When Dragon was done in the bathroom, I was already underneath the covers.
“You still all worked up?” he asked, sliding in behind me.
“No,” I snapped, making him laugh.
“I love it when you’re drunk and riled.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Uh huh.” His arm slid around my waist, his hand resting on my belly for a moment before finding my breast.
“Or riled,” I said.
“She loved you—”
“I know that,” I said, cutting him off.
“Maybe she was embarrassed.”
“Vera?” I asked incredulously. The woman had always let it all hang out. There wasn’t a shy bone in her body.
“Time in her life when she wasn’t strong, least not in the way you knew her.”
“There’s nothing weak about living through a beating like that,” I said quietly.
“I know that, baby,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “But maybe she didn’t.”
I stared into the darkness, trying to find a way to consolidate all the conflicting emotions running through me.
“She understood what I went through,” I said finally. “But she never told me.”
“Yeah.”
“It would’ve helped,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling me tighter against him.
We lay like that for a while, both lost in our own thoughts, but eventually, Dragon’s hands started roaming.
“Tonight was good,” I said as I relaxed back against him, sighing as his fingers trailed over my hip and between my legs.
“It was,” he agreed.
“I like it when all of us are in one place. It feels like it barely ever happens anymore.”
“Brenna,” he growled into my ear. “Only thing I’m thinkin’ about at the moment is that you’re here.” He lifted my leg over his and pressed his hand deeper. “And I’m here.”
My laugh turned into a sigh as Dragon bit the side of my neck. No matter what happened outside our bed, we’d realized over the years that nothing could come between us inside it. It was our cocoon, the one place where everything else fell away and it was just the two of us. I groaned as he slid inside me from behind, and arched my back as he started to move.
How I felt about myself or worried about the wrinkles I saw in the mirror or the jeans that would never fit again didn’t matter to my man. Dragon still looked at me like the same girl he’d let map constellations on his chest the first time we’d met. It was only fair, I supposed, since when I looked at him, I still saw the man I’d let push me up against the side of the clubhouse and kiss me until my toes curled.
Our bodies were slick with sweat by the time he rolled me onto my stomach. I shoved my pillow out of the way so I could breathe and pressed my cheek against the cool sheet as I came, sinking into the bed as Dragon’s weight relaxed into me.
“You’re on top next time,” he said, out of breath as he placed kisses along my neck and shoulder. “I’m getting too old.”
“The day you’re too old to fuck me is the day I bury you,” I murmured sleepily.
Dragon’s laughter filled the room as he rolled away.
“Good to know that you’ll put me out of my misery,” he joked, slapping my ass.
It took me a second to realize how my words had been interpreted. “Shit, that wasn’t what I meant.”
“Probably good that it’s out in the open now,” he teased as I climbed off the bed to clean up.
“I meant that you’d never be too old,” I argued, pinching his leg. I jumped out of reach as he swiped at me.
“That isn’t what you said,” he replied, grinning.
For a moment, everything else disappeared. Dragon’s smile still had the power to take my breath away.
Chapter 10
Amy
Present Day
“It’s hard to know what to tell them,” I said, my head resting on Patrick’s shoulder. I’d have to move soon. No matter how we loved to sleep pressed against each other, time had taken away the opportunity. Even just the weight of my head could make my husband’s arm go numb, and there wasn’t much muscle to cushion my cheek anymore.
“While I don’t believe Slider would care, I think Vera would prefer we keep their most intimate moments private,” he said, his voice holding just a hint of the old country. I could always tell how close Patrick was to sleep by the sound of his brogue. It got deeper as he began to drift off.
“Yes,” I agreed, sliding back until just my lips were pressed to Patrick’s shoulder. I wound my fingers with his, the only way we could comfortably sleep anymore.
“I don’t believe we should tell them about the women,” Patrick said, his fingers tightening on mine. “If it’s their love story we’re tellin’, that chapter has no place.”
“Maybe it does,” I replied, staring into the darkness. “She forgave him for that.”
“Aye, she did,” he said, turning his face toward mine. “But in order to tell that part of the story, we’d have to tell the story of Farrah’s mother.”