Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Read Free

ready to open my front door as soon as I arrive at the penthouse level. Thoughts of sex on tap, and the exhilaration of the bike ride home, mean I’m already primed and ready for some action.
    Fuck! It’s my lucky day. As I open the front door to find Chantelle standing in front of me, wearing only a flimsy robe which leaves nothing to the imagination, the question of how she knew I was returning this morning is a long way from my mind. There’s no denying she is fucking beautiful, particularly with her assets almost, yet not quite, exposed for my immediate attention. My cock feels like a steel rod in my jeans, even though it astounds me that it’s possible to get any harder than I already am. Two weeks without sex; I’m not going to waste another moment. Kicking the door shut behind me I drop the helmet on the hall table, grab her and swing her around, and now I’m kissing her up against the wall, rubbing my cock against her, leaving her in no doubt of my intentions. This, this is the advantage of having a woman living in my home: instant availability, no making arrangements. She’s mine, and she’s here. My cock is pulsing. I want her now. I deepen the kiss, nipping at her lip and then soothing it with my tongue. My mouth firmly attached to hers, my hands rise and push the robe off her shoulders. Just as I expect, she’s completely naked underneath. I break the kiss, pulling away as I need air.
    “Chantelle!” I manage to gasp, my hands going to her breasts, feeling the weight of them. My fingers find her nipples and pinch them lightly, knowing it always turns her on.
    “Nijad! I didn’t expect you today!” She pushes me back a step and slides away from my grasp.
    Something about the tone of her voice doesn’t sound right, but I’m too wound up to stop and consider.
    “Come!” Assertively, I take her hand and pull her into the bedroom. It needs a little tug to get her moving, but not enough to suggest she’s making any real protest. I push her down on the bed, falling on top of her. Taking both her hands in one of mine I hold them above her head, imprisoning her. My legs slip between her thighs. I start to kiss her again, and it’s at that point I realise something is decidedly wrong.
    Rocking back on my heels, I release her hands and stare down into the face of the unusually unresponsive woman lying beneath me. Only then do I start to notice the signs that I initially missed, now taking in the redness in her eyes and her pale pallor. For the first time, I wonder why she was standing by the front door all but naked when she hadn’t known I was coming back today. Mentally kicking myself, I belatedly realise that stripping off her robe as soon as I entered the apartment and dragging her naked into the bedroom wasn’t one of my finest ideas. The question of why she’s so scantily clad, and why the bed is still rumpled when it’s already past noon, now crosses my mind. Looking into her eyes, I worry she seems almost wary of me. It’s perhaps a bit late, but now I ask, “Chantelle, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”
    “Why are you home so early?” she breathes, her voice sounding strange. I can’t tell what’s wrong, but I realise as she turns her head away that something is way off.
    Smiling at her, I slide my finger down the side of her face. “My last meeting was cancelled. I couldn’t wait to get home; I missed you.” Well, that’s true of a certain part of me, for sure. My cock is straining at the fabric of my jeans as if it’s trying to escape by itself, but I’m starting to come to terms with the realisation that I am going to have to remain uncomfortable. Shutting my eyes, I will my erection to subside. I’m twenty-seven years old, for fuck’s sake, not a teenager, and I should be able to control my libido. Her uncharacteristic behaviour triggers my sympathy. “Are you not well?”
    She starts at my question, and then sniffs dramatically, “I’m OK, it’s just a