Lucky Break by Chloe Neill Read Free Book Online Page A

Marchand is listed as the founder. Official symbol is a fleur-de-lis. There’s some very brief background about him, Bernard, Christophe. Nothing controversial there, barely a mention of the feud: ‘Possible hostilities with local supernaturals.’”
    â€œThat seems at least generally accurate,” Ethan said, “if a vast understatement.”
    â€œAlong with the address, contact information, that’s pretty much the gist of it.” I offered the phone. “You want to peruse?”
    He shook his head. “I’ve had more than enough of the Marchand Clan today, Sentinel. Put the phone away, and let’s have a moment of peace before the sun puts us down.”
    I couldn’t argue with that and had only just switched off the lamp when I found myself covered in vampire, his body long and warm and very obviously naked.
    I slid my hands into his hair, golden silk between my fingers. “I think you had on more clothing a moment ago.”
    He trailed kisses along my neck, teased fangs against delicate and sensitive skin. “I was overwhelmed with desire for you, Sentinel.”
    I opened my mouth to protest, to match sarcasm with sarcasm, but then his hand was on my breast, long fingers teasing, inciting.
    â€œOkay,” was all I managed, as I arched into his touch.
    Ethan stripped me of clothing, and then his mouth found mine, his tongue insistent, demanding response, provoking my desire. And the strength of his arousal between us left little doubt about his own.
    The flame between us sparked quickly, quickening our heartbeats, flushing our skin. When his clever fingers found my core, sound and taste and sensation merged as he urged me on. The fire bloomed like a sudden inferno, flashing heat across my body, and his name fell from my lips.
“Ethan.”
    He growled with predatory insistence, chest rumbling above me. “You are exquisite,” he said, moved inside me with power and potency that rid my mind of thought. The feeling was delicious, but the sudden mindlessness, the absence of fear or worry, was utterly glorious. There was no room for dread or disquiet in Ethan’s seduction.
    Heat began to spread through my body again, a fast-blooming flower perched at the edge of spring. I tugged his mouth toward mine, teeth and tongue exploring and inciting. His huffing breaths, the cant of his hips, hinted at his own banked pleasure, at the control he rode so carefully. He was, I realized, waiting for me, pushing me to find that jewel of oblivion.
    I meant to draw it out, to tease him with the rock of my own hips, the scratch of my nails across his skin. But yearning got the best of him.
    â€œNow,”
he said, a word that snapped through my body like an order. I dug fingers into Ethan’s back as pleasure blazed through muscle and across heated skin, blissful shudders rocking my body.
    Ethan stiffened, called my name, the powerful and primal sound sending me flying again. He pressed his hand against my abdomen as if by touch he could quicken life there, fulfill by the strength of his determination alone Gabriel’s promise that we’d have a child. For a moment, we stayed like that, with the promise of the future between us.
    And then Ethan pressed his mouth to mine, breathing still ragged. “That escalated quickly.”
    I couldn’t help my very indelicate snort. Coming from a man who tended to eat pizza with a fork, it was surprisingly funny. “So it did.”
    He turned onto the bed and stretched like a sated predator, but entwined our fingers together, keeping the connection between us. And as the sun breached the horizon, exhaustion draped my languid body like a quilt. My lashes fell.
    â€œTomorrow,” Ethan murmured, “we will hunt a killer. But for now, let us be still.”
    Those words—“be still”—had been the first Ethan had spoken to me. They were often the last words on his lips before the sun blazed