Possess Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

Yes, he’d been looking. Yes, he’d stroked that thick, beautiful erection at the sight of her.
    “Oh God.”
    Was this magic—the way the mere thought of him made her feel? She wasn’t this woman. This over-sexed, crazy stalker. She hadn’t acted normally since she’d met Rousseau. Maybe he’d put her under some sort of a spell.
    Her fingers slid through her arousal, her right leg bending so she could thrust deep, fucking herself, imagining it was him.
    Two fingers, three, but she knew he was bigger. She’d felt him against her. She’d have a hard time taking him, it would be so tight, so full.
    Four fingers. He’d stretch her wide, not stopping until every long, hard inch of him was inside.
    She’d have to take it, take him. He’d torture her with slow, dragging glides, refusing her pleas to hurry.
    Faster. Harder. Please.
    Her body would cling to his, muscles tightening around him until he lost his control. He’d take her nipples between his teeth, tugging as he groaned against her flesh, his hips pumping her across the bed with the power of his need.
    Yes. Yes. Rousseau. Harder. Fuck me harder. I’m coming!
    His eyes lit with an eerie golden glow behind her closed lids as she came.
    Call me Bone Daddy.
     
     
    HE’D CLOSED HIS SHOP ON A SUNDAY. HE NEVER DID THAT.
    Monday was the only day Café Bwe was closed. It had been that way since his coffee shop had first opened.
    She was hell on his schedule.
    Rousseau walked down the dirty side streets that led to his mother’s apartment complex, thinking about Allegra Jarrod’s fantasies. She’d surprised him. He hadn’t had any idea she was that passionate, that open-minded.
    I knew.
    “No, you didn’t. Not until you touched her mind.” If he had, Rousseau wouldn’t have been able to keep the Loa at bay for so long.
    True. We should go back. She’s thinking about us. About fucking us. I can smell it.
    “We have to do this first.” Bone Daddy grew quiet, understanding Rousseau’s family obligations. He should. He was one of them.
    Guilt swamped him. He was using his mother as a convenient excuse to get away from temptation. She’d asked him to stop by for weeks but he’d told her he was busy, even when it wasn’t true.
    He knew his reputation was as bad as his father’s had been, that she’d heard the rumors about his sexual exploits. New Orleans, for all the tourists, was in many ways a tight-knit community. And he had no wish to bring his mother more shame, though she never asked him about what he did. Never acted as though she was anything but proud of her son.
    Nothing had changed. The beautifully aging redhead who still spoke Portuguese when she was excited pulled him inside the large, rambling building that had long ago been converted to small apartment units. She shoved a giant plate of food in front of him, and showed him his sister’s latest college grades.
    He fixed the window unit, trying in vain once more to convince her to move to a new house. A house of her own. He would pay for it. He had the money. But she refused. She’d raised her children here, she knew all her neighbors, and this was where she would die. But she didn’t argue as vehemently as she had in the past. Maybe he was finally wearing her down.
    “Who is she?”
    The change in topic startled him. “Who is who?”
    His mother rolled her eyes. “You think I don’t recognize that expression? I am too old to know love, passion, when I see it?”
    Love? “I’m just full. I ate too much. I always do when I come here.”
    “Okay, don’t tell me. I only hope she is good enough for you.” Her smile faded as she studied his expression. “You are a good man, Celestin. I wish you would believe it.”
    He chuckled, hearing the bitterness in the laugh. “I’m glad you think so, Mom. But you don’t know—”
    “I know.” She crossed herself, mumbling a prayer under her breath. “I know all I need to know. My son does what he has always done; he protects the people