She pulled her face out of his neck.
“You mean we have less than a day to wait.”
“I got you off this morning and I’ll get you off tonight.”
“It’s not the same,” she muttered, turning to her cocktail that had some kind of spicy, tabasco salt on the rim.
“Are you complaining?” he asked.
She took a sip of her cocktail then returned her attention to him.
“You got long, strong fingers, baby, but a girl needs some dick.”
Jagger roared with laughter.
When he was done, she wasn’t laughing.
She wasn’t smiling.
She was pressed, her front to his arm, and reaching a hand to his face.
She ran a finger along his jaw to the corner of his mouth and along his lower lip.
Her eyes watched these movements.
When her hand fell to rest on his chest and her gaze lifted to catch his, he felt it bore deep.
All amusement fled.
“Archie,” he whispered.
She retreated from her visual invasion, pushed in, touched her mouth to his, and after she pulled away an inch, she said, “Thanks for supporting the ’hood with your steak place choice.”
“It’s about that. It’s about the retro here, which is fucking cool. It’s about arguably the best steaks in Denver. It’s about making you happy, since I knew you’d dig this. But, just sayin’, even if your crib is blocks away, we’re still spending the night at my place.”
“Your turn,” she noted.
“Yeah,” he replied.
She gave him an eye twinkle and her focus shifted to the table because their Devils Riding Bareback were being served.
And Jagger released his breath.
Because she didn’t push, she didn’t demand, she didn’t make him talk about what he knew she saw in his eyes, but he wasn’t ready to explore. Definitely not share.
She let it go.
So yeah.
There was relief.
But underlying it was something else.
Because he knew it was only a reprieve.
* * * *
Jag came back to the bed after going to the bathroom to splash his face and rinse off.
He had Archie all over him since he’d finished her off going down on her.
She was on her side in his bed, cradling his sheet between her legs, bare hip and leg exposed, she still had on her black bra.
He slid in behind her and touched the strap of the bra.
“Want this off?” he murmured.
“Mm,” she hummed, shifting enough he knew to reach in front of her and unhook the clasp between her tits.
He did that, slid the bra off and tossed it aside, seeing another one of Archie’s tats.
He bent in to look closer at the small writing that went across her side, where the band of her bra had covered the skin.
It said, The Girl Across the Way.
He palmed it and growled, “Baby.”
“Bet you wish you didn’t just make me come hard, boyfriend, and bought me too many cocktails,” she whispered, gazing smugly and sleepily at him.
He dropped his head and kissed the tat.
Then he pushed up and kissed her.
She near to Christ fell asleep on him while he was doing it.
“Too good with your mouth,” she mumbled when he broke the kiss.
Which meant he was grinning when he turned out the lights.
He settled in behind her in a spoon, top arm wrapped around her chest.
The arm he shoved under her was wrapped around her ribs.
And his hand was on The Girl Across the Way.
Chapter Ten
Unhurt. Unstruck. Unbeaten.
Jagger
Sunday morning, early, his alarm went.
Jag opened his eyes, reached out, and came up empty.
He pushed up to a hand in the bed and looked around the room.
Thrown on the chair in the corner was the black outfit Archie wore to dinner the night before that was essentially a collared shirt that was clingy and almost mini-dress long, the bottom of it hugging a fitted pair of black short-shorts. She’d worn this with black knee boots with silver rivets over the toes.
Definitely testing his ability not to give in and let her at least suck him off.
Her beat-up backpack was lying on the floor next to the chair and it’d exploded since Jag dropped it there the night before.
As far as he knew, she’d slept good after he fed her, got her tipsy, brought her home and took his time eating her out.
But now she was…
Where?
He got out of bed and noted the bathroom was dark, but he looked there anyway.
She wasn’t there.
He then headed out.
His search didn’t last long.
He found her perched on the felt of his pool table, cross legged, wearing panties and a tank, the backs of her wrists on her knees.
Her eyes were closed.
And, okay…
There was only ever going to be one woman’s ass on the back of his bike.
But he didn’t expect there would only ever be one woman’s ass on his felt.
Feeling his lips twitch, he retraced his steps, did his bathroom business including brushing and flossing, yanked on the jeans he wore the night before, leaving his chest bare. He headed back out, went to his kitchen and started coffee.
By the time he returned his attention to her, she hadn’t moved, but her eyes were open and on him.
“Please come here,” she requested.
Apparently, meditation-on-a-pool-table time was over.
This chick was something else.
No hesitation, he went right there.
He stopped, standing in front of her.
She reached out with one hand and touched the tattoo over his heart.
“OG,” she said.
“Yeah,” he muttered, taking her in up close, hearing the vibe of her voice, not certain what her mood was.
“Where do you go from there?” she asked.
He understood her question immediately.
She wanted to know where she would be.
Their kids.
“Where do you go from there, Jagger?” she pushed.
Her voice was soft, sweet, reflective.
She got it.
OG.
Always there.
Right at the heart.
It would always be them.
His mom. Dutch. Hound. Wilder.
His dad.
OG.
He wanted to answer her question, because he had an answer, but all of a sudden, his throat had shut down.
His throat had shut down.
She took his hand, moved it to her inner right arm, and wrapped his fingers around the three symbols inked there.
Even with his hand covering them, he knew what they were. In the last few days, he’d spent some time taking in her tats.
Those were detailed, intricate, even if not a one of them was bigger than his thumbnail.
Two Hamsa hands protecting a Chakra Third Eye.
Yeah.
With that tat, with the easy way she talked about shit, shared it, Jag knew she was there.
She knew herself or was capable of digging deep if something reared that needed contemplation.
He was not.
“Where do you go from there, Jagger?” she whispered.
He wanted to give it to her but he couldn’t.
Instead, he closed his eyes, dropped his head, and felt the tight muscles pull hard in his neck.
She left his hand where it was on her arm and swept hers over his hair.