Archer's Lady: Bloodhounds, Book 3 by Moira Rogers Read Free Book Online Page A

By the time his hips bumped hers she felt cheated of the discomfort that would have given her distance. Even on her knees, face buried in the covers, she could feel that tender focus in every deliberate movement.
    And that was before he eased one hand under her and lifted her to his chest. His free hand tangled in her hair, and he tugged her head to the side, baring her throat for a soft, lingering kiss.
    She was trapped. Pinned against him with no leverage, nothing but blazing skin and a wicked mouth and his cock buried so deep inside her that every squirming movement made her pant for breath. “You can fuck me,” she promised, clinging to the arm braced across her chest. “I’m ready. I want it.”
    Archer laughed as he moved his lips to her ear and dropped his hands to her hips. “I’m going to.” He lifted her and held her in place as he thrust up into her.
    Lightning. Like the wild storms that swept the plains, like when she’d shocked herself trying to fix the light in her schoolhouse. It crackled through her every time he drove into her, not release in itself but a pleasure almost too intense to handle. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as he hit the spot again and again, eliciting a stifled moan from her lips.
    His growl raised goose bumps on her arms. “You like that, honey? When I fuck you right— there ?”
    She tried to answer. Tried to speak, but the sharp angle of their hips, the way their bodies fit together—alchemy. Magic. She choked on a plea when he thrust into her again, past thought or reason, and turned to muffle her gasped moans against his throat.
    “Say it, Grace.” Almost a grunt, effort and restraint and desire rolled into one. “Tell me what you want.”
    He made her name an obscene caress, and she loved it. She parted her lips against his neck, tasted salt and shuddered. “To come. I want—” Another thrust, and she whimpered.
    She was close again, so close—but not like before. Not like release wrested free with frantic fingers circling and coaxing. This built slow and dangerous, boiling up and up until she couldn’t wait for him to push her over the edge.
    She reached down and touched herself, slicked her fingers over her clit and bit Archer’s neck to hold back the keening noise that ripped through her as tension shattered her into a thousand pieces.
    Archer groaned his approval and rode her orgasm with two hard, uncontrolled thrusts. He came with another muffled sound that rumbled in the back of his throat and shivered through her.
    Without his hands spanning her waist, she might have slid bonelessly to the bed. Panting, she clutched at his forearms, dug her fingers into the impossibly tense muscles and strained for the sound of hurried footsteps, anything that might indicate that they’d been heard.
    But the night was silent save for the ever-present whisper of water through pipes, running in endless circles to and from where the boiler sat behind the kitchen, the beating heart of the building.
    Trembling fingers smoothed her hair, and Archer’s voice broke the quiet. “Tired?”
    “Very much so.” What did one say, when a man had stripped away any pretense of civilization? Everything felt awkward and foolish. “That was…very enjoyable.” And now she sounded like he’d taken her to see a particularly interesting play at the theater.
    His laugh blew hot over her ear. “Thank you very much too, Miss Linwood.”
    Shivering, she smoothed her thumb over the inside of his arm. “Aren’t you growing tired of holding me upright like this?”
    Instead of answering, he released her slowly and sank down to the bed with a yawn. Grace followed him because she didn’t have a choice. Her arms and legs seemed no steadier than those of a newborn colt. She imagined climbing from the bed in an attempt at unconcerned sophistication and ending up in a tangle of naked limbs on the floor.
    It drove a laugh from her, even as she stretched out on the sheets. “I don’t