celiabreslin

Rebel’s Claw – Copyright © Afton Locke, 2015

When his fingers tangled on the waistband of her panties, her legs trembled and her cleft burned with need. For the first time, she wished she owned lacy, feminine lingerie instead of boring, practical underwear.

“These are so sexy,” he whispered as if reading her mind. “So perfect on you.”

She gasped when his finger dipped under the white fabric, probing and swirling over swollen flesh. Her head thrashed on the pillow. Surely, she didn’t deserve such pleasure. With each caress, he promised even more. Completely disconnected from reality, she hovered over an abyss.

Don’t let me go.

She craved him every night, to make her forget everything causing her pain. With an instinct of their own, her hips danced as sinuously as a snake’s. His finger slipped inside, thrusting deep. If her pleasure was electricity, he’d light her up for miles.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the rock-hard bulge in his jeans. She shied away when he unzipped himself, but he pressed his bare cock into her palm. Lord, she’d never felt anything so hot. So alive. A trail of juice seeped from her core.

“Are you still sure you want to do this?” he whispered in her ear.

Their chests bucked and swelled against each other from their hard breathing. She felt as if she’d run the length of the ranch a hundred times.

“Y-yes, Roark.”

“Then grab my wallet off the nightstand since you’re closer to it.”

Her body tensed. He didn’t plan to pay her like a prostitute, did he? Daddy definitely wouldn’t approve. He wouldn’t look kindly on a one-night stand, either.

“There’s a condom in it,” he added.

When she twisted away from his hot skin, the contrast of the cool air caused her to shiver. Clumsier than ever, she dropped the wallet on the bed. It opened, revealing several pictures in plastic sleeves. She couldn’t resist flipping through them. Did he have a girlfriend? Hopefully not a wife. Hopping cow patties. She hadn’t even thought to ask about that.

Too late to back out now.

The people were all ages and shared a similar look to him, so she assumed they were family. She could hardly concentrate, with him stroking her back and grinding his wonderful hardness against her buttocks.

“You’re taking too damn long,” he muttered against her hair. “I’m about to take you, condom or not.”

“H-hold on a second,” she replied.

When she spotted the last picture, the heat in her body turned to ice. She blinked, hoping she’d seen it wrong, but the image only became clearer. Her mouth dropped open in horror as she stared at the face of a reddish-haired man with a beard. Nausea twisted her gut while a lone coyote howled in the distance. The remembered sensation of mud and blisters floated across her hands….

Oh, dear Lord. It was him! The face of the creature she’d killed.