Sparks of pleasure swirl through me. My back arches. If Rooster didn’t have his hands on me, I might tumble to the floor. My fingers dig into his rock-solid arms.
“That’s my girl.” He pulls me in, covering my neck with sweet kisses. “Keep going,” he whispers against my ear. “Make me come now.”
“My pleasure.” I cling to him, my hips matching his chaotic rhythm.
He stills, a harsh grunt that sounds like my name tearing from his throat.
Then he’s brushing his knuckles against my chin, urging me closer for a kiss. He strokes my cheek as if I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. Satisfaction and contentment glitter in his eyes. “I look forward to you surprising me for the rest of my life.”
The rest of my life.
His words match the thoughts churning in my head. “I like the sound of that.”
He strokes his fingers over my thigh. “Love how soft you are,” he murmurs as though he’s thoroughly enchanted with everything about me.
Neither of us seem to want to move or disentangle ourselves. But finally, we make our way into the bathroom to clean up.
“I never thought I’d be so comfortable sharing space with someone…” my voice falters. Why the heck’d I say that out loud?
But Logan smiles and kisses the top of my head. “Sure about that? Seems that I come with an extra space sharer.”
I snort and slap my hand over my mouth. “How could I forget about Jiggy?”
“He makes it impossible.”
Outside, we find Jiggy sprawled out on a blanket, staring up at the sky. The mild embarrassment from before returns with a swift, vengeful sting and I glance away.
“Are you two finished fornicating on the communal couch?” Jigsaw asks without glancing our way.
“It’s not a communal couch.” Rooster toes Jiggy’s thigh with his boot.
“It’s where we eat our meals.” Jiggy lifts his hands and points to his eyeballs with dramatic flair. “That image is now seared into my brain.”
“Well, unsear it, motherfucker.” Rooster’s voice drops to a low growl.
“I can’t,” Jiggy gripes. “But I promise not to wank off to it.”
“Lordy,” I mutter.
Jiggy cocks his head, peering past Rooster to grin at me. “No worries, songbird. You’re perfect. It’s his hairy legs that are gonna give me nightmares—” He yelps and rolls to the side a second before Rooster’s boot flies toward his ribcage. Letting out a gleeful cackle, he jumps up and claps his hands in Rooster’s face. “Too slow.”
Rooster lunges at him, but I grab his arm. “All things considered, Jiggy’s being rather polite. For him.”
Jiggy rests his hand over his heart and bows forward slightly. “She’s right. I’m exercising great restraint here, brother. I haven’t even cracked a single can-I-join-in-next-time joke.”
“That’s it.” Rooster charges Jiggy. This time I can’t stop him.
Jiggy runs across the parking lot laughing his fool head off with Rooster hot on his tail.
Dammit. I left my phone inside. Otherwise, I’d video this for later.
Shaking my head, I leave them be and return to the RV. My stomach rumbles and I figure they’ll probably be hungry when they’re finished beating the tar outta one another.
I pull salad and sandwich fixings out of our little fridge and arrange everything on the counter so they can help themselves.
They stomp up the steps into the RV as I’m tugging the dining tabletop into place.
“Let me do that,” Rooster says.
“You two get it out of your systems?” I ask, casting a scolding glance Jiggy’s way.
He shrugs and helps Rooster finish fixing the table. “It’s never really out of our systems.”
“You’re not kidding,” Rooster grumbles.
We fix our plates in semi-silence.
Rooster motions for me to slide into the booth first, then pulls me into his lap. He leans down and whispers, “You know I can’t resist when you say, ‘take your cock out’ with that sweet southern drawl.”
“Stop.” I laugh so hard I barely get the word out. “Not now.”
On the other side of the table Jigsaw groans. “Christ, that’s so fucking hot.”
Rooster’s playful smile flattens.
“What?” Jigsaw’s eyebrows rise. “You said it.”
“Forget what I said.” Rooster’s dead firm voice should leave no room for argument, but he should also know Jiggy can’t resist teasing us.
Sure enough, a sly smile spreads over Jigsaw’s face. “Nah, I like that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. It’s cute in a totally sickening way.”
“Thanks.” I reach over and whap him with one of my throw pillows. “That keen hearing of yours is gonna get your ass kicked one day.”
Ignoring me, he grins at Rooster. “Apparently, Shelby’s a take-charge girl. Good for you, brother.”
“I know what I like.” I lean in and run my fingers through Rooster’s hair, nuzzling against his neck and shoulder.
He wraps his arms around me, molding me to his body.
“Please.” Jigsaw holds his hands in the air. “I’ve had enough visual demonstrations of your affection for each other.”
“Sorry.” I giggle, sliding out of Rooster’s lap onto the bench.
“Enough audio demonstrations too,” Jiggy mutters, stabbing his fork into a slice of cucumber.
“A man as talented as mine deserves to be celebrated.” I lift my chin and spear my own cucumber.
Jigsaw snort-laughs. “Good one.”
They chat about biker stuff that doesn’t really interest me, so I take my notebook out and jot a few lines that have been swirling in my head for miles now.
Swore I’d love you ‘til my last breath.
Now I’m dying inside.
A thousand little deaths.
You laugh with her.
Leaving me out of the joke.
“Did my man not get the job done?” Jiggy asks.
“Huh?” I’m a thousand miles away, trying to think of the right word to rhyme with joke, so it takes me a second to process the question. I lift my head and find Jiggy’s head cocked, reading my notes.
“Hey!” I slap my hand over the page. “No peeking.”
Rooster reaches over and slaps Jiggy on the side of the head. “Cut it out.”
Lacking any remorse, Jiggy rests his chin in his palm and taps the page. “I’m concerned. That’s kinda dark for you.”
“I write dark stuff. Sometimes.” I slap the notebook shut. “Besides it’s just rough notes and ideas for later. That’s why the no peeking rule exists.”
Laughter rumbles out of Rooster and I turn my glare on him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” He holds up his hands. “I’ve never peeked.”
“Those lines are haunting me.” Jiggy grins like an evil imp and sings, “I’m dying inside, a thousand little deaths.”
“Good grief, your voice sounds like a bag of dying goats,” I fume.
“Would you cut it out,” Rooster says.
Jiggy taps the notebook. “You’re not worried she’ll write a song about your sexual prowess?”