“He’s getting more pessimistic with age,” I say, and Tatum nods.
“He really needs to retire.”
“He does.”
“I’m not retiring,” Anthony grumbles. “I just want Henry found, and I want this shit put to rest!”
Georgiy covers my ears a little too late, but honestly, I can’t get that upset. “Because Georgiy fucked me last night.”
Everyone stares, and I grin, realizing I said that out loud.
“Oops, well, we did. And I feel fabulous. My ass aches in all the best ways.”
Anthony gives me a subtle nod while Tatum claps excitedly, rushing over to me to ask me all the questions.
While I answer them, I hear bits and pieces of the plan being formed. When we will take off, where we will stay, and how to approach the casino to be let in. Tatum chimes in a few times, telling Anthony to stop getting so worked up or he’ll have to take up meditation.
That only makes Anthony promise to show him what he thinks of meditation later. I chime in that I’d like to see that, but Anthony just tells me no.
Two hours after the meeting, we’re packed and on the plane, headed for Northern California.
“Do you think we’ll find whoever is behind this?” I ask Georgiy, nestled in the seat beside him.
“I hope so. I would like to return home.”
That little comment makes my chest constrict and my smile waver slightly.
“Do not worry, we will find a way to make this work,” he says, and my sadness dissipates. But apparently not quick enough.
To my left, I hear Kit murmur, “Bane looks sad, Jax. We should make sure he’s okay.” He turns toward me. “Are you all right?”
I peer over at him, but before I can answer, Georgiy replies for me. “He’s fine.”
My elbow meets his side in annoyance. “No, I’m really not. I’m terribly unhappy. Very, very sad. I could cry.”
Georgiy leans toward me. “Why? What happened?”
I roll my eyes at him and then sigh. “Just…the stress of it all. I amverysad. Georgiy has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“We don’t want that. Would you like us to make you feel better?” Kit asks as the plane hits a bump of turbulence before smoothing out. The flight from Southern California to San Francisco isn’t long, so we have no time to waste. No time even for turbulence.
Shoo, shaky skies.
“Yes, I think that would be very nice.”
I lean against Georgiy, who grunts, realizing what I’m doing.
“Was last night not enough?” he whispers.
“Oh, it was, but they need a little encouragement, or else it may never happen. Let me be the sex-maker, please.”
“I do not know this word.”
“It’s like matchmaker, but with sex.” I huff when he continues to look at me like I’m missing a tooth.
“Never mind.”
“Go on. Show me what a sex-maker does,” he whispers, and I wiggle around in my seat until his hand lands on my thigh, moving up until it’s cupping my cock. His fingers massage it gently, and I arch my hips up, wanting more friction. I always want more.
