Fatal Burn (West Coast 2) - Page 154

Angrily she flung her favorite sneakers through the open space and heard them clunk somewhere near the front door.

“Underwear.”

“No…Wait.”

“Underwear!”

“But I—”

She heard his rifle cock.

“Take off everything or I’ll come in there and do it for you.”

Sick pervert.

Humiliated, silently swearing she’d kill him if she ever got the chance, she stripped from her bra and panties and hurled them through the small space between the door and its jamb.

A second later, she retreated to the relative safety of her cot and pulled the dirty blanket over her.

The door slammed shut.

The latch clicked.

Locked in again, but she still had the nail.

She heard him in the other room, moving about. Probably getting ready for his sick ritual, but she didn’t dare look at him through the crack today, didn’t want him to catch her watching, felt awkward and mortified that he might see her nakedness. So she lay in the bed, exhaustion taking its toll. She started to fall asleep.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The entire building shook.

For a second she didn’t know what he was doing and then it hit her. He was hammering. Against her door. No doubt nailing a crosspiece between the walls and door.

Making certain she was sealed inside this hot, airless jail.

Chapter 28

Travis opened an eye.

Sunlight was streaming into the room.

Shannon was nestled against him, her naked body cupped by his, her gorgeous rump pressed firmly against the juncture of his legs. He remembered making love to her, the desperation of the act, the release, the rapture of it. Sex had been what they’d both needed. He wrapped an arm over her and kissed her nape. She smiled and let out a soft, contented sigh.

The smell of her was all around and though he knew he should get up, that he had to face the day, the sight of her beside him, sunlight playing in the fiery strands of her hair, her breasts full and unbound, was more than he could resist. He traced the edge of one areola with his finger and she sighed, the nipple puckering expectantly.

His damned cock was already hard at the sight of her; the pressure of her buttocks so near, made it ache for want of release. He toyed with her nipple and she smiled.

“Watch it, cowboy. Don’t start what you can’t finish,” she said groggily and he was undone.

He leaned over, found her lips and kissed her with a heat he hadn’t felt since he was a horny teenager.

Slowly her eyelids raised, exposing intelligent, verdant irises that dared him to keep at it. “Feelin’ randy?” she asked.

“Very.”

One reddish eyebrow arched and he gently squeezed her nipple, watching as her pupil sharpened. “Do you always wake up this way?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and she laughed, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him as if he were the last man on earth. His body responded and they wrestled on the rumpled bedclothes, arms and legs entwined, breathing labored, lips exploring and tasting, pressure building. When he could stand the teasing no longer, he entered her with a long, hard thrust.

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
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