Nauti Temptress (Nauti Girls 1)

But she wasn’t alone.

Brogan flew beside her, his spirit wrapping around her, infusing her, holding her secure in a world of blinding, overwhelming ecstasy.

She was crying. She could feel it, sense her own tears as the exploding pleasure threw them higher, harder, and bound her closer to the man leading her through each chaotic storm of rapture that tore through her.

The feel of his release spurting against the naked nerve endings inside her anus was an added pulse of sensation, another explosion.

“Mine,” he snarled, his lips at her cheek, the growl surging through her with another pulse of sensation. “Tell me, Eve. Tell me.”

“Yours. Yours,” she said in a sob. “Oh, God, Brogan. I love you. I love you . . .”

He owned her.

EIGHTEEN

Brogan awoke with Eve cradled in his arms, the warmth of her naked body invoking a response he was certain he wasn’t quite ready for.

Hell, he wasn’t ready to face the warmth he could feel moving through him. The warmth threatened to overtake him and claim parts of him he hadn’t known existed until Eve. He felt drained, physically and emotionally, but his cock was assuring him it was more than ready to rumble.

He smiled against her hair at the thought.

Her cheek was cradled against his heart, his arms holding her snugly to him, and for a few short minutes he actually contemplated going back to sleep. Until he felt her breathing pattern change, and he swore he felt her wake up.

There was an awareness that he could feel moving through him, a gentleness, an initial confusion and then a feeling of contentment and satisfaction.

“I didn’t expect you to be here when I woke,” she muttered with a drowsy smile against his chest as the fingers of one hand curled against the mat of hair that covered his chest. “Do you know how good it feels, Brogan, to awaken with you?”

He knew, because he felt the same. He didn’t just feel his own contentment, but he knew he was feeling hers as well. It had to be hers, because it was completely different from what he knew contentment felt like.

It was gentle; it was innocent. And Brogan knew he had no innocence left inside him. His innocence had been ripped out of him the day he learned his child had been deliberately destroyed before it could even begin to live. An innocent life barely formed because a condom had failed and had somehow acquired a tiny, tiny hole at the tip.

It had been so long ago, he should have forgotten it by now.

It had been years ago, and it still felt like yesterday.

“What?” she asked, watching him closely.

“What?” He shook his head, confused.

“That look on your face,” she told him. “What were you thinking?”

He breathed out heavily. “I was engaged once.”

“The fiancée who aborted your baby?” She nodded, her palm flattening against his chest comfortingly.

Pushing her hair back from her cheek, he watched as it fell about her face and over her shoulder.

“Like you, my father wasn’t married to my mother,” he told her softly, his fingers tangling in her hair as he felt a sense of comfort wrapping around him. “Like yours, my mother struggled—until I was five, when she was murdered by a drug-crazed teenager who had stolen a gun from home and came to the diner she worked at looking for a meal.” He shook his head bitterly. “If he had asked her, she would have bought him a meal, but he asked the owner first. When the old bastard wouldn’t feed him, he pulled the gun and shot Mom in the head. Then he turned back to the owner and asked again. He got the meal. He sat and ate it as Mom bled out on the floor and the customers in the diner rushed to save themselves.”

“I’m so sorry, Brogan,” she whispered, her compassion wrapping around him.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he let his hand cup her cheek for a moment, drawing in the gentleness that was so much a part of her.

“I want you to understand,” he explained. “As I said, I was five. My father didn’t know I existed. When Child Services showed up on his doorstep with me, he looked down, and I saw disgust curl his lip when he said, ‘Hell, I paid her to abort the little bastard.’”

Her eyes widened in outraged pain.

“He took me in, though.” He sighed. “Two weeks later I was in a military school four states away. I came back to Somerset during the holidays and for summers and stayed with my aunt until she died in a car crash when I was sixteen.”