I want to tear this pussy apart.
“I love you, and I love what you do to me.” Gina cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking the stubble on his jaw. “You promised, remember?”
He did.
But she wasn’t ready. At least, not yet.
“I always know what you need, don’t I?” Matt pushed another finger in, and with her thighs already shaking, she spread her legs apart to give him more room. “That’s the way, my darling. Relax.”
He loved watching her derive pleasure. How her teeth pressed into her bottom lip as she got closer to the edge. The sounds she made. How she screamed, then lost the ability to breathe, her mouth forming a silent O as she came.
Beyond the trees of his back garden, the sky was turning into a pale shade of pink as the sun made its presence known. Light flickered through the leaves to waltz upon her face. Matt held her still-trembling body, his lips pressed against her skin. “You okay?”
“Better than okay.” He could feel her smile on his chest, hear it in her voice. “I guess we should get up now.”
As loath to leave their love nest on the balcony as he was, Gina didn’t make a move. Bailing out of a day at the lake house briefly crossed his mind. Matt dismissed the thought just as quickly. He’d be a shitty friend to do that.Selfish. It was something they did together every year, and this was the first Fourth of July without Kyan. Dillon and Linnea might need their support, and this would be the perfect opportunity for Gina to bond with the girls and take her place within his family of friends.
Matt sat up, taking Gina with him, and brushed the hair from her eyes. “I’ll make coffee and fix us some breakfast while you shower.”
“Or you could shower with me.”
God, I love you.
“As tempting as that sounds, if I did, we’d never leave the house.” Then he stood, extending his hand. “C’mon, Kit said they’d be by for us around eight.”
“Hello, Trouble.” Sloan smirked at Gina over his shoulder as Matt guided her inside the rear door of his sporty new M3.
“Hey, Sloan.” She returned the greeting with a roll of her eyes, scooching across the black leather seat. “What is it with you guys and purple cars?”
“It’s Daytona Violet Metallic, thank you very much.” Of course, he had to correct her as if violet and purple weren’t the same thing. “Special order. Cost me an extra five grand, I’ll have you know.”
“For paint?” With a toss of her thick chocolate waves, Gina glanced at him in disbelief as he slid into the seat beside her. “That’s insane.”
“Call me crazy, then,” Sloan said.
Matt shrugged. “Custom paint for the Audi was eight.”
Worth every damn penny, too.
“Jesus, you’re both nuts.” Then, she directed her attention to their bassist, who sat idly staring out the passenger side window. “What color is your car, Kit? And please don’t tell me purple.”
“Okay, I won’t,” Kit muttered, still staring. After a moment, he turned away from the window. “It’s a yellow AMG GT 63.”
Yeah, yellow like a canary or a neon highlighter.
Trading glances, he and Sloan shared a chuckle.
“What?” Those puppy-dog eyes of his flicked back and forth between them. “Yellow’s a happy color, and I think if you’re spending a hundred grand on a car, you should get whatever the fuck color you want.”
If yellow meant happiness to him, and his blinding ray of sunshine on wheels gave him one iota of joy, that’s what mattered. Kit earned it, after all. And hell, if he didn’t deserve it.
Matt leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder. “Damn right, brother.”
Sloan took Diversey to the expressway, driving past the neglected building that was once Mickey’s Place, its “For Rent” sign barely visible through the dirt-streaked glass. He glanced at it and the corner of his mouth quirked up, no doubt remembering how they’d shown up in that beat-up old Chevy they’d worked on all summer to convert it into something resembling a touring van. Brand-new cars, big houses, and the luxury of an air-conditioned tour bus were nothing but dreams back then.
Swallowing back a chuckle, Sloan merged onto the Kennedy. “Tony coming around yet?”
“Don’t know.” Gina flashed him a smile. He could feel her muscles grow taut beneath his fingertips. “And I don’t care.”
