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Faster.
Harder.
It was right there, right in front of me. I dug my fingers into his shoulders and reached out, and the fireworks started again, shooting off in the core of me and outward until I felt like one continuous, ecstatic explosion from head to toe.
He groaned, loud and low, as my pussy spasmed around him, and then he swelled and every muscle in his body stood out taut as he came deep inside me.
When it was over, I expected him to collapse beside me, to stare up at the ceiling while we caught our breath. Instead, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me with him, settling me in the crook of his arm while my body stiffened. Because it felt good. Really good. But it also felt way too freaking intimate.
I extricated myself as casually as I could and leaned up on my elbow. My fingers had other plans, though. They grazed along the planes of his chest, followed the vein down his bicep, traced the washboard grooves of his abdomen. It wasn’t an intimate thing; my fingers were just making up for being deprived of the opportunity during sex. That’s all it was. Really.
“Feel better, darling?” he asked.
I laughed. “I feel like someone replaced all my muscles with Jello.”
He smiled. “That someone would be me, and I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Really?” I said, cocking an eyebrow. “Because the message I’d take from that is ‘payback’s a bitch’.” Though, I wasn’t quite sure I had the strength to exact my revenge just yet. Really, it wasn’t hard to envision my muscles as the gelatinous dessert. Strawberry flavor, maybe? No, cherry. Definitely cherry.
But since the idea of letting my gelatinous muscles curl up around Brute’s big bod while I drifted off into a blissful sleep was sounding pretty damn tempting, I forced myself to sit up.
He followed me up slowly. “You ready to get out of here?” he asked.
I nodded as I reached for my bra and panties. “I’ve had a few drinks; I probably shouldn’t be driving, so I’m just going to call a cab.” Because while Greta did reckless things, she generally tried to steer clear of reckless things that could get innocent people hurt. And drunk driving wasn’t just reckless; it was stupid.
“I’ll drive,” he said, grabbing his jeans off the floor and giving me a first-class view of the two perfect, solid globes of his ass.Damn.“We’ll come back for our car tomorrow.”
Bad idea. Really bad idea.
“Sure,” I heard myself say aloud.
Great, not only had he turned my muscles into Jello, but apparently, my spine too. I’d definitely have to do something about that… later.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brute
The late night traffic was lighter than usual as we drove away from Onyx. If the streets had been congested with cars, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed it quite so quickly. But it was there, plain as day, a slate gray Mercedes a few cars back. It had been following us ever since we pulled out of the club’s parking lot.
I sat up straighter on my bike, watching the Mercedes in my side mirrors. At the same time, the change in posture would put Greta on alert; I had a feeling she was intuitive like that.
And sure enough, her fingers dug into my abdomen, like a question.What’s going on?her body language asked.
I pressed my right shoulder back into her.Behind us, to the right,I hoped she read loud and clear. And hopefully, she had the good sense not to look back. No sense in tipping off our tail any sooner than necessary.
She nodded against my back. “Lead them back to Onyx,” she shouted over the roar of the bike’s engine.
All right. Why not? If she wanted to leave the Costas stuck cleaning up the mess rather than the Old Dogs, who was I to argue?
I took the next left, drove a little, then made another left, heading back in the club’s direction. And sure enough, the tail stayed with us, just one car back now. This was no coincidence. Through the bike’s side mirrors, I could see the car, but not its occupants. Though, I had a feeling we’d just found the two men Fred had been kind enough to mention.
But how to handle them? Not so long ago, I would have spun the bike around them, gun in hand, and fired at them while I charged—I was always up for a game of chicken. But now, I hesitated. Now, my thoughts weren’t caught up in how to send a message and have a little fun in the process. Foreign concerns like how to keep Greta out of harm’s way sprung to mind. And how to make sure she didn’t do anything crazy and get herself shot.
I waited to feel the proverbial ball and chain around my ankle. But I didn’t. As a safer plan worked itself out in my head, I found I liked the feeling of wanting to protect her, to worry about her—even if those were the very things that would likely send the girl running in the other direction.
As we neared Onyx, I glanced back in the mirror once more. The Mercedes was still one car back. Time to put a little distance between us.
I sped up, swerving off the main street at the last minute and into Onyx’s employee parking lot behind the club. I planned to pull in between two cars, giving Greta some protection, then put a few bullets in our followers.
