To my credit, I tried to think of anything else. Anyone else.
But all I could focus on was the soft curve of her body beneath mine, against mine, wrapped around mine. The press of her breasts. The curve of her hip.
The look in her eyes that I wouldn’t dare let myself believe was something akin to interest.
The thoughts were insistent, unrelenting, until—with a guilty feeling swirling my stomach—I reach down, fisted my cock, and stroked myself to the thoughts of going down on her, of sliding slow and deep into her, of hearing her little gasps and moans as she built, then clutching and crying out as she came.
I came hard, panting and shaky.
Then I told myself I would never fucking think of the club princess that way again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gracie
The strangest thing about brief moments of extreme violence is how quickly life always goes back to normal.
You could go through the most horrific moments of your life. But you still needed to eat, to sleep, to go to work, to do the wash. Life was relentless. And you had no choice but to go with the flow or risk getting pulled under the currents.
So I spent the night at my parents’ house, wearing borrowed pajamas from my mom and pretending not to notice how my father inched my bedroom door open just about every half hour to make sure I was okay.
But then, first thing in the morning, I shared breakfast with my family before making my way back to my own apartment.
Like any normal day, I stopped at my mailbox, put on a pot of coffee, and laid out some fresh clothes.
My mom had asked me why I wouldn’t let her draw me a bath the night before. There was no way I could tell her it was because I wasn’t ready to wash Perish’s spicy scent off my skin. So I claimed I was just tired.
But if I was going to go down to the police station, I needed to clean off the dirt and grease that was still clinging to me.
After a night of restless sleep, little aches and pains had settled in. My lower back kept zinging me, and my neck hurt from the little whiplash of the fall. Thankfully, I’d avoided a certain concussion because Perish had been present of mind enough to brace his hands behind my head before we landed. I also had a couple little scrapes up and down my calves and arms from little twigs and brambles on the ground.
Overall, though, I was lucky.
Thanks to Perish.
Even just the thought of his name had interest tightening in my core as I stepped out of my romper, then my panties, and forced myself to move under the shower spray.
I tried to ignore the way my skin felt too sensitive, how the water cascading down my body felt more intimate, almost sexual, than usual.
I soaped up my loofa, but I was flooded with thoughts of Perish’s big hand moving over me instead of my own.
And thanks to his search of my body for injuries, I was achingly aware of what that felt like.
By the time I was done scrubbing my body, the desire was a heavy pressure on my core, a throbbing between my thighs.
I pretended to ignore it as I slathered on my lotion—a gift from Billy in the signature coconut scent she swore suited my chemistry and aura best—and slipped into a simple pair of linen shorts and a tee.
It wasn’t until the sparking nerves of visiting the police station overtook me that the desire slipped to the background. Where I would hopefully forget about it. Since there was no way for me to satisfy it. Not when the feeling was toward a currently patched member of the club.
When I made my way into the police station, it was thankfully Vaughn, not Clark, who was waiting for me.
I was led over to a desk where I was set in front of a laptop and asked to flip through makes and models of cars as Vaughn waited for the sketch artist to show up.
The car was relatively easy, since I knew from listening to my father that the Grassis had already figured out the car model. But I played my part, moving through images, then flipping back until it was settled on the right one.
“You’re sure?” Vaughn asked, looking at the screen.
“Positive.”
