“That’ll cost you.” His arm tightened, his hand closed over her breast, and as he shifted, pushing her down into the mattress, his hips came under her ass and she realized he was naked.
“Mercy,” she hissed. “Youcannotbe naked in these people’s sheets.”
He was in a mood, though, and he wasn’t going to take anything seriously. The overgrown kid in him had come out to play, and that was always the hardest of his personas to reason with. “Okay, college girl, maybe there’s some stuff they didn’t teach you at school. You’re supposed to consummate your marriage. On your actual wedding day. Which is today, in case you forgot.”
“And in case you forgot, we’re guests in someone’s home, and their tiny kids are asleep right down the hall.”
There was a low laugh threaded through his Cajun purring voice. “So try not to scream.”
“Good guests don’t get…bodily fluids…on people’s sheets.”
“You don’t know that. What if Sly and Layla rent this room out as a brothel on weekends?”
“Mercy.” She attempted to pull his hand away, and only succeeded in pushing it down her stomach, where he then reached into the waistband of her shorts, fingers going down between her legs. “Can’t you wait one night?” Until they could find some sleazy motel in Mississippi somewhere, where their neighbors wouldn’t give a damn.
“No.” He opened his mouth against her neck, tongue flexing against the pounding pulse point in her throat. His fingers teased her. “Can you?”
She applauded herself for holding out a full five seconds. Because in those five seconds, his fingertips worked against her until she was slippery.
“No,” she breathed, as her hips rolled, unable to keep still any longer. “No…but, God, Mercy, this is wrong…”
But he was tugging her shorts down, and his palm was against her sex, pushing her legs farther apart. And then he was entering her from behind, as they lay on their sides, nestled together like spoons.
His hand splayed across her belly and he drew her back against him. They barely moved, the sex slow, easy nudges of his hips, and the bed made not a sound. The sheets whispered and even that was hard to hear.
Ava fell into a pleasure-swamped dream state, half-awake, feeling drunk and languid. She could have drifted like this, searching, for hours, it felt like. But they had to sleep; they had to find some kind of finish.
He eased her over onto her stomach, helped her get her knees under her. The hard thrusting sent her over the edge and she felt him come as the spasms pulsed through her.
“Just wait till I get you alone,” he murmured afterward, as he pulled her up against his chest. “Just wait,fillette. You won’t be able to stand it.”
The alarm went off at four. They dressed in the dark, and before they left the bedroom, he kissed her, petting her hair and neck for long moments, a wordless greeting and display of affection and a desperate sort of need to be touching that she echoed in her own skin. They needed time together. Real, unbroken, continuous days of time, to take back what they’d lost in those lonely five years, and whisper quietly about what they planned to do in the years to come. To enjoy each other and breathe the same air. She hated the travel, and his hands on her hair told her that he hated it too.
Layla and Sly were waiting in the kitchen, Sly dressed, Layla in a gray silk robe tied tight at her waist.
“I made sandwiches,” Layla said. “So you don’t have to eat roller food on the road.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ava said as she accepted the tightly rolled bags that were just the right size to fit in the saddle bags.
“Hey, this big monster brings my hubby home safe from London” – Layla gestured to Mercy – “a few sandwiches are the least I can do.”
More than a few sandwiches, Ava reflected, feeling the heat wash across her face. “I pulled the sheets off the bed and–”
“It’s fine,” Layla assured. She smiled. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”
“Wait, what’s wrong with the sheets?” Sly asked, glancing down at his wife.
Layla elbowed him. “Do you guys need anything else before you hit the road? Drinks? Chapstick? I can’t imagine traveling all that way on a bike.” She shuddered.
Ava took a deep breath, touched with dread at the idea of getting back on the Dyna. “No, I think we’re good.”
Layla hugged her in the kitchen, wished her well.
“Thank you so much,” Ava said to her, squeezing the other woman’s small shoulders. “You have no idea. This was so wonderful. Thank you.”
“Stop on your way back through,” Layla encouraged. She squeezed Ava’s hand as they pulled apart. “Good luck.”
Sly walked them out to the driveway. “I know you’ve got an army of Dogs at your back,” he told Mercy, “but if you need anything, let us know.” His face, expressionless and harsh with its lines framed by the overhead security light in the carport, was somehow benevolent.
