Muscle for Hire by Lexxie Couper Read Free Book Online

he’d known it would be—carnal and filthy.
    It was perfect. And yet, he wanted more.
    Not just to be inside her, but more…
    Later. Later.
    The thought purred through his head, like the licking caress of a whip. He broke their kiss again, pulling away just enough to watch as his hand bunched up her shirt and revealed her breast to him.
    She let out a raspy, “yes”, her head rolling on the brick wall, her lips parted and moist with his saliva. “Suck it,” she whispered. “Suck it.”
    He did. Cupping the swell of her flesh with his hand, he bowed his back and took her nipple in his mouth, suckling on its distended form through the black satin of her bra.
    “Fuck, yes!” She bucked against him, her nails scraping over his shoulders beneath his gaping shirt. “That’s it. Harder. Harder.”
    Her feverish demands drove him wild. His blood surged through his veins in rivers of molten lust and desire. Throbbing through his cock.
    He lashed her nipple with his tongue. Sucked it. Bit it. She whimpered, her hands tugging on his hair, tight fistfuls that sent wicked ribbons of pain through Aslin’s scalp.
    Christ, gonna…close…
    The unhinged thought tore his mouth from her breast. Or maybe it was the frantic tugging of her fingers on his belt buckle.
    He straightened, flattening his hands on the wall either side of her head as he stared down into her eyes. He gazed into her face as she released his belt, popped the button of his fly and then lowered its zipper.
    His pulse pounded in his ears. His heart smashed fast in his chest. He drew a slow breath, biting back his groan as Rowan’s talented fingers parted his fly, allowing his cock—thick and stiff and swollen with desire—to spring free of his jeans.
    “So the commando goes commando does he?” she murmured, the realization he wore no briefs or boxers making the dimple in her cheek flash.
    “The commando does.”
    “Does the commando have a condom in his wallet?”
    Aslin’s heart thumped harder. “The commando—”
    The recorded sound of Chris Huntley shouting, “Answer your freaking phone, sis!” cut Aslin’s answer short.
    He blinked, the actor’s voice yelling the same words again a cold blade stabbing at the inferno of his need.
    Rowan’s eyes widened. Her body tensed. And then she was pushing at Aslin’s chest. No, not just pushing at it, shoving it. Driving him backward, her cheeks suddenly pink, her hands—only a second earlier undoing his belt and fly—now scrambling at her pocket, Chris’s recorded voice shouting Answer your freaking phone, sis! coming from her hip.
    Aslin stood motionless, his blood roaring in his ears, and watched her pull a mobile phone from her pocket. Her gaze flicked to his, her cheeks red, and then she turned away, swiping her thumb across the screen of the phone before ramming it to her ear. “What’s up, Chris?”
    Whatever her brother said next, Aslin didn’t hear. What he did hear was Rowan say, “Nothing, I’m not doing anything. Don’t leave until I get there, okay?”
    And when she turned back to him, the woman that faced him was the same woman he’d met back on the film site. The same woman who had put him on his back and dismissed him like a gnat.
    That woman looked at him, tucked her shirt back into her snug leather pants and said, “Dinner was lovely, thank you. Mind zipping your fly now. I’ve somewhere else I have to be.”

Chapter Four
    Rhodes insisted on taking her to the hospital, which really was damn annoying because her body still burned with the memory of his touch. Still craved for more.
    Sitting behind him on his bike, she held onto the rear grab handles in a death grip, determined not to lean into his back. She couldn’t risk any more body contact with him. Not if she wanted to keep her sanity. And dignity.
    All it would take was the feel of his strong muscled back pressing to her breasts and she would be gone.
    So she clung to the Ducati’s rear handles, anchored her weight to