Free Nocturnal Urges (Nocturnal Urges, Book One) by Elizabeth Donald Page B

is nothing to fool with, Isabel. You’re not going back there.”
    “I hadn’t planned on it,” Isabel said.
    “You and the detective are kind of, what, friends now?” Duane asked, but Isabel ignored his question, leaning back against the door. She felt confused, torn, as if nothing was the same and yet everything was the same. Somewhere she realized it wasn’t the murder only two blocks away. That it had been building for weeks, something that had unseated her comfortable, ordinary life.
    It felt as though the ground underneath her had become untrustworthy, like the floor of her grandmother’s attic that was boarded, but not nailed down. The wrong step would send you crashing down into the ceilings below you, and the boards themselves were bowed with age.
    She felt alone, and yet her body was filled with need, more hunger than she knew how to satisfy, more desire than simple sex could fulfill.
    “Love me, Duane,” she said, raising her eyes to his.
    Duane blinked. “Wow, are you sure you’re up to—”
    Isabel pushed herself into his arms, drawing his head down to hers with a nearly frantic need, that hunger that started somewhere in her chest where unshed tears burned. He clasped her tightly and pulled her down the hallway, still kissing her, toward the bedroom. The lamp was on, casting a dim light across her bed.
    She tore at his buttons with urgency, pulling his shirt off his broad frame. She pressed kisses and licks across his chest, catching his flat nipple between her lips and sucking it. He kneaded her head between his large hands, drawing her face back up to his. His mouth crushed across hers, hard and strong, his tongue pressing between her teeth to glide against her own.
    It seemed she couldn’t get enough. She grasped at him, her nails digging into his shoulders, as though by pressing that close to him she could feel again, the turmoil within her would be eased and the confusion would wane.
    But Duane stepped back for a moment and she reached out for him.
    “Wait,” he said, smiling. “Let’s try something.”
    “Duane,” she said.
    Duane turned to the nightstand and withdrew the silken scarf she had left there weeks ago. “Please,” he said.
    Isabel would have agreed to anything, if only he would take her in his arms again. She nodded, and he quickly wound the scarf around her head, over her eyes. The darkness swept in, and she felt the scarf’s smooth fabric with her fingertips.
    “Duane?” she said.
    “I’m here,” he replied, and she felt his fingers probing between her breasts. It was different, not the usual preamble. This was rougher, more insistent and infinitely exciting. She reached out and found only empty space as he moved away from her. She took a step, and could not find him.
    “Duane, where are you?” she said, her heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
    Then she felt his hands on her, pulling at her blouse with insistent force, freeing her shoulders and arms and leaving her skin bare above the taut satin of her bra. His hands were already fumbling at her belt, and he was having trouble with it. She tried to help, but he pushed her hands away. She reached up and behind to find his head, bringing it down to the unscathed side of her neck. He nuzzled her, kissing and licking her, and she quelled the image of Ryan that immediately rose to mind.
    Duane was still having trouble with the belt, so she turned toward him and unlatched it herself.
    “Naughty,” he said, clasping her wrists together in one strong hand. He pushed her back on the bed, drawing her hands up over her head. “Stay.”
    She could not see anything, only feel his hands move down over her body to her waist, where he pulled her slacks away, down her long legs to the floor. She couldn’t help it, she reached up toward him, pulling him closer to her.
    He responded by pulling her hands back over her head and pinning them there with one rough hand. “Stay,” he commanded.
    Isabel