Then again, it wasn't worth the effort. Especially not when he could be inside his female right now.
With a final shake, he let the guy go, sending him off at a dead run. Fucker was scrawny; exercise would do him good.
As John turned back to the club, he saw Xhex's Ducati parked flush agains
t the building under a security light, and damn. . . He imagined her straddling all that power, lying low on the engine, gunning the bike around a dead man's curve. . . .
He stalked over to the door and found it open, with her standing in it.
"I thought you were going to tear his throat out," she drawled.
She was totally aroused.
As John came up to her, he didn't stop until her breasts were against his chest, and she didn't budge in the slightest - which naturally juiced him even more. God, she was hot to begin with, but this self-imposed separation they were rocking was making him even more desperate to be with her.
"You want to come in my office," she said on a growl. "Or do it out here?"
When he just nodded like the dumb handle he was, she laughed. "How about inside so we don't scare the children. "
Yeah, for most humans, sex didn't involve drawing blood.
As she led the way, he watched her hips sway and wondered if in fact it was anatomically possible for a person's tongue to drag on the floor.
The instant they were locked in together, he was all over her, kissing her hard as his hands made fast work of shoving up her shirt. As her fingers speared into his hair, he bent down and sent up a prayer of thanks that she never bothered with a bra.
With her nipple in his sucking mouth and one hand between her legs from the back, he laid her out on top of the paperwork on her desk. Next move was to peel off her leathers, and then he was sprung and penetrating her.
Fast, furious fucking, the kind that rearranged furniture and probably called attention to itself, was always the opening gambit. Second time was slower. Third time was that sensuous crap that got shot with a blurry lens in movies.
It was your typical way of handling a banquet: gorge to take the edge off; concentrate on favorites; finish off with a delicate aperitif -
They came at the same time, he bending over her, she wrapping her long legs up around his hips, both of them holding on as tight as they could.
In the midst of the jerking releases, he happened to lift his head and look up. Across the way, there was a file cabinet, and an extra chair. . . and for some reason, he noticed for the first time that the wall was made of concrete blocks and painted black.
Same stuff that he'd stared at for the last couple months. And none of it had registered.
Now, though, the fact that it was not her home or his hit him hard.
She hadn't invited him back to her place on the river since they'd had that first all-out session after their separation.
She hadn't come to the mansion, either.
Closing his eyes, he tried to reconnect with what his body was still up to, but all he got were vague sensations of pulsing below his belt. Popping his lids, he wanted to look at her face, but she had arched back and all he could see was the point of her chin. And some time cards. For her bouncers.
Who could be right outside the door, listening to them.
Shit. . . this was seedy.
He was having an illicit affair. . . with his own mate.
In the beginning, it had been so exciting, like they were dating in a way they hadn't done when they'd first gotten together. And he'd assumed it would always be that fun.
Except there had been shadows all along, hadn't there.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he realized he would so rather do this in a bed. Their mated bed. And it wasn't because he was old-fashioned; he missed her sleeping beside him.
"What is it, John?"