made her gasp. He held himself there, his dark eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of sensation cross her face. Then, with a deliberate, excruciating slowness, he began to enter her.
Chloe cried out, her back arching off the mattress as he filled her, inch by breathtaking inch. The stretch was profound, a perfect, burning fullness that stole the air from her lungs. He sank deeper, his pace agonizingly slow, letting her feel every ridge and vein as he sheathed himself completely inside her.
Marcus knelt beside them on the bed, his hand stroking her hair back from her damp forehead. He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as Marcus began to move, drawing almost all the way out before pushing back in with that same torturous control.
“Look at you,” Marcus whispered, his voice a rough, heated breath against her skin. “Fuck, Chloe. Look how beautiful you are taking him. A married mom of three, spread out for us like a feast. Your pretty little bangles…” He caught her wrist, holding it up as Marcus thrust again, making the gold bracelets chime softly against each other. “They’re singing for us, baby. Every time he pushes into that tight, wet pussy, they make the prettiest sound.”
Marcus groaned above her, his rhythm deepening, each thrust a little harder, a little faster, spurred on by Marcus’s words. Chloe was lost in the sensation, the dual assault of Marcus moving inside her and Marcus’s filthy, adoring praise unraveling her last threads of inhibition. Her hips rose to meet each drive, her own soft cries harmonizing with the gentle, constant music of her jewelry.