Primal Instinct Read Online Free Page B

down. Something about that statement made him want to gather her in his arms and keep her there, protecting her and sheltering her, giving her everything he had.
    Clearly he hadn’t been getting laid enough lately, because one good fuck and he was turning into a freaking girl.
    But this was a hell of a lot more than just a good fuck, wasn’t it? Usually, when he brought a woman home, he didn’t want her to stay the night. Didn’t want to deal with stilted, awkward morning-after conversation. Didn’t want to expose anyone to his nightmares or answer any questions about them. But Taylor? He was willing to risk it just to see her sleepy morning eyes, all unguarded and vulnerable.
    She fell forward, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips undulating as she continued to ride him, and he felt the beat of her heart against his. She kissed his neck, biting and then soothing the skin with a sweep of her tongue. He let out a deep groan and pumped his hips up to meet her as his orgasm barreled down on him. He thrust up one last time and his hands went to her hips, stilling her and holding her tight against him as he came, emptying himself into her. All of his strength, all of his energy, flowed into her, and he was happy to let her take it.
    She lifted her head, and their eyes met in the semidark. Neither of them spoke for several seconds, their bodies still connected, their hearts beating against each other. Taylor raised a hand and wiped a bead of sweat away from his forehead, trailing her fingers through his hair and then down over his arm, tracing the edges of his tattoo.
    “Wow,” she whispered, and something flickered across her face, just for a second, but it was gone so quick he wasn’t even sure he’d seen it in the first place.
    *  *  *
    On the quiet, dark street, Ronnie sat in his car with the windows rolled down and his hand in his pants.
    He’d followed the cab from Sunset Boulevard up into the Hollywood Hills and had been surprised when it had pulled to a stop in front of a small, tidy house in Laurel Canyon. He’d expected the brute to live downtown somewhere, in a grungy loft, not in a little house in the Hills. Some kind of classic car sat parked in the driveway, but Ronnie didn’t give a shit about cars. Only motorcycles, and even that was an interest with a purpose.
    The house was dark like the street, so although the curtains weren’t drawn, Ronnie couldn’t see inside the house.
    But he could hear.
    The second-floor windows were open, and Taylor’s voice—that gorgeous, husky, unmistakable voice—flowed out into the night.
    “Oh God, so good. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. So fucking good!”
    He closed his eyes as he stroked himself, imagining he was the one pulling those noises from Taylor, he was the one making her moan, making her scream, making her writhe with pleasure.
    And someday—soon—he would be.
    He pumped his fist up and down, absorbing Taylor’s moans like the earth absorbs the sun, letting them sink into him, letting them nourish him. Her cries built to a crescendo, and he stroked himself faster. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, and as he imagined having Taylor’s blood on his tongue, of owning her so completely, he spurted his release.
    He slumped down in his seat, a pleasant, heavy-limbed relaxation flowing over him. He cleaned himself up with a tissue, put his penis back into his pants, zipped up, and closed his eyes. They flew open at the sound of a deep male groan.
    The brute. Colt. That was the name Taylor had been calling out just a few moments ago. Visions of punishing Taylor for her behavior danced through his mind, and he smiled.
    And if she ever saw the brute—Colt—again, he’d punish him, too. And then Ronnie would take what was his.
    *  *  *
    Taylor’s eyes flew open, and she was relieved to see that it was still dark out. She made a point of never staying over, and hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but after the marathon sex she’d had