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When he heard the sounds of her approaching peak—a soft cry at his deepest impact that reached a slightly higher pitch each time—Jay shifted their position so his pubic bone ground on her clit when he drove for that deep impact. The way she liked that, the sound she made, like she was surprised at the explosion of pleasure, even though he’d figured that out days ago, always drove him straight over his own cliff.
Vaguely, he heard his own increasingly high-pitched gasps and groans as wrenching ecstasy twisted him up like a wet rag, but he didn’t give a fuck how he sounded. He just needed to be as deep in her as he could get, he needed to feel her orgasm around him, needed to know he could make her feel good even when she felt so bad.
When she came, as always, she clamped her mouth shut and went taut. Desperate cries of shocked release found their only exit through her nose, coming out as reedy, trembling whines. Jay held off until he felt the first signs of her easing, and then let himself go.
Jesus. Fuck.
He pulled out as soon as he had the motor control to do so and dropped to her side, grabbing for the free leg of her pants to cover her, in case they’d drawn an audience. He didn’t care enough to lift his head and look over his shoulder at the door.
“Oh,” Petra sighed. “Thank god you’re here. Thank god.”
Jay hooked his arm across her waist and drew her close. He kissed her temple and let his lips rest there, breathing in the subtle scent of her perspiration.
After a minute or two, she sighed again, and this one was resigned. “We should get up before somebody sees up.”
“You sure nobody has?”
An unconcerned shrug shifted her body in his arms. “Probably not. The African dance class is still going on next door, and there’s not another class today for about two hours.” She chuckled a little. “I don’t even care if somebody did.”
“Me either.”
She snuggled against his chest, tucking her face between the plackets of his kutte. Against his t-shirt, she muttered, “Do you have to go soon?”
As far as he knew, he didn’t. It was possible that Eight would call everybody to church after the run, but unless he wanted to talk about the Shadow Bears, there was no reason to; the actual handoff had been smooth. And the confrontation with the Shadow Bears had been nothing.
If he got a call, he’d deal with that then. “No. I can hang with you until you need to get to the bar—and I’ll go with you, if you want.”
“I’m not opening the bar tonight. I’m keeping it closed until my dad ...”
She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. Jay found a way to hold her even more tightly.
“Will you come home with me?” she asked against his chest. “I want to get in bed and watch movies and have dinner in bed and just pretend there’s nothing in the world but us and Netflix. Can we do that?”
“I can’t think of anything better,” he said.
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~oOo~
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“Idon’t know who’shotter in this movie, Cher or Sam Elliott.” Snuggled on Jay’s chest, Petra grinned up at him.
Jay grinned back. “You could have a three-way and do ‘em both.”
They were in Petra’s bed, watchingMask. She’d wanted to see it since he’d told her Pop said it was the best Hollywood portrayal of bikers he knew, but the film didn’t stream anywhere they could find. Jay had almost forgotten about it, but she’d found the DVD on Amazon and ordered it. They were watching an actual DVD.
She’d told him she wanted to get in bed and watch movies and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist, and that was precisely what they’d done. The whole rest of the afternoon and now into the evening: watch movies, fuck, eat junk food, drink wine, all of it in her bed.
“Three-ways are too much work,” she said, her grin still bright and impish. She settled back on his chest to focus on the movie again.
“You’ve had a three way?” he asked, feeling a cloud roll into his brain. He thought of that big drawer of sex toys in her bathroom. They hadn’t talked about that yet, and he’d be fine if they never got around to it. He’d like to pretend it didn’t exist.
Something about her body changed; he felt it against his chest and the arm that held her. When she looked up at him again, she wasn’t smiling. “A few. You haven’t?”
He frowned. “You thought I had?”
“I don’t know. I guess ... I guess I have—or had—this idea of bikers being pretty horny, and biker parties being pretty wild. Is that wrong?”
