Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) Read Online Free
Author: Jianne Carlo
succulent in all the right places. No way could he spend even two hours holed up with her without getting inside her pussy. And the thought of sliding his dick between those bountiful breasts had him leaking precum.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, to what planet had his famed discipline rocketed? Lincoln narrowed his eyes and focused on a spot above her head as he tried to will his twitching dick into compliance.
A choked gasp caught and held his attention.
Jesus.
Her jaw had dropped, and her gaze was fixated on his groin.
His cock rose to the occasion.
Her little hand clamped over her open mouth.
His eyes crossed as the image of his dick disappearing between those plump lips did a fast salsa in his mind. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead.
Get a fricking grip, Chapman.
She's a civilian. Slow, easy.
Saliva coated his tongue when her nipples pearled and pushed against the soft, cotton, V-necked sweater she wore. When he'd opened his eyes earlier to find two perfect, naked breasts within sucking distance, mounding and bouncing against his chest, his arousal had been instantaneous, his dick going rigid on a heartbeat. Then she'd moved closer, tracing a damp cloth over his face, and those luscious beauties had grazed his chin.
Lincoln had thought he'd entered the Christian version of the seventy virgins in paradise. The memory of olive tits, tipped with After Eight chocolate circles and nubs, surged and whirled on a free-fall draft, threatening the last ropes binding his control. He slammed his hands onto his hips.
The loose side-knot on the towel surrendered to three forces—gravity, slick skin, and his raging arousal—sliding in a soft whisper to the planked pine floor.
“Oh,” she squeaked, the sound half smothered when the fingers clamped over her mouth became a fist. Her head bent, and he couldn't see the expression on her face, but her left hand rose.
Higher, closer, come on, Baby Doll—go there.
Destiny had the voluptuous, hourglass shape of the classic Vargas Playboy pinups on which the first Barbie must have been based. Raven hair, stray locks glinting navy as a slight breeze flared and dimmed a dozen candle flames, fell in gentle waves to her midback. Her shiny locks curled and teased the undersides of mouthwatering globes he couldn't wait to suckle, lick, nibble, and torture.
Delicate fingers and toes, strong legs longer than her torso, he guessed she stood just under five-seven. No emaciated, hunger-deprived runway model, his Destiny, her lush curves screamed sex , yet she looked untouched, and he'd bet his left nut she'd never had mind-blowing sex. Never begged, or squirmed, or shattered into orgasmic explosions.
She had him as pumped and primed as he had been when he'd tried to beat Kittinger's 102,800 feet, record-setting altitude jump.
An alarm rang, jangling bells exploded into the silence, and Lincoln's thoughts jumbled and frayed.
What the hell?
Honed reflexes had his gaze sweeping the cabin, and he twisted around to the source of the noise.
“Dinner.” Her throaty utterance drew his attention.
Glancing over his shoulder, he stifled a stream of curses.
So blasted close to paradise.
A dark, oblong knot in one of the wooden floor slats seemed to fascinate her.
Time to change strategy, Lincoln decided. “I'll get dressed. There's a stack of sweats”—he stopped, remembering her reaction when he'd taken off his shirt earlier, and continued, trying to keep the triumphant amusement out of his voice—“in one of the bedroom drawers.”
Her throat worked.
He grinned, pivoted, and bent over to pick up the towel, giving her a peep show. Hearing on alert, he caught her indrawn breath and almost gave in to the temptation to wiggle his butt before stalking to the bedroom.
When Linc’d “gone to the shed” earlier, he retrieved his backpack, sorted out his weapons and supplies, pocketed the essentials, and secreted the rest of the items in a dark corner. Under the pretense of taking a
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, to what planet had his famed discipline rocketed? Lincoln narrowed his eyes and focused on a spot above her head as he tried to will his twitching dick into compliance.
A choked gasp caught and held his attention.
Jesus.
Her jaw had dropped, and her gaze was fixated on his groin.
His cock rose to the occasion.
Her little hand clamped over her open mouth.
His eyes crossed as the image of his dick disappearing between those plump lips did a fast salsa in his mind. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead.
Get a fricking grip, Chapman.
She's a civilian. Slow, easy.
Saliva coated his tongue when her nipples pearled and pushed against the soft, cotton, V-necked sweater she wore. When he'd opened his eyes earlier to find two perfect, naked breasts within sucking distance, mounding and bouncing against his chest, his arousal had been instantaneous, his dick going rigid on a heartbeat. Then she'd moved closer, tracing a damp cloth over his face, and those luscious beauties had grazed his chin.
Lincoln had thought he'd entered the Christian version of the seventy virgins in paradise. The memory of olive tits, tipped with After Eight chocolate circles and nubs, surged and whirled on a free-fall draft, threatening the last ropes binding his control. He slammed his hands onto his hips.
The loose side-knot on the towel surrendered to three forces—gravity, slick skin, and his raging arousal—sliding in a soft whisper to the planked pine floor.
“Oh,” she squeaked, the sound half smothered when the fingers clamped over her mouth became a fist. Her head bent, and he couldn't see the expression on her face, but her left hand rose.
Higher, closer, come on, Baby Doll—go there.
Destiny had the voluptuous, hourglass shape of the classic Vargas Playboy pinups on which the first Barbie must have been based. Raven hair, stray locks glinting navy as a slight breeze flared and dimmed a dozen candle flames, fell in gentle waves to her midback. Her shiny locks curled and teased the undersides of mouthwatering globes he couldn't wait to suckle, lick, nibble, and torture.
Delicate fingers and toes, strong legs longer than her torso, he guessed she stood just under five-seven. No emaciated, hunger-deprived runway model, his Destiny, her lush curves screamed sex , yet she looked untouched, and he'd bet his left nut she'd never had mind-blowing sex. Never begged, or squirmed, or shattered into orgasmic explosions.
She had him as pumped and primed as he had been when he'd tried to beat Kittinger's 102,800 feet, record-setting altitude jump.
An alarm rang, jangling bells exploded into the silence, and Lincoln's thoughts jumbled and frayed.
What the hell?
Honed reflexes had his gaze sweeping the cabin, and he twisted around to the source of the noise.
“Dinner.” Her throaty utterance drew his attention.
Glancing over his shoulder, he stifled a stream of curses.
So blasted close to paradise.
A dark, oblong knot in one of the wooden floor slats seemed to fascinate her.
Time to change strategy, Lincoln decided. “I'll get dressed. There's a stack of sweats”—he stopped, remembering her reaction when he'd taken off his shirt earlier, and continued, trying to keep the triumphant amusement out of his voice—“in one of the bedroom drawers.”
Her throat worked.
He grinned, pivoted, and bent over to pick up the towel, giving her a peep show. Hearing on alert, he caught her indrawn breath and almost gave in to the temptation to wiggle his butt before stalking to the bedroom.
When Linc’d “gone to the shed” earlier, he retrieved his backpack, sorted out his weapons and supplies, pocketed the essentials, and secreted the rest of the items in a dark corner. Under the pretense of taking a
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