Unforgiven Read Online Free Page A

lip.
    He slipped his wallet from his pants pocket while she went at his belt and button fly. His cock bobbed free, bumping her wrist before she turned her hand and gripped him. It must have been his imagination that a pleased little purr drifted into the air when she slowly stroked him from tip to base, then cupped his balls.
    Stars exploded in front of his eyes, weakening his knees. She set a slow, firm rhythm, driving him to reach into the darkness, for the shelving unit, and shove cans aside until he found a support and gripped it. He’d stopped breathing. That’s what those lights dancing in front of his eyes were. He forced himself to inhale and lifted her hand from his cock.
    “Stop.”
    Was that his voice, rough and low and curt? In the enclosed space the potent scent of her skin and the undeniable scent of arousal drifted into his nostrils, dragging to the surface all the long-buried memories of her body, her mouth. The ache, long dormant, crawled through his blood like molten lava. She shimmied her skirt up and sent her panties to the floor while he sheathed himself. Then he gripped her ass and hoisted her, opened her thighs with his hips and nudged into place. It should have been odd, strange, unfamiliar, but it just felt right. So goddamn right. His awareness collapsed into sensation, hot, slick, tight pressure as he stretched her open and slid inside. Her breathing, shallow and fast. The undulating grip of her pussy as she adjusted to him.
    His head was swimming, and not from the shots. He was a
Mister
, not a Marine. Brookhaven looked like something out of an architectural magazine. His ex-fiancée was marrying his best friend, and twenty minutes after coming home he was inside Marissa Brooks.
    She trembled when he bottomed out, and he heard a muted thunk as her head dropped back and bumped against a can of something. He curved over her, cheek pressed to her temple, on the edge of losing it in a spectacularly embarrassing fashion, when he heard Delaney.
    “Where’s Adam? I want to remind him about the tux fittings.”
    Only a solid-core six-panel door with no lock and three feet of electrified air stood between Delaney and him, bare-assed and balls deep in another woman. An unexpected hot thrill shot through him, just vengeful enough to firm up his control and make his cock throb with anticipation. Marissa’s sheath clenched around him in response. A faint whimper drifted the millimeters separating that lush red mouth from his ear. All the little hairs stood on end at the helpless sound.
    “Shhhhhh,” he said, nearly soundless. Then he pulled out until the tip of his cock nestled just inside her sex, and slid forward again. “Be quiet.”
    “Did he leave?” Mrs. Walker’s voice.
    “I didn’t see him leave,” Delaney answered. “Where’s Marissa?”
    “Probably showing Alana around,” Mrs. Walker answered. “They’re good friends, I think.”
    The words came from just outside the door. Probably she was standing between the pantry door and the door leading to the servants’ quarters, trying to decide whether or not to knock. Marissa’s face was indistinct in the darkness, but Adam could make out her mouth, lips parted, and the pale skin of her torso, her nipples dark, hard tips on her breasts. As shallowly as they were breathing to avoid detection, their breath still mingled.
    Marissa’s fingernails curled into the nape of his neck under his shirt collar, her body hot and trembling against his. He wanted to hoist her higher, but any movement in the closet would advertise their location. So he closed his eyes and moved, slow, secretive, stealthy. Withdraw. Wait until temptation becomes torture. Push back inside, parting those slick, swollen walls, feel her quiver as he stretched her, then snugged up against her clit. Her tremors increased but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t do anything but feel his balls tighten, the pressure seethe in the tip of his cock as he did it again, again.
    “He