Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

standing and hit again with his stink, which was followed by his stomach turning beer-flavored flips.
    A shower first. Breakfast would have to wait. A quick look around the room done up in black and white and yellow and red showed him two doors, one closed, most likely a closet, the other open and dark, but not so that he couldn’t tell it was a bathroom. He rounded the bed, switched on the light inside, stepped into the tub, and closed the clear curtain dotted with red and black spots. Hot water was beating him in the face before he even took time to pee.
    Finally he turned his back to the spray, shook his hair like a dog, and opened his eyes. Nope, not a clue. He’d never seen this tub before. The enclosure was tiled in the same red, white, yellow, and black he’d woke up to. The bottles of body and hair soaps had labels with fancy names not found on the shelves at Nathan’s. He squirted a pool of shampoo into his palm, scrubbed the grit of yesterday’s hours spent on horseback from his hair, then used some sweet-smelling gel to wash his pits and his crotch.
    The worst of the ripeness gone, he took a bit more time to lather up the rest of his body, lingering between his legs and hefting his uncomfortably heavy balls in one hand. Whoever he’d come home with had tucked him in, but certainly hadn’t offered a hand—or a mouth—where he most needed it. Not her fault. He’d been so out of it he didn’t even recall having fallen into bed.
    He pulled at his cock, his palm slick as he cupped it over the head, tugging with each pass, and he was nearly cattle-prod hard when he thought again of the bonnet he’d seen hanging on the bedroom door. He stroked harder, thought harder, his cock going harder when he pictured the dress that matched the bonnet, and the buttons straining to hold the top of it closed over a gorgeous set of tits.
    The tits he remembered. The tits got him going. Reaching again for the gel, he squeezed a puddle into his palm, frothing it up beneath the stream of hot water slamming against his back. And then he closed his eyes, pictured the buttons popping open, one then another, baring mounds of creamy flesh.
    He stroked again, tugging down on his root, and gave the head a good rubbing, sliding his hand behind his balls and rubbing there, too, reaching back to toy with his ass, slipping his finger inside to the first knuckle, and grinding against it before withdrawing and getting back to the image of those tits.
    The nipples, tight like ripe cherries, popped free; and he groaned, feeling them against his tongue as his cock jumped, as his balls drew tight to his body. He imagined sucking on them, rolling them between his fingers, biting down until she moaned. Those moans had him pulling harder, rubbing harder, his cock lifting up to meet the downward pressure of his hand.
    The thought of straddling those tits, lubing the valley between and fucking them, holding them together like a tight, hot cunt, aiming his big third eye at the O of her mouth, did him in. He reared back, grimacing. The shower beat against the top of his head. His cum spurted against the tiled wall until he was spent. His legs ached, his balls ached, his cock softened in his hand to hang against his thigh.
    The picture of those tits still in his mind’s eye, he cleaned up the mess and rinsed, then shut off the water, jerking open the shower curtain only to find he wasn’t alone. Everly Grant stood in the bathroom door—a door he’d left open. A door from which she could have easily watched his very personal show. Thinking about her doing so had his balls rumbling again.
    “That answers that question,” he said, reaching for one of the towels folded on the shelf above the toilet.
    “What question is that?” she asked, her face blank of any reaction at all.
    Interesting.
“You’re not Luck Summerlin.”
    “I think you scared her off trying to stick your tongue down her throat,” she said, her gaze going from his face to his