Free Dark Hunger by Rita Herron

stretching her until she thought she’d come apart.
    Her hand moved, her fingers caressed, gentle feather-light strokes over her clit, then quickened, slid deeper, deeper, adding pressure as if they were his sex.
    She sighed and moaned as titillating sensations rocked through her. Heaven help her. She couldn’t get involved with Quinton.
    He was a government assassin.
    A man who might be a demon…
    Still, she had to go to him. Find out what he knew. If he had an idea where the bomber might attack again.
    Fuck.
    Hunger shot through Quinton as he watched Annabelle caress her body.
    It was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen.
    He zeroed in on the small tattoo of a rose on her hip and wanted to touch it.
    Kiss it. Ask her the significance of the tattoo…
    Unable to stand the tension, he unzipped his jeans and freed his hard length, then wrapped his fingers around his rigid penis and stroked.
    He imagined ramming it inside her, watching her body buck as he plunged to her core. She parted her legs wider, her body quivering as her orgasm rocked through her. His body jerked and spasmed, pure hot pleasure rippling through him as cum shot from his tip.
    He envisioned the sticky fluid flowing down her legs, the milky white bathing her crotch and thighs, and he groaned her name, mindless with erotic sensations.
    Shit. No other woman had ever stirred his hunger to such intensity or aroused emotions like this in his chest.
    His phone jangled, and he cursed, quickly cleaned up then grabbed the handset and checked the number. His handler, Keller.
    He connected the call, automatically assuming his professional persona. No emotions. Killer mode. “Yeah, Valtrez.”
    “We had a meeting.”
    A film of cold sweat broke out on his brow.
    “It’s time to get rid of the Armstrong woman. We can’t allow her to expose the team. If she does, it will have to be disbanded.”
    Quinton ran a hand over the back of his neck.
    “You’ll take care of her?” Keller asked.
    A bead of sweat trickled down Quinton’s back. He was an eraser, a sniper. This was no different. Another assignment.
    The darkness in him rose, hungry for blood, protective of his tribe of killers.
    He’d sworn to take care of the team, the mission. He had no regret over the other hits. No remorse. And he’d never disobeyed a direct order.
    But he glanced at the camera and saw Annabelle climbing from the shower, water droplets clinging to her skin, her face flushed from arousal, and he hesitated.
    She wasn’t a terrorist or a soldier. She was a civilian.
    He closed his eyes, banishing the image. He never hesitated. Hesitating would get him killed.
    If he didn’t do this job, Keller would consider him disposable, would send someone after him. And after Annabelle.
    Either way, her days were numbered.
    He hissed in a sharp breath. “No problem. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
    He retrieved his weapon system from the closet, then unlocked the case and pulled out the M24.

C HARLESTON , S OUTH C AROLINA

    Reverend Narius spread his hands, waving them in a wide arc as he addressed the crowd in Charleston, his diamond-and-onyx ring glittering beneath the lights. “Turn your life over to my command, and you will be reborn. Follow me now, and redemption is yours.”
    Women, men, and children alike bowed their heads and listened to his prayer, then stood and began filtering out of the Charleston chapel.
    “Thank you for coming, Reverend.” The white-haired woman wiped at the tears in her eyes. “We heard you were in Savannah. God bless those people. Those bombings were just awful.”
    He clasped her hand between his, pasting on the appropriate compassionate smile. “Yes, a tragedy. Another reason for each of us to ask to be saved. One never knows when our earthly time is up and the Lord will call us home.”
    She shivered and he patted her gently. “You have been saved haven’t you, Miss Erma?”
    “Oh, yes, years ago.”
    Another elderly man approached, and he