“You like that?”
I shrugged. “I like you.”
Slowly, he leaned down and slid his tongue from my belly to my chest and then into my mouth. There wasn’t much left for me to taste him in his kiss, but it drove me wild all the same.
My jeans were already undone.
Embry covered me with his slimmer build and let his hand travel south, grazing my tingling skin, teasing every muscle and nerve on his way down.
I was already set to explode. Whatever he did to me, it was going to be quick.
It was gonna be—
The radio squawked to life, static blaring in the cab, shattering the charged silence.
Then Nash’s voice, loud and cock-blocking. “Saddle up, boys. Time to go.”
Fucking cunt. I loved my brothers, I really did, but this prick was gonna be on my shit list forever.
* * *
Embry
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come by a hand that wasn’t my own.
The last time I’d been naked with someone, or even rubbed one out in the shower.
Sex was weird for me. Even before McGif had stuck a blade in my guts, it had fluctuated between being the last thing on my mind and all I could think about. It was the craziest flux to be scared of something one day and obsessed with it the next.
The one constant was the simmering desire I had for Mateo. A gentle burn that had surged into a raging inferno the moment he’d touched my dick, and three hours later I’d yet to calm down.
You came on him.
Yup. Still wasn’t sure how that had happened when I’d lunged at him with the opposite intention, a scenario that remained on my mind, vivid and scorching hot, seared into my synapses.
Mother of Christ, I’d been so close to touching him. To seeing his body light up with the same mind-blowing sensation he’d gifted me. The only thing that stopped me hating Nash was the suspicion that he’d already made it onto Mateo’s murder list, and Mateo needed no encouragement to kill people on my behalf.
The gallows humour was dodgy enough that it snapped me out of the daze I’d been in since we’d thrown our clothes back on and climbed into our seats. It was the witching hour and we were heading north after delivering our first load in rural Norfolk. The roads were quiet and Mateo didn’t like it. His gaze was hypervigilant, and no amount of trip hop and small talk was easing the tension banding his muscles. “What are you worried about?”
It was the first time either of us had spoken in a while.
Mateo leaned forward to glare at a National Express coach before he turned his gaze on me, and it was still there—the shift that had happened between us in the back of the lorry cab, more seismic than the night I’d first kissed him and every night since.
More innocent, despite being dirty as hell.
“Who says I’m worried?”
I was slouched on the bench seat in the cab, my back to the door, legs sprawled in front of me. I nudged him with my foot.
He gripped my ankle and didn’t let go. “I’m not worried. Just waiting for the inevitable.”
“You think they’ll hit us today?”
Mateo swept the road and the horizon again, then lit a cigarette, blowing smoke through the open window. “You don’t?”
“If it was me, I’d do it in a day or so, when we’ve been on the road so long we’re tired and complacent.”
“Yeah, but you have a couple of brain cells to sling together. If Viktor was right and he’s not a shady bastard, we’re waiting on Crow dregs to pelt us with water balloons.”
