Carson's Night (The Stonebrood Saga) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the stray hair falling over his eyes. The working of his sensual lips and tongue were hypnotic.
    Eventually his tongue slid upwards again, to circle her clit, probing at it. She moaned, her body shuddering. She could not possible experience again a climax as powerful as the one she had just had…could she?
    Tally watched Carson’s mouth descend upon her mons, sucking her clit inside, before the deep, powerful wrench of pleasure hit her, and she realized that yes, it might be possible after all. Her head rolled back involuntarily as the spike of intense excitement rolled through her.
    Carson did not spare her. Nor did he linger. This time, he pushed her to a swift, silvered orgasm by the most direct route possible. He did not stop to tease, to linger, or indulge in delaying tactics or subtleties. Her climax spilled through her with the purity of light, a heady simple thing that nevertheless seemed to snatch away everything but her heartbeat. She couldn’t even reach for him, for her hands were still locked under her hips, along with his.
    Did I scream ? she wondered, dazed, as her breath returned to her.
    Her hands were free and Carson was above her, his cock pushing into her, his gaze on her face. There was sweat beading at his temple and his expression was one of a man on the edge of…pain. His cock slid deep and came to rest for a brief second before he began to thrust in hurried, hard movements. The tendons in his neck stood out, showing strain.
    “Not enough, not nearly enough,” he growled as he thrust into her. He came with a choked cry, and the little erotic grind of his pelvis was enough to set off another small climax of her own, as she curled her leg over his hip.
    She found she was shaking when he became still above her. Carson noticed too, and cupped her face in his hand, frowning. “I hurt you?” His cock was still inside her and still erect, as far as she could tell, and he was supporting himself on his elbows and knees. She shook her head.
    “I think…I’m hungry. For real food.”
    He closed his eyes for a second. “Food,” he growled. “I’m sorry. With the shock of your father and a broken night’s sleep, you’re probably starving.”
    Her father. The fact of her father’s death touched her again as it had been all day, like something she kept tripping over mentally that she kept forgetting to put away, and kept ramming her shins into painfully every few minutes. It didn’t get any easier with repetition. Would it ever? There was just a gaping raw hole where her father used to be. She fought against tears for a moment, got the better of them, and looked up at Carson. “Food would be good,” she said evenly.
    He must have watched the by-play of emotions on her face. “You’re allowed to mourn him, you know,” he said gently.
    “Not until I know how he died. Then I’ll mourn him. Then I’ll grieve. First, I have to kill the bastard that killed him.”
    Carson actually flinched. She felt it as their bodies were still connected. He lifted himself from her and stood up.
    “You think you have something to do with it,” she breathed.
    “I was there,” he pointed out. “And I’m the only one left breathing.” He walked over to where his jeans lay and thrust his leg into them. His rear, she noted absently, was just as wonderful as the front view. For a hunter constantly on the road, he was either genetically blessed, or inordinately disciplined. Perhaps he spent a lot of time in the YMCAs around the country, or surfing.
    “You were there to help my father. You were his partner.”
    “But your father died and I didn’t have a scratch on me.” Carson pushed the other leg in, pulled the denim up his thighs and fastened it. No underwear, she noted.
    “In a warehouse full of gargoyles who killed your father, and one very pissed off demon who wants to take out your two vampire friends at the very least, I’m the only one to survive, and without a scratch on me. It doesn’t look