Page 36 of Illicit Temptation

“Fuck the living shit out of her.” He shrugs. “Fill her with an incredible amount of sperm. And after each ejaculation hold her down and lift her hips, so the seed doesn’t spill out of the vagina.”

How romantic.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Shea

Iwake up Sunday morning and instead of reaching for my phone the second my eyes open, I reach for my toy. A long, thick veiny dildo. I don’t trust vibrators, either the batteries die at the worst time, or they just start going off, risking someone finding them.

Not that finding this beautiful piece of latex would have someone thinking less of me.

My grogginess melts into blinding pleasure thinking of Trace.

That smoldering man has kicked up my hormones, keeping me on edge all week. I’m practically feral. “God, I don’t even need you.” I put the dildo aside and stroke my drenched folds.

Frustrated, I scream into my pillow, but stop suddenly. Trace is across the hall and will hear me. Break down my door, shoot up my nice bedroom, and ask questions after.

I bolt up, push the covers away, and stare at my door, realizing it’s not locked. He can... He can step in here at any time.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, nipples raging under my ribbed tank top.

No wait. This isTrace’sribbed tank top. I never gave it back to him yesterday. And he didn’t ask for it.

Frig my life, if that man finds out I slept in it, he’ll... God, whatwillhe do to me?

A rush swells between my legs again and my nipples pucker even tighter under the loose cotton fabric. Tucked into the pencil skirt and behind a fitted suit jacket, it didn’t swim on me yesterday.

Now that it’s loose, it doesn’t do anything to restrain my breasts or shield the outline of my large, dark areolas.

I need to go for a run and get my mind off sex. Winter weather be damned. The fresh cold air in my lungs will invigorate me and calm me down. If not, I’ll take a cold shower.

In my walk-in closet, I grab a jogging bra, but stop and wonder if Trace will even let me go. I get dressed, itching for a fight to level set with him that I won’t be controlled. There’s no active threat against me. It’s just my overbearing brothers being thick-headed.

Unless... A shudder goes through me. Am I in danger and they’re not telling me? I can see Lachlan keeping me in the dark. Two years ago, my brothers were brutal alphas thinking of nothing but the next kill or the next whore to fuck. Now they’re unhinged over their wives and kids. Somewhere that included Auntie Shea in their obsessive protective methods.

They gave me an attack dog like Trace Quinlan and let easy-going Soren off my detail. I don’t need a ruffian nipping at my heels when I’m trying to run.

Dressed in warm leggings, a T-shirt, and a thermal jacket, I grab all the keys to the bedroom doors from a drawer in my closet. I find the one labeled Guest 1. The bedroom Trace settled into.

With the key in my palm and my heart racing, I peek outside and find the hallway quiet and empty.

No sounds come from behind his closed door. Before I lose my chance and my nerve, I use the key to lock the door, keeping him inside. The thick carpet cushioning my feet, I scamper back to my closet to put the keys away feeling victorious.

O’Rourke 1

Quinlan 0

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Trace

The sound of a lock clicking bolts me up in bed, a violent memory assaulting me of Faolan Malone. He locked me up for disobeying his direct order to gun down Syrian women and children he claimed were terrorists hiding in a shipping container. I knew these emaciated women and lice-ridden kids were hostages, not terrorists in the brutal civil war that destroyed a once beautiful country.

I hit Malone with my gun so hard he fell to the ground, stole his comm, and called off the airstrike myself. Only, Faolan wasn’t a man who went down easily. He attacked me from behind and locked me in there with the hostages, letting the airstrike go on as planned.

Trapped in that thing, the walls closed in, and the unbearable head trauma brought me close to fashioning my shirt into a noose to end the pain.

Ian, my sergeant, stole the keys and unlocked the doors, but with only moments to spare. I shoved everything open to let all the hostages go. I don’t leave people behind, but they wouldn’t leave. That piercing in the sky told me the airstrike was coming and seconds later the container was obliterated. My entire body is covered with scars from the shrapnel. My tatts camouflage most of the wounds.

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