The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2) by J.S. Harbour Read Free Book Online

townships, especially near Cambridge and the M.I.T. campus. Everyone in those areas are urged to leave immediately! Do not pack, just leave ! We have reason to believe that the university is being targeted by—”
    “Wait . . . what the hell are they talking about?” Lena said. “The bay area was hit, not Boston.” I looked at her, momentarily snapping out of my hormone-induced madness. She saw it in my eyes and it caught her by surprise. She smiled slyly and gave me a sharp look but was still distracted by the news.
    An aid interrupted the President, whispering into his ear while covering the microphone. The President seemed to turn visibly pale. He turned toward the reporters, mouth gaping, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen . . . please give me a moment,” then turned and walked from the podium.
    The crowded room of reporters burst into noisy abandon. One by one, they picked up their phones at roughly the same time and then ran from the building, camera crews rushing to keep up.
    “What the hell? This is unreal,” Lena said, leaning heavily on me where I sat on the floor. She sat up to take another sip from a water bottle and was sitting in front of me.
    I was so hot and bothered that I was almost going out of my mind. I know it’s insensitive and selfish in a crisis situation, but all this talk of death, images of the mushroom cloud—and Boston? —and that heavy kissing a minute ago and the hot Swedish swearing. I couldn’t concentrate on anything at all.
    Lena leaned back against me. I was wearing tight jeans and a heavy hoodie so she couldn’t feel my predicament.
    I had my arms around her waist while she watched the news alert. Her long black hair flowed down her back. I slid my hands down to her hips—my absolutely favorite part of a woman. To make matters worse, she chose that moment to take off her hoodie, tossing it aside on the floor. I was mesmerized by her dark silhouette in the light of the TV. Her breasts filled the simple white t-shirt, stretching it just so , which—from behind—caused me to gasp.
    Egged on by both testosterone and adrenalin, I leaned forward to take in the aroma of her hair. She leaned back and turned her head slightly, enjoying my closeness and attention. Then I slowly ran my hands up to her waist and under her shirt. She was wearing a soft lace bra.
    I fully expected an elbow to the ribs and was prepared to accept the consequences. No, redact that—I wasn’t thinking at all, that was pure instinct. Not an excuse, just what it is. We had been dating for two months, which was an uncertain stage in a relationship with a religious partner. Never mind that my dad was a minister, she was the religious one.
    She grabbed my hand, turned her head, and kissed me— hard !
    Her breath was hot and her lips soft and sweet.
    “Say it,” I said.
    “Say what?”
    “That word,” I said.
    “ Knulla? ” she said, giggling.
    I kissed her lips while they were mid-word.
    “Say it again,” I demanded.
    “Knul—”
    I kissed her harder.
    “Damn, that’s so . . . hot.”
    She shifted around to look into my eyes and said, softly, “Knulla mig.”
    In my state of mind, she could have been speaking Cantonese and I would have gotten the gist of it.
    I raised her t-shirt over her head while she shimmied out of her jeans. Moments later I was inside her, on the floor, and a deep moan came unbidden from deep within me.
    The secretary of state was watching us from the TV.
    Lena came quickly, which was merciful. I lost track of time—blacked out a couple times—only passively aware of program changes on the TV while we made love. It started with a hint of desperation, then we found our stride.
    I was eternally thankful that Ortega had not once come into my mind. Little surprise, though, with Lena’s lovely form enveloped around me, our mouths locked as I pulled and stroked her hair. My mind had blanked. For the first time in months, I felt the rare, blissful, blessed peace that a man knows