Brazen Bride Read Online Free PDF

splintering and fracturing her earlier resolution.
    Would it be different with a fallen angel?
    Every nerve, every inch of her, wanted to know.
    But would he wake? Was it possible for him to reach the inevitable end without breaking free of Morpheus’s hold?
    Finding out . . . what a risk! But all her life she’d thrived on challenge—on taking calculated risks and winning.
    He lifted his head, body surging over hers, and locked his lips on hers.
    Invaded her mouth, reclaimed, reconquered—and she raised her hands, closed them about his bandaged head and kissed him back.
    Deliberately plunging into the heat, into the fray, seizing the moment, taking the risk.
    She kissed him as ravenously as he’d kissed her—as she’d never kissed any other man. No man before had dared to devour her, nor invited her to devour him.
    For heated, frantic moments they dueled, then he shifted, his spine flexed, all reined power, and she felt the marble-hard head of his erection part her folds. He pressed inexorably in, through the slickness of an instinctive welcome.
    He hadn’t even touched her there, yet she was ready—ready, willing, and wantonly eager to feel the length of him, to experience the strength of him, the sheer power and weight of him as he forged steadily into her, then, at the last, thrust deep to her core.
    Stretching her, filling her as she never had been before. She’d never felt so invaded, so utterly posssessed.
    So complete.
    Then he moved, deep, sure thrusts that rocked her beneath him . . . within seconds, she’d never felt so taken, never felt taken before at all, yet he unquestionably took, took all she would give, could scramble to give, and give she did—he gave her no choice.
    Then somehow the scales tipped, and it was she who sank her fingertips into his buttocks, gripped and clung, urgent and demanding. And he who gave, unstintingly lavishing all his power, his passion, driving sensation into her, through her, building the glory higher, and yet higher—forcefully riding deep within her until she shattered.
    Until the glory imploded and sensation fractured into glimmering shards and she broke apart on a muted scream.
    Logan heard it, that inexpressibly evocative sound of female completion, and let his reins fall. Let the dream sweep him on into the familiar heat and fire, surrendering to the primitive driving urge, jettisoning all hope of lingering to further savor the heated clasp of his lover’s slick sheath, the ripples of her release barely fading as he drove harder and harder into her body—his dream lover who clearly knew him so well.
    Who had let him ride her, then ridden him. Who had met his demands, and matched them, countered them.
    Who had led him to this—the pinnacle of erotic dreams.
    He sensed release nearing, felt it catch him, sweep up and over him. With one last thrust, he sank deep within her, and surrendered. Let it take him.
    Rake him.
    Until, at the last, he shuddered, and sleep thickened and closed about him again, and pulled him down into a deeper realm, one where satisfaction and content blended and soothed, cradling him in earthly bliss.
    Linnet lay beneath her fallen angel, his dead weight an odd comfort as she struggled, battled, to regain the use of anything—wits or limbs. Even her senses seemed frazzled beyond recall, as if she’d drawn too close to some flame and they’d singed.
    Oh. My. God was her first coherent thought, the only one she could manage for several long minutes. Finally, when she’d regained sufficient control of her limbs and sufficient mental acuity, she gently nudged, eased, prodded, and managed to stir him into shifting enough to let her slide from beneath him.
    He slumped, heavy and boneless, beside her, but she no longer feared waking him up. If their recent exertions hadn’t, nothing would, not soon. And he hadn’t woken, of that she was sure. She’d seized the moment, taken the risk—and it had paid off.
    Magnificently.
    At last able