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Three days.
A UTI and Plan B would put a crimp in my plans to try everything sexual under the sun, but the fact that Digger wanted those three days too made me happy.
This was all unexpected, and so much better for it.
As we headed outside, he clicked his fingers. “That reminds me. You never did tell me the name of the blog with the clubhouse’s address on it. I need to send Rex the URL. Do you remember it?”
I shrugged. “Not off the top of my head, but when I have my phone, I can send you the link. It was a pretty interesting article.”
He grunted.
When we approached the bike, I groaned internally but didn’t say anything as he straddled it.
My ass, hips, and legs ached from the ride and also from last night, but I clambered on too, eyes crossing with discomfort until the engine started.
The vibrations weren’t soothing, but they did do something to my inner thighs…
Was it possible to get off on the vibrations?
I hadn’t felt that yesterday on the bike or earlier on in the ride, but like I’d told him, I tended to avoid as many lustful thoughts as I could because not only did they get me nowhere, but Father Doyle was harsh on those kinds of things in confession.
I had no desire to spend an hour on my knees going through dozens of Hail Marys all because I’d jilled off during the sex scenes onGame of Thrones.
I’d learned shortly after I’d seen Digger in Westchester that Father Doyle punished lustful thoughts and masturbation with the same severity as if I’d gone on a murder spree.
Heck, with our faction, he probably went harder on the masturbators than the murderers.
Before we set off, he said, “Remind me to rub Deep Heat onto you when we get back from the pharmacy. That should help when you sit down.”
I melted into him, breathing, “My hero.”
He snorted, then set off, but he squeezed my hand before he did so I knew he liked hearing that.
As we rode away from the hotel, it was difficult not to feel like those hounds—hounds shaped like Father and Bill Murphy—that had been baying at my heels, chasing me and forcing me down a certain path, had been diverted.
It was impossible not to feel safe when I was with this man and his ring was on my finger.
In less than a week, he’d already protected me more than any other had, and while it might not last forever, I was happy to take each day as it came.
If that made me snuggle into him, then so be it.
For the moment, he was mine.
If I could convince him, maybe he could be mine forever…
The thought hit me like a two-by-four to the temple, but I let it form fully in my mind.
Forever.
It tasted good on my tongue as I whispered it. The wind snatched it away, but I said it again. And I squeezed his waist.
His hand dropped to my fingers, and he squeezed them back.
Hope burned inside me, a fragile flame that I’d have to cultivate to keep steady.
His life was so different than mine—I’d learned that already. But mine wasn’t exactly nice. There were definitely similarities between them.
Crime and felony charges were run of the mill, and women were nothing but pussy to be bargained for. He wore a cut and Five Pointers wore Brioni… Could a clash of two cultures work?
