Trapped: A SciFi Convict Romance (The Condemned Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

do this.
    She whirled around, bracing for a grab. A strike. But the
deliberate slow glide of a calloused fingertip down the bumps of her spine
slammed through her with more force than any blow.

Chapter Four

 
    “Pull your hair to one side.” 673’s voice was gruffer than
intended, but staying in control was taking all his effort. The creature he’d
become roared at him to throw her down and ram inside. To take what was his.
The Dragath25 way.
    And he could. He could do whatever he wanted with her. His
strength gave him that right. Her defenselessness made her easy prey. There
were no rules here on Dragath25. No honor. Only violence and might.
    But he didn’t throw her down. He didn’t ram inside. The feel
of soft silk beneath his fingertip too good to rush. Hazy memories of the man
he’d once been whispered that the smells and the sighs and the hot little mewling sounds of a woman on the edge were worth the wait.
    That even a bit of the man he’d been still existed confused
him almost as much as it angered him. But all of that was secondary to the feel
of her smooth skin as he dragged his fingertip down her spine.
    She’d stayed. He’d thought several times she wouldn’t. He’d
braced himself for the reversal. Lectured the man he’d once been to damn well
walk away before he became even more of a monster. But she’d surprised him. And
he wasn’t about to lose the chance to experience something he’d never thought
to feel again.
    He leaned forward, skimming his nose just above the smooth
line of her shoulder. Holy hell. The scent of her…of woman. Of light. Of
softness. The faint hint of vanilla still clinging to her skin.
    The soap cracked in his palm.
    It was a good reminder. Control was essential. Control was
imperative or the fragile, trembling woman before him would turn to dust in his
hands. Like everything else he’d ever had.
    He’d told her to turn around because the sight of her body—of
all that creamy white skin, full lush breasts tipped by perfect pink nipples,
hourglass curves, and bare, mouthwatering mound—had made going slow impossible.
But even with her back to him he was in trouble. That ass….it called to him
even now.
    He leaned in close. “You smell…good.”
    She started. Then seemed to force herself to relax. “That’s
hard to imagine, but thanks.” Her voice had a high-pitched forced nonchalance
he didn’t like as much as the one she used when bossing that bastard soldier
around. “I’m covered in soot and dirt and dust. Even my hair must stink.”
    His gaze shifted to her hair. He hadn’t really paid attention
beyond noting it was long and wavy and feminine enough to check off each of his
boxes. But now he was curious. Finding a layer of control he hadn’t even known
he possessed, he shoved back at the lust riding him hard. “Go under.”
    There was a momentary hesitation and then, on a deep breath,
she sank under. Instantly, her hair fanned out in all directions, tangled silk.
Fumbling—his hands seeming too big and awkward for the first time—he grabbed
for the strands as gently as possible, letting the soap skim through them and
over her pink scalp. Inky grey clouds slid from her hair, revealing a golden
brown he was pretty sure would turn to yellow gold when dry. His fighter girl
was a blonde.
    For some reason, it brought relief. His wife had been a
brunette.
    He gave the woman’s hair a gentle tug. Understanding, she
emerged from the water, wiping her eyes.
    Done with waiting, he kept his fist wrapped around her hair,
walking backwards until they were standing only up to her thighs in the shallow
water, guiding her closer and closer, ignoring her little gasp of dismay and
the stiffness of her posture, until her perfect backside pressed against his
front.
    A groan strangled in his throat. The warm press of her soft,
wet skin, and the feel of his throbbing cock nestling in the crease of her ass was
better than anything he could have imagined.
    Except for that