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He was a big man, but somehow, he could move just right.
She was grateful for that.
So grateful she cried out when the orgasm exploded through her, curling her toes and causing her to hang on tight with her thighs, her heels and her fingers.
He didn’t stop. He continued riding her wave, until finally...
Finally...
He tensed, drove deep one more time and groaned against her damp skin.
He came so hard, she could feel him pulsating within her and just those twitches sent her spinning with another mini orgasm.
And when that happened he lifted his head and stared down into her face, surprised.
It probably wouldn’t have been a mini if he’d done what she asked. “You didn’t tell me you were about to come.” Even though her words were a bit breathless since she was still floating down from her high, she made sure he understood it was a gentle scolding.
“Didn’t think you’d miss me comin’.”
She didn’t, but... “But I wanted to know beforehand.”
“Why?”
“I like to know.”
“Why?”
Oh boy, he was persistent. “I just do.”
His green eyes narrowed. “Cass...”
She shouldn’t be embarrassed about it, so what did it hurt to tell him? “It... it turns me on.” Even so, heat rushed into her checks. Damn it.
Sometimes it also made her come again. Like she had with Judge.
“Yeah, well... Turns me on when a woman’s pussy explodes around me like yours did. Drawin’ me in, squeezin’ my dick. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind. That’s why I didn’t warn you, baby. Had no brains left to think.”
That was a good excuse, she guessed. “I’ll accept that.”
His body shook and she could see him trying to fight a grin. “Will you now?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Yes. Since I have no choice.”
“Promise to do better next time.”
Next time.
She wasn’t sure how many next times they had before she needed to get back to her daughter.
But she wasn’t opposed to at least one more.
Chapter Eleven
Next time.
It was actually after the third time, after he’d went to piss, clean up and bring her back a washcloth, that she mentioned it.
He handed her the warm, freshly rinsed washcloth, glanced at the clock to realize it was morning and they’d fucked three times in three hours.
He wasn’t sure how this was possible, but he still hadn’t had enough of her.
No other woman had been in his bed this long since his wife. Usually it was a once and done for the night. The woman in his bed was a means to an end. That end being his balls being emptied. And his restlessness being quieted.
Then she had to go. No lingering. Because after he was done with her, his loyal bitch would join him in bed.
Jury.
But, fuck, if he had it in him, he’d fuck Cassie a fourth time before the sun rose.
At his age, he was just glad he got it up three times in the same number of hours. He had been crossing his goddamn fingers and toes hoping he could. He did and he was damn proud of himself. Though the third time, his dick had been on the fence on whether to cooperate or not. With a little encouragement and Cassie’s mouth, it had decided to play along.
Thank fuck.
He grinned as he approached the bed but lost that grin when she mentioned the colors on his back.
He’d had them done at Trip and Deke’s urging but, at the time, he hadn’t been sure if he should.
His father had died with those colors inked into his skin. Because of what those colors stood for, what they meant. Now Judge had the same and also held the same spot at the table.
It felt like a bad omen. He had wanted to avoid walking in his father’s boots. Instead, he stepped right into them.
He thought his life would be different. He’d raise a family—even if it didn’t start out the way it should—be successful with his bail bonds business, keep his ass out of the joint, and bullets out of his back.
Once the club disintegrated that temptation to be pulled into mayhem was gone, which made it easier. Until Trip came home and resurrected the Fury. He dug up the past and dragged Judge right back into it.
If it wasn’t for his cousin being enthusiastic about it, Judge would’ve told Trip to go fuck off. He didn’t need that shit in his life. He didn’t need to relive the past.
He had been doing fine.
Perfectly fucking fine.
And somehow, he let himself get sucked back in.
Because of that, his back was covered with the Fury’s colors. He’d had it done at the same time as Deke. His fucking cousin could talk him into doing shit he had no plans on doing.
Like buying Jury when Deke got Justice.
Like lying on that ink-slinger’s table for all those fucking hours.
He’d almost stopped Crow—the best damn tattooist in western Pennsylvania, if not the whole state—from finishing several times.
