Read Online Edge of Hunger by Rhyannon Byrd - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rhyannon Byrd
Ads: Link
better. There was a burning, gnawing sensation in his gut that felt too much like shame for him to buy his own bullshit. He made an attempt to drown out the unwanted, sour emotion by hitting the scotch, but it didn't work worth a damn. Instead, he just kept sinking deeper into the guilt, like standing on the muddy banks of a river, his bare feet sinking farther and farther into the thick layers of sludge. Riley had pressured him all night for anything he could offer up, but he'd lied through his teeth, claiming that he didn't have any information. He didn't tell him about Molly, much less the fact that she'd delivered her strange little warnings straight to his face, begging him for his help.
And he sure as hell hadn't mentioned the dream they'd shared. Instead, he'd done his best to avoid thinking about it, though it was always there, lingering at the edge of his consciousness...waiting for the moment to strike.
Like now, his conscience whispered, and he drained the glass, the liquor hitting his gut with a hot, fiery burn.
Exhaustion finally overtook him in the seventh inning, his last thoughts centering on Molly Stratton as he drifted into a restless sleep. He wondered where she was, what she was doing.
Wishing he could get her out of his goddamn mind. Hating the grinding frustration...the illogical panic that burned like acid in his chest every time he faced the maddening possibility that he might never see her again.
Despite the oppressive heat of the evening, he slept hard, thanks to the booze. Until the dreams began again. Ian had half expected the fertile heat of the forest and the erotic frenzy of the gypsy campfire, and he'd been prepared to do everything he could to keep his focus on the first woman he got beneath him. If he went with it, then maybe he wouldn't find himself drilling Molly into the damp forest floor, taking more of her than he had any right to.
But as always, fate had a way of turning around and biting him on the ass.
As Ian pulled himself up from the deep, murky levels of his subconscious, he opened his gritty eyes to a soft, flickering light--and instantly knew something was wrong. Something even more messed-up than before. Than the twisted nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.
There was no forest...no gypsy campfire...no sloe-eyed provocative brunette to slake his lust.
Instead, Ian found himself kneeling on a soft, intricately woven Persian carpet, the air around him filled with the intoxicating scents of woman and wood smoke as a fire roared somewhere in a distant hearth, the heat of the flames warm against his naked body. And sprawled before him on her back, her pale thighs spread indecently wide, lay Molly.
"What?" he heard her gasp, surprise softening her husky voice, blurring the edges of her speech, as if she'd only just realized it was happening again. She'd probably been snuggled up in one of the lumpy motel beds, carrying on some warped conversation with his mother's ghost, only to suddenly find herself there, with him. Her gaze flicked its way down the pale line of her body, velvety brown eyes going wide with shock as she took in the unadulterated intimacy of their positions.
She moaned, and quickly covered herself with her arms.
Lust thickened in Ian's throat, choking off his ability for speech. He gripped her wrists, pulling her arms away from her body, pinning them at her sides. The red-and-black swirl of the rug accentuated the warm, luminous glow of her skin, while her honeyed scent grew stronger with the rise of her pulse. Atop the delicate swell of her breasts, her nipples hardened like tender berries, lush and beautiful and ripe. He wanted to draw them into the heat of his mouth, suck on them until she came undone. Wanted to run his lips across her fever-warm skin, so smooth and soft and delicious, and work his way down the mouthwatering length of her body.
"Ian?" she whispered, her voice hushed...shaky. "How?"
He shook his head, unable to pull his heavy
And he sure as hell hadn't mentioned the dream they'd shared. Instead, he'd done his best to avoid thinking about it, though it was always there, lingering at the edge of his consciousness...waiting for the moment to strike.
Like now, his conscience whispered, and he drained the glass, the liquor hitting his gut with a hot, fiery burn.
Exhaustion finally overtook him in the seventh inning, his last thoughts centering on Molly Stratton as he drifted into a restless sleep. He wondered where she was, what she was doing.
Wishing he could get her out of his goddamn mind. Hating the grinding frustration...the illogical panic that burned like acid in his chest every time he faced the maddening possibility that he might never see her again.
Despite the oppressive heat of the evening, he slept hard, thanks to the booze. Until the dreams began again. Ian had half expected the fertile heat of the forest and the erotic frenzy of the gypsy campfire, and he'd been prepared to do everything he could to keep his focus on the first woman he got beneath him. If he went with it, then maybe he wouldn't find himself drilling Molly into the damp forest floor, taking more of her than he had any right to.
But as always, fate had a way of turning around and biting him on the ass.
As Ian pulled himself up from the deep, murky levels of his subconscious, he opened his gritty eyes to a soft, flickering light--and instantly knew something was wrong. Something even more messed-up than before. Than the twisted nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.
There was no forest...no gypsy campfire...no sloe-eyed provocative brunette to slake his lust.
Instead, Ian found himself kneeling on a soft, intricately woven Persian carpet, the air around him filled with the intoxicating scents of woman and wood smoke as a fire roared somewhere in a distant hearth, the heat of the flames warm against his naked body. And sprawled before him on her back, her pale thighs spread indecently wide, lay Molly.
"What?" he heard her gasp, surprise softening her husky voice, blurring the edges of her speech, as if she'd only just realized it was happening again. She'd probably been snuggled up in one of the lumpy motel beds, carrying on some warped conversation with his mother's ghost, only to suddenly find herself there, with him. Her gaze flicked its way down the pale line of her body, velvety brown eyes going wide with shock as she took in the unadulterated intimacy of their positions.
She moaned, and quickly covered herself with her arms.
Lust thickened in Ian's throat, choking off his ability for speech. He gripped her wrists, pulling her arms away from her body, pinning them at her sides. The red-and-black swirl of the rug accentuated the warm, luminous glow of her skin, while her honeyed scent grew stronger with the rise of her pulse. Atop the delicate swell of her breasts, her nipples hardened like tender berries, lush and beautiful and ripe. He wanted to draw them into the heat of his mouth, suck on them until she came undone. Wanted to run his lips across her fever-warm skin, so smooth and soft and delicious, and work his way down the mouthwatering length of her body.
"Ian?" she whispered, her voice hushed...shaky. "How?"
He shook his head, unable to pull his heavy