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It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, and she needed to do more than just watch. Slapping his hand out of the way, she grasped his cock and stroked as she’d seen him do.
“Fuck, baby, you’re going to kill me,” he said, then threw his head back and erupted all over her chest and stomach. Hot cum splashed on her, leaving milky white streaks. Izzy ran her fingers through it smearing it around her breasts and abdomen.
Breathing like he’d just run a marathon, Jig stared at her. “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. My mark on you like that.”
Their eyes met, and the now familiar punch of emotion hit her. She was neither able or willing to admit there was more between them than just friendship and fucking, but she felt it. And she ignored it.
Jig leaned forward and kissed her. Hunger ignited as though she hadn’t just come twice. Wrapping her arms and legs around Jig’s back, she gave herself over to it. They needed to shower, to clean off, but somehow this was perfect.
It was raw, it was dirty, it was a little screwed up.
It was them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
JIG BOOTED THE door open with his size twelve and exited the john as he hauled his zipper up. In all the years he’d been a Handler, he’d managed to avoid touching the inside of the bathroom door. A trip to the clinic wasn’t his choice of a fun day, and that place was crawling with DNA from God knew who. Actually, he probably did know who, and somehow that made it worse.
“C’mere, brother,” Zach called out as Jig reentered the main area of the clubhouse. Zach was one game of pool away from losing his shirt, but the guy didn’t seem to give a shit. He’d sucked back five beers and had his woman draped all over him, so empty wallet or not, he was pretty fuckin’ satisfied.
“What’s up, Z? I ain’t fronting you a penny. Club’s gonna have to send Louie to beat your own ass if you keep losing all our money,” he said as he wandered over to Zach and Rocket’s game. Copper may have banned parties and Honeys until the dust settled, but prez could sense when his men were reaching their limit, so he’d allowed everyone and their ol’ ladies to chill at the clubhouse that night. It wasn’t quite a party, no heavy music, no scantily clad Honeys, and no one was allowed to get too trashed, but it was still nice to blow off some steam with his family.
“Sorry I couldn’t come out today to help with your girl’s house. Had a clogged sink issue in the women’s locker room that tripped me up all day. How the fuck the sink got clogged full of blond hair, I’ll never know. We have fucking showers. No one should be washing their hair in those sinks.”
Your girl.
Zach was the third person to call Izzy his girl that evening. And Jig hadn’t corrected a single one. She wasn’t really his. No woman would ever be his again, but the thought of it, of calling her his woman, not only made him hard, it thawed something frozen inside his chest. What fucking man wouldn’t want to call Izzy his woman? She had a smokin’ body, befriended everyone she came across, had a kick-ass job, and was fierce as shit. Plus, she had a bit of a violent streak that made a sick bastard like him want her even more.
“Hey,” Toni said, slapping Zach’s arm. “We stand at the mirror and brush our hair over the sink.” She shrugged. “It falls in. Get over it.”
Jig chuckled. He sure as hell remembered that. Callie’s blond hair had pretty much taken over the bathroom at times. Shower drain, sink, on the floor— He froze. Holy shit. Second time recently he’d thought of his wife in a casual context. Not something he ever allowed. Just once a year on her birthday did he indulge in the agonizing memories of his younger, happier years. But she kept popping into his head lately, and it was…almost pleasant. Not the usual heart-grinding punch of misery, but a memory that could induce a grin.
He’d never accept Callie’s death, never be at peace with the way she was ripped from his life, but could he find some peace within himself? Could he finally accept that he still had a life, one he could live and actually enjoy?
His gaze met Izzy’s across the room where she sat at a table with Shell and Beth. Her nose wrinkled in a cute, inquisitive look, so he shook his head. He was fine. With a smile, she winked then went back to braiding Beth’s hair.
“Hello? Earth to Jig,” Zach said on a laugh. “Look at the poor bastard. He’s smitten. Like a love-sick puppy dog. It’s disgusting.”
