Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

“Dear God,” she whispers. She lifts up on her elbows and stares at me. “You are so earning that patch.”

I rumble with laughter and kiss my way up her body.

“You know I’d do that every day, multiple times a day, patch or no patch, right?” I settle myself between her legs, pushing my cock inside her slippery heat.

She lifts her legs, locking them around me. “I think so.”

I thump into her with more force. “You think?”

“Yes. Oh my. Do that again.”

I nail her with short, hard strokes and she still can’t seem to get enough. Lifting her hips, grinding against me just as eager as I am. I grab a pillow and try to stuff it under her without losing my rhythm. She notices and whimpers. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Not gonna happen.”

We both come hard and loud. “Fuck,” I groan as I keep pumping into her. I could happily die right this second without a single regret.

My arms give out and I land on the mattress next to her.

She reaches over and curls her fingers around mine and whispers, “Forget stars. You make me see galaxies.”

That’s a beat-on-my chest statement if ever I’ve heard one.

I turn my head—the only body part I’m capable of moving at the moment. “Good, ’cause you’re my whole universe.”

She squeezes my hand.

After a few seconds, my heart rate’s back to normal. I thought she’d drifted off to sleep, but she pops up, eager gaze bouncing around the room.

“Where’s that hole punch?” She scampers to the end of the bed while I tuck my arms behind my head and enjoy the view of her naked ass while she searches through our pile of clothes.

She holds the little silver device up in triumph and saunters back to bed. “Gimmie that card.”

Amused, I turn over and search for it. Somehow it ended up under our sweaty bodies and it’s a little mashed and wrinkled. Biting her bottom lip, she happily punches a hole in the first box.

The smile on her face falters as she hands the card back. She stops halfway.

“One thing.” Her gaze flicks toward my cut. “Uh, none of those patches are from sexcapades you’ve had with other girls, right? ’Cause, I’d rather you wear that ring,” she wiggles her fingers toward the nightstand where I’d dropped the ring an ex had given me about a million years ago, “than some patch on your cut proclaiming you ate some random girl’s pussy for a month straight.”

The idea’s so absurd to me that I end up roaring with laughter for a solid minute. “No. None of them are pussy patches.”

Maybe that was too specific of an answer. She frowns. “No blow job patches? No doggy style—”

“No carnal patches of any kind on my cut,” I assure her. “Each one has some meaning behind it but not like that. You can ask Jiggy to confirm tomorrow, if you want.”

That finally seems to erase the concern lingering in her eyes.

She hands me the card.

“No need. I trust you.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rooster

Before we can get back on the road, Dawson invites us to join his new security team for a presentation, meeting, workshop, class, whatever you want to call it. Selling it to Jigsaw isn’t easy. He hated school and isn’t exactly eager to return to anything resembling being told what to do.

Shelby’s coming with us so she can work on some songs with her band.

Feels good to have her on the back of my bike again.

She squeezes me tight and I’m thrown back to the first time she took that spot. The Texas heat. Her soaked sundress. I reach back and run my hand over her jeans-covered legs. Definitely more appropriate riding gear than that first ride.

“You all right?” I shout.

“Wonderful!”

Feels good to hear that. Every day since she left the hospital, she seems a little more like herself.

At the hotel, I walk her downstairs to where her band’s rehearsing.

“I’ll be right upstairs if you need me.” I take both of Shelby’s hands in mine. “If you want to leave early or something comes up, just send me a text.”

She leans on tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for doing this.” She reaches out and touches Jiggy’s arm. “You too. You didn’t have to—”

“No worries, songbird.”

After one more kiss, I reluctantly let Shelby go, waiting until she meets up with Trent before searching for the stairs.

“I hate you,” Jigsaw mutters.

“What happened to ‘no worries’?”

He jerks his shoulders up and down a few times. “I didn’t want to make Shelby feel bad.”

I hold in my laughter and slap him on the back. “I appreciate you being here. Don’t think I could do this on my own without punching someone.”

He growls a few choice words and impatiently motions for me to hurry up the stairs.

The next floor’s crawling with guys in dress pants, tucked-in shirts and sports coats that are probably concealing weapons in holsters.