Diamond in the Dust (Lost Kings MC 18)

He lifts his eyebrows a few times. “We’ll see.”

“Jesus,” Jiggy moans. “Should I run solo?”

“Nah, I’m coming.” Rooster slides out of the bench.

“You will be,” I mutter.

Rooster closes his eyes and shakes his head. A slight rumble of laughter passes his lips.

“I’m gonna wait outside,” Jigsaw says.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Rooster asks once we’re alone.

“Not at all.” I press my palm against his bristly cheek. “Go get your heart rate up.”

Rooster

It’s not a competition but Jiggy and I push ourselves hard running through the trails.

He finally slows his pace when our campground comes into view.

“You warn Shelby about Washington?” he asks.

“What about it?”

“Running into Hopper? Or your ex? Any of those things ring a bell?”

“She knows.” At least, I think I mentioned it back on the beach. “It’s such ancient history, I don’t think it’ll be a big deal.”

“Okay. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hopper’s not even prez there anymore.”

“True.”

I get the feeling he’s not telling me something. Maybe I should pay better attention to what’s going on in our other charters. But I’ve kind of had my hands full with my own charter’s issues this year. And it’s not like the club’s in the habit of sending out a newsletter with all the latest gossip every month. The secret nature of how each club operates often includes concealing our activities from each other, not just civilians and the government.

“Murphy said things were pretty chill when he and Heidi visited on their honeymoon,” I say.

He stops at one of the picnic benches and clambers on top. “Yeah, Murphy doesn’t have history there like we do.”

I stop, resting my hands on my thighs. Maybe he had a point earlier. “I left on good terms. Mostly.”

“Left a few broken hearts too,” he mutters, stretching out on his back and closing his eyes.

“Broken hearts, my ass.” I slap his leg. “You all right out here?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes pop open and he squints at the sky. “Might take a nap in this spot.”

“Just don’t get eaten by a bear.” I pat his shoulder on my way to the RV.

“Enjoy yoga time!” he calls out.

Shaking my head, I yank open the door and the mystical notes of whatever music Shelby listens to while she’s practicing yoga or meditating tinkle through the air.

Not wanting to disturb her, I step lightly into the living room and close the door behind me.

I turn and stare.

Shelby’s smack in the middle of the floor, ass pointing toward me, feet in the air, grasping her toes, pulling her knees down to her shoulders, and silently rocking from side to side.

Fuck me, I want to bury my face right between her thighs and stay there for the rest of the afternoon.

I clear my throat as I strip off my shirt. “I don’t want to be the guy who pervs all over you when you’re trying to exercise, but…”

She laughs softly and releases her feet, slowly lowering them to the floor. “Don’t turn happy baby pose into something dirty.”

“I’m only human, Shelby.”

“I did have a yoga instructor one time who called it ‘happy husband pose.’ At the time I didn’t get it…” She runs her gaze over my bare chest. “What are ya doing?”

“Joining you.”

“For?”

I shrug off the question, like I’m mildly insulted. “I have tight parts in need of stretching too.”

She squints at me and sits up. “I’m sure you do.”

“I’m serious.” I lower my big body to the floor, groaning as my hamstrings protest. Maybe I have been sitting on my ass too much lately.

“Do you want to use my mat?” she asks.

“Nope. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll follow you.”

A skeptical frown creases her brow. But she shrugs and hits play on the video she’d been following.

“Do you know bridge pose?” she stretches out on her back, resting her feet on the floor, knees toward the ceiling, and arms at her sides, fingers almost touching her heels.

“I’m a quick learner.”

She demonstrates, slowly lifting her hips in the air while keeping her feet and shoulders firmly on the floor. Besides wanting to stick my dick in her, I’m impressed with her strength and control. Somehow she makes the simple move look effortless but graceful.

“You have to remember to squeeze your legs together,” she instructs. “Sometimes, I practice with a block or a ball.”

“You don’t look like you need it. I mean, your legs are where they’re supposed to be.”

Slowly, she lowers her hips to the mat, then repeats the motion a few more times.

I’m still staring at her when she finishes.

She pauses the video again. “Need help?”

“Probably.” I channel my best dumb jock imitation. “Can you check my form. Just in case.”

“I bet your form is fine.” A smile teases at the corners of her mouth as she nimbly flips to her hands and knees, and crawls over to me.

The subtle movement provides me with an excellent view of her breasts almost spilling out of her sports bra. When she reaches my side, she kneels close enough for her thigh to graze my hip.