Free Stripper: The Fringe, Book 4 by Anitra Lynn McLeod

possession felt, but said, “No.”
    “Liar.”
    Before she could protest, he rammed his hips up once, good and hard. Behind that move lay both a dark promise and a determined threat. Her entire body lifted into him, as if she could merge with him beyond the physical.
    Duster brought his lips to her ear. “You just can’t stand to tell the truth, can you? Do you ever tell the truth about anything? Or has lying become so common to you that the truth is as elusive as grace?”
    He didn’t wait for an answer this time. He kissed her hard, his tongue passionate and possessive. Diane responded in kind, loving the taste of him, the determined power of him, the way that even with her held so fully captive to his wicked needs, he was careful not to hurt her by taking most of his weight onto his elbows and knees.
    “You’d love it if I lowered my hand to open my zipper, like this—” Duster slipped his hand between their bodies and fumbled at his fly, deliberately bumping his knuckles against her painfully sensitive clit.
    Breathless, Diane waited. She wanted him to. She even angled her body to make it easier for him to unzip his pants and put an end to this burning torment. Seven years of dreaming about him was now a reality. Whatever consequence came of joining with him, she’d gladly pay. Later. Much later. After orgasms rendered her too numb to care.

Chapter Six
    Balancing himself on one arm, Duster scrabbled at his fly, furious that his fingers couldn’t seem to tug down the tab of his zipper more than a few inches. Diane’s hot, slick sex brushed the back of his hand. She felt so good he almost came. There was no question if she wanted him or not. No woman could fake that. Both of them were two strokes from an epic end to the madness that had plagued them since they’d seen one another again. Nothing would stop—
    A grating metallic grinding ran along the side of the ship.
    Duster shot to his feet. “What the hell was that?”
    An alarm blared with warbling insistence.
    “Airlock.” Diane climbed out of bed, her gaping robe forgotten in the intensity of the moment.
    “Stay here. Keep the door closed.” With a wince, he zipped his pants up over his fully erect penis.
    “No! We’ve got to get the weapons out of—”
    Den of Iniquity lurched suddenly, knocking them both to the floor.
    “Thank God for thick carpet.” Duster rocketed to his feet. “Where are the weapons?”
    “Aft storage locker.”
    “We don’t have time. They’re going to board any moment. Do as I say and stay here.” Duster strode to her bedroom door, exited, then closed it behind him without looking back.
    Great, he finally found something that would take his erection down. Unfortunately, it was a life-or-death situation.
    He quickly shut off as many lights as he could get to. Darkness gave him an advantage since he knew the layout of the ship. Scanning the interior three times for trackers gave him a perfect mental image of where everything was. Interlopers wouldn’t know the arrangement of rooms, hallways or furniture. If they didn’t have lights, they would stumble around in the dark.
    A deafening crack came from the airlock off the central room when they forced it open. Duster pulled all four blades from his boots and placed them at the ready in his back pockets. Three to draw right, one to draw left.
    Favoring his draw right, he crouched along the floor, then crab-walked behind the furniture as he made his way to the main hallway that led to the bridge. Once in the hallway, he shut down the rest of the lights. Come hell or high water, they weren’t getting on the bridge.
    “Knock, knock, anybody home?” a grunting male voice asked as he stabbed a flashlight around the common room. “Damn, Danny, I think you’re right. It’s a whore ship. Look at this place!” He pointed his flashlight all over the puffy furniture and drapes of gauzy fabric. With genuine disappointment, he bemoaned, “Where’s all the whores?”
    “We