Hot and Haunted Read Online Free PDF

the flat, muscled plane of his belly. Mac had the body of a soldier, all lean and hard. She couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup by his face, which had been both dirty and constantly shadowed in their brief acquaintance, but that body . . .
    He was awake instantly at her touch; she could tell by the way he tensed. When her hand slipped lower into the waistband of his pajamas, he muttered something that sounded like a protest. She ignored it.
    He was already hard when she touched him, and that made her smile as her face pressed against the warm, salty flesh of his shoulder. She stroked him firmly, but not fast. Up. Down. Her hand twisted on the head of his cock, and he groaned a little under his breath.
    He’d pulled her from under a pile of the Resurrected. They’d run together. Fought together. She shouldn’t have been surprised at his strength or agility, but when he rolled to press her beneath him, her knees gripping his sides, she still cried out. His mouth sealed hers, taking the sound. His tongue stroked inside. Her fingers gripped his shoulders as he pushed his erection against her. It hit her just right over her clit, back and forth, sending waves of pleasure all through her. Mac left her mouth and slid his body down hers, shoving her T-shirt up to get at her bare breasts beneath. He tongued her nipples, one after the other, suckling too hard for pleasure but not quite hard enough for pain. Then lower, over her belly, pushing down the boxers he’d lent her to get at her skin beneath.
    His tongue found her clit, his thumbs spreading her wide to his every taste. Lira’s hips bucked at the sudden onslaught of sensation—this was not what she’d expected or planned. When Mac slipped a finger inside her, curling upward to stroke a hidden spot she’d heard of but never explored, all she could do was arch against the touch. She found the short brush of his hair and couldn’t dig her fingers into it. With a mutter of frustration, she reached upward for the spindles on the headboard instead.
    Mac did not take his time. He did not go slow. Mac worked her clit with his tongue and lips, now two fingers inside her, until he took Lira to the edge—and then he eased off. She let out a gasp, eyes wide and still blind but for the faint sparks of color in the corners of her vision from trying too hard to see in the darkness.
    His free hand slid over her breast, first cupping, then tweaking at her nipple. Too hard, a little too hard, he pinched and twisted, and it was enough to shoot another bolt of electric desire all through her. No gentleness here. No words of love, no expectation, no disappointment. Only the firm, unyielding pressure of his tongue on her clit, driving her closer and closer to climax with every stroke. When he eased off, there was nothing soft or sweet, only the skill of drawing out her pleasure almost to the point of pain.
    It was exactly what she needed. He knew it without a word from her; he took her moans and sighs and the thrust of her hips, the grip of her hands so tight on the headboard spindles they creaked and complained, and he used them to push her closer and closer without ever letting her go over the edge.
    “Please.” That single word slipped out of her on a breath, so low she couldn’t be sure, herself, she’d said it.
    Mac heard it. “Please, what?”
    “Please,” Lira repeated, rolling her hips at the sudden loss of his mouth on her pussy. “Please, Mac . . .”
    “Tell me,” Mac demanded, while his fingers slipped in and out of her, slow and easy and relentless. “Tell me what you want.”
    “I want you to fuck me . . .”
    It was the first time she heard him moan, and the sound sent her spiraling again, reaching for the stars. Again he eased off, and Lira gritted out a curse, thinking she might reach for his hair to pull him closer and remembering at the last minute she’d have no purchase. Not like Anthony. Nothing about this was like it was with him.
    “Say,