Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) Read Online Free Page A

bath—he had a quick but thorough wash—he stowed his stash under the bed, and then combed through all her belongings.
    The porn DVD selection set his hormones on overdrive. When he found the cuffs, the leather strips, and the silken scarves, the temptation hovering around the corners of his brain cemented into rampant desire. Lincoln made his decision then and there; Baby Doll was his for the duration.
    In the bedroom, he donned navy sweats, glanced at the passport he'd thrown on the white down comforter, and his lips thinned. Part of her explanation about her name had a ring of truth, but her body language when she rushed the words blinked lying like a Vegas booty joint's neon sign.
    Screw first, worm the truth out of her later.
    He padded back into the kitchen/living area. She never noticed his return.
    Destiny had a hidden Susie Homemaker streak. She'd set the table. Place mats, napkins, bowls, cutlery, and wineglasses decorated a round, two-seater wooden table with a tree trunk as the supporting center leg. Two pillar candles flickered oval, elongated shadows across a ceramic blue-green plate. Local pottery, he guessed. A smile tugged at his lips as he observed her stirring a pot. Her lips moved, and her bare toes curled and uncurled when she sprinkled dried leaves into the liquid.
    He caught the aroma of wine, meat, onions, and hints of something else. Destiny could cook. The notion surprised him. The New York women he knew ordered in or ate out. Their idea of cooking—putting together prepackaged appetizers, salads, and entrées, couldn't match his mom's worst St. Patrick's Day stew.
    “Smells heavenly.” He leaned over her shoulder when she stirred the navy pot. As he reached to dip a finger into the rich, creamy brown liquid, he blew a soft breath over her ear. She stiffened; the spoon's movement halted.
    Satisfaction had his lips curving.
    Ah, sweet Destiny, the things we're gonna do.
    He straightened, slurped the liquid off his forefinger, and then murmured, “Delish. What is it?”
    Linc bent over and dipped into the stew again. He laid a hand on her left shoulder, touched the tip of his forefinger to her lips, and lowering his voice, ordered, “Taste.”
    Destiny opened her mouth. He guessed she intended a sarcastic retort, but before she could utter a word, he slipped his finger between her soft, plump lips.
    Her mouth closed over the thickness of his thumb, and he couldn't stifle a groan, picturing his dick sliding back and forth over her clit, grinding through hot pussy lips. It'd been a long time since a woman fired him up like she did.
    “Suck,” he coaxed. “I taste thyme, garlic, onions. Something else. Hmm?”
    As he spoke, Lincoln glided his finger in an almost-imperceptible in-and-out movement, slow, insistent. The rhythm of her breathing changed, small hitches telling him she fought for control, her reactions fueling the sensual frenzy building in his groin.
    She'd clipped her hair up while he'd been in the bedroom. Fine raven curls escaped the attempted discipline, slipping and sliding across her exposed, vulnerable nape. Destiny smelled like manna from heaven, a hint of lavender limning images in his head of him buried between her thighs, inhaling her arousal.
    “Ouch,” he blurted. She'd bitten his finger. “Why'd you do that?”
    She swiveled around to face him, poked his naked chest, drew back, and spoke through clamped teeth, “Contrary to whatever is on that puny brain of yours, I am not up for a roll in the hay. I may have a stripper name, but I am not one.”
    Leaning into her so his erection brushed her pelvis, he held up his finger and commanded, “Kiss it better.”
    “No. And stop smiling like you've won the lottery.” She reached behind her, grabbed the spoon, and held it up. “You're invading my personal space. And unless you want to forgo eating, because I can empty this whole salt shaker into the bourguignon in one second, you'll bring the bowls and behave like a