By Shane V. Baxter
To a good looking younger Irish prostitute and thief, lifestyles and intercourse are a game--until she reveals herself in the bleak confines of a convent "school."
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Then again, if she gave signs she wanted it tonight, he wouldn’t have any trouble accommodating her needs. Whatever she wanted, he’d be damn sure to comply. He wanted her screaming out his name, begging for another orgasm. So whatever it took to get her off, he would give it to her. As she snuggled against his groin, he sucked in a breath. He palmed her breast, cupping and stroking, reaching up to trap her nipple between his fingers. She moaned again and arched, her breast pushing tighter into his hand.
After that she noted his music selections ranged from smooth jazz, hard rock and classical. She turned to the stereo equipment. Maybe if she played soft music she could get her mind off the way it had felt snuggled in his arms, and the way he’d made love to her mouth and breasts. Like many men, he owned an elaborate setup including a large television, radio, DVD player and CD player. The huge array of buttons on the equipment scared her. It would be her luck to push the wrong button and startle him straight out of his nap with a huge blast of sound.
She swallowed hard. “If you were on a mission and didn’t come back…” No, she couldn’t finish the thought. He’d understand her feelings went far deeper than she’d recognized until now. “I don’t spend much time thinking about soldiers in harm’s way. It hurts too much. ” There it was in black and white. If anything happened to Blayne, she’d be devastated. It was painfully, indelibly true. Yes, she’d vowed never to love a soldier, but as he looked into her eyes right now, she understood it didn’t matter.