Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

saucy comments but there are none. He’s the perfect gentleman while I’m watching the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulging and rippling as he hangs up my laundry.
    ‘I appreciate that you don’t have anything to wear to bed that doesn’t smell smoky,’ he says when he’s done.
    My first thought is that I don’t wear anything to bed. This is closely followed by second thoughts—if The Kid has another nightmare, I want to be able to dash in there quickly—I usually grab my robe from the back of my door. My final thought is that he’s playing the role of the perfect gent to perfection but he’s unlikely to have anything that will encase my tits. He likes to wear tight, form fitting tees—it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.
    Before I can process those thoughts and formulate a reply, he’s putting the basket back in the kitchen and flicking off light switches. There are two lights in the hall and he leaves the one furthest from the bedrooms on. A thoughtful gesture when you have guests who may need the bathroom in the dead of night.
    He heads into his bedroom and opens a wardrobe. I linger in the doorway, waiting for him to get whatever he needs. I think maybe he’s going to grab a tee for him to wear, since he’s going to sleep on the sofa.
    He pulls out a white tee-shirt that doesn’t look as thick and tight as his usual style. It looks a little longer too. He holds it out to me. ‘That should cover your modesty.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I say as I walk inside and take it from his hand.
    ‘Feel free to take a shower,’ he says, his back to me. ‘I’m going to jump in now. I’ll only be a few minutes. I just want to rinse the summer heat from my body.’
    Before I can respond, he reaches behind his neck and pulls off his tee in one fluid movement. One fluid movement that makes my breath catch in the back of my throat. I stand there for a second. I don’t know whether it’s the rippling muscles or the beautiful artwork. Both probably. Not to mention the deep bronze tan he has going on right now.
    I see him begin to turn and I manage to look away before he catches me. I quickly attempt to perch on the bed but, in my rush, I misjudge it and almost fall. He reaches out a hand to steady me. It burns through my top, triggering memories of the night before.
    When I’d sat on his face, he’d attempted to touch me with his hands. Several times. It wasn’t his fault—he’s a tactile lover, he’d said. I’d had to tie his wrists together with his belt in the end because he just kept trying. I’d relished the challenge. I haven’t trained a dominant male since Gabe. It made me realise it has been too long, that I’m itching to bring another alpha to his knees.
    I make another attempt to sit on the bed and his steadying hand helps. When I’m sitting, his groin is right at my eye level. He’s unfastened his belt and his button fly. I swallow, wondering whether I should reach out and pull them down. Probably not the best idea with The Kid in the next room. Plus, we still haven’t discussed the ins and outs of what Jones wants from me exactly. He knows what I need from him.
    He releases his hold on my arm and I put one leg over the other in order to gain access to the zip of my boot. Thank God we’d been on the recce of Thierri’s house today otherwise I might have been wearing a pair of my thigh highs. Imagine the looks on the faces of the emergency services’ staff, not to mention the patrons of Jones’ local. Instead, I have respectable, knee-length, gladiator-style black leather boots with lots of cut outs to keep my feet cool and they have the slimmest, metal heel possible.
    Before I can grasp the zipper, Jones sinks to his knees making my breath hitch for the second time in as many minutes—well, almost. He takes the zipper and slides it all the way down before easing my heel out of the boot. Then he lifts the boot off my foot. His fingers feel good on my bare skin. He indicates for me to