Unleashing the Storm by Sydney Croft Page A

door.
    “I
don’t remember. But it feels good to be held. No one holds me. It’s all I want,
you know. Someone to hold me. Understand me. Love me.”
    He
missed a step, probably hadn’t seen the throw rug on her hardwood floor. When
he deposited her on her bed, she immediately burrowed into the covers. “Do you
have pajamas?” he asked.
    Pajamas?
“I think I sleep naked.” She yawned and rubbed her face on her pillow, settling
in to pass out. “I’ll bet you do too. If we slept together, we’d be naked. Skin
on skin. And hot. So hot…”
    The
sound of his harsh curse floated above her somewhere, melted into a swirl of
soft farm sounds. Poor Tommy and his four blue eyes. She’d have to have sex
with him later.
    When
she could open her own eyes.
    TUESDAY
11 P.M. EST
    Annika
Svenson thumbed through the two dozen wigs in her closet until she found the
perfect one. Long. Jet black with a blue streak at the temple. The polar
opposite of her short silver-blond hair, which she’d grown out over the last
few months to touch her shoulders, even though keeping it short meant an easier
time with wigs.
    Next,
she pulled a gold lace camisole off a hanger. A cropped black leather jacket
came next. An ultra-low-slung, supershort leather skirt and combat boots
rounded out the goth biker-chick ensemble.
    Creed
wouldn’t know what hit him.
    It
was Tuesday night, and the ghost hunter would be hanging out in the dive biker
bar on the edge of town, someplace she’d gone inside of only once, a year ago,
to drag out a drunk operative who had been talking too much. She felt
comfortable anywhere, though, especially when dressed for the occasion, which
she would be.
    Besides,
tonight was all about pleasure, and as Creed had shown her several times since
taking her virginity last year, pleasure could be had anywhere. Including a
dark corner booth in the back of a tavern. Or on the seat of his motorcycle in
a parking lot.
    She
hadn’t wanted to admit how much she loved their games, but if Creed didn’t
believe that she was one hundred percent into something, he wouldn’t do it. He
might take control when it came to sex, but everything he did was about her
pleasure. He was so good to her, and a tiny part of her knew he deserved better
than her. The larger, more selfish part wanted to keep him for as long as he’d
be happy with a strictly sexual relationship.
    Blood
humming with excitement already, she pulled on a flimsy pair of black underwear
that should tear with little difficulty. She considered a bra and then tossed
it to the floor. Fewer clothes meant easier access, which was important when
one was in a public place or too horny to take things slow…or both.
    She’d
just returned from a six-week assignment in Belgium, and she was more than
ready to climb aboard Creed and ride him until he collapsed. To leave a ring of
black lipstick around the base of his cock. To wash it off later with a fistful
of soap in the shower.
    Not
that they’d ever made it to a shower, or even a bed.
    She’d
held on to her cherry for twenty-one years, and since Creed popped it, she’d
been eager to make up for lost time, and he didn’t have any complaints. Which
was good, since he was possibly the only man in the world she could have
sex with. The only one who was immune to the massive power surge her body gave
off at orgasm.
    Her
body flushed with heat at the thought of Creed taking her to climax over and
over. Already her sex ached, her internal muscles clenching as though preparing
for the erotic intrusion of his thick, tattooed shaft. Though really, could he
be considered tattooed if he was born with the markings?
    She
shrugged, because it didn’t matter. She’d licked every one of the things that
covered the entire right side of his body, and tonight she’d give him something
to lick. Something besides what throbbed between her legs.
    She’d
had temporary tattoos professionally applied to her left leg, hip, arm and
neck.
    Yeah,
he