I gripped her ass, urging her on, and felt her walls squeeze my cock, and when her body shook, I let myself go. With one final thrust, I came, and Waverly cried out, falling over me, her face in my neck, her hand on my shoulder and her pussy still contracting as her orgasm calmed.
“Jesus,” I whispered.
She chuckled. “Did you see him?”
“Uh, yeah.” I ran my hand down her spine.
“Me too.” She kissed my jaw. “If that’s what sex is like with you infirmed, I can’t wait to find out what it’s like once you’re fully back to normal.”
I chuckled. “You keep talkin’ like that, I’m gonna get hard again.”
She sat up and met my eyes. “So, get hard.”
She helped me dispose of the condom, and then I did as she demanded.
* * *
Razor
I had no idea I’d miss the shop as much as I did, and it felt good to the bottom of my soul to be back. Mostly because it meant being around my brothers, drinking beers, talking shit, and wrenching on bikes. All of which was currently happening. Me watching from a stool with my leg elevated, RatHound’s first CD blasting on the sound system, because the garage was home to Portland’s last fully functioning CD player, and spirits were high, as it was nearly quittin’ time for the guys on shift.
“Why is this ’62 Sportster still here?” Hatch asked, pulling a beer from the shop fridge.
“We’re waiting for Grip to get back from Daryl’s with the correct exhaust clamps. The vintage ones that came in were for a ’78 panhead, so we’re going with the repro ones instead,” Flea said.
“Did you ask the client if that’s okay?” Hatch asked.
Flea nodded. “Tim said he was cool with us using non-vintage clips if it meant having the bike readyfor Sturgis. I told him we’d re-order the correct clips and replace them at no extra charge whenever it was convenient for him.”
“Alright, sounds good,” Hatch said, before adding. “Hey, how long did you say Grip’s been gone?”
“Almost an hour and a half,” I replied.
“Motorworks is only twenty minutes away. How long does it take to pick up a box of clips?” Hatch asked.
Brian shrugged. “It was around four-twenty when he left, maybe he hit the shop for a little sticky icky.”
“We have our own stash here,” Flea pointed out.
“Hold on,” Hatch replied, pulling his phone from his pocket and looking at the screen. “It’s a video call from an unknown number. Maybe it’s Grip,” he said, before answering.
“Hatch, so nice to see your face,” we heard the caller say over the phone’s speaker.
Hatch’s jaw clenched.
“Warlock,” Hatch replied. “What do you want?”
“Well, you know what I want, Hatch, however you seem unwilling to hand it over to me peacefully so I thought we could try another approach,” Warlock said.
Hatch brought his phone over to where I was sitting and the others gathered around so we could all see.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Hatch asked.
“Well, as you so eloquently put it to me when we last spoke, you’re a businessman, and these are business matters. You said you’d rather negotiate than see blood spilled on the streets of Portland, and sohere I am. Ready to negotiate.”
I couldn’t tell where Warlock was calling from, only that he was outside.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Hatch replied. “And I’m sure Sundance will be happy to hear it as well.”
