Locke chuckled, his big hand sliding around my neck. “You like that?”
“I-I fuckingfuck. I like it.”
Keeping his pelvis still, Locke ravaged my mouth, his dick a stone column against my sweaty skin, pulsing, satiny steel.
Overcome, I gripped his hips, and he straightened up. He braced his hands on my bent knees behind him and rode my cock, his powerful thighs pinning me in place. His rippling abs and furred chest—fuckingChrist.
We moved together, and I felt the pleasure coursing through his strong build. The sweet strain as his dick ground against my belly.
I wrapped my fist around it and squeezed, and a rough noise gravelled from Locke’s throat.
He moved with more purpose, arching his spine, a flush breaking out beneath his tattooed skin.
His body clamped down on me. He loosened my hold on his cock so the length of him barely grazed my palm as we fucked, and the lighter touch did something to him. Something primal, and his deep groan tore me up, tipping me overboard as he started to come, wet warmth coating my fist.
It was so fucking hot, and I came so goddamn hard, pressing up and into him as deep as he could take me, flailing for him, wrapping my arms around him.
Losing myself in him.
It was untold time before I realised the trembling wracking us wasn’t just me.
“Hey.” I wove my fingers into the damp, shaggy mess at the back of his head. “Are you okay?”
Locke made a low, sated sound, not moving.
Suited me. Until it didn’t and an itch in my gut bloomed in the same moment Locke sat up, his hands on my face as sudden as my shift in mood.
“I miss her,” he whispered. “Can we go home?”
25
ORLA
Sunday mornings were busy at the builder’s yard—DIYers with more enthusiasm than common sense, but still enough pure gumption to think they knew more about cement than a woman.
It was my least favourite shift, its only positive that it didn’t start at the crack of dawn.
Also, it gave me something to do with my hangover instead of lazing around Cam’s house, lording it over him that Saint had chosen to crawl into bed with me instead of him.
To sleep, obviously. It wasn’t the first night I’d spent with Sainton topof the covers beside me, but I couldn’t deny that whatever godawful time he’d joined me, it was nice not to wake up alone.
Being with Locke had spoiled me.
Being with LockeandNash was everything.
It’s why I didn’t waste time wondering what they were up to. Nash would tell me—he always did. Because he loved me. And I loved him.
Locke loves you too.
My cranky heart swelled. I put the phone down on another stupid man, grateful that Nash’s insistence I remain in the back office meant I only had to deal with these muppets remotely.
I even smiled, and it was out of context enough that Decoy shot me a bemused look.
“Still drunk?”
I flicked his arm. “I wish. Alexei has hollow legs.”
“So do you.”
