Thrown on the chair in the corner was the black outfitArchie wore to dinner the night before that was essentially a collared shirtthat was clingy and almost mini-dress long, the bottom of it hugging a fittedpair of black short-shorts.She’d worn this with black knee boots with silverrivets over the toes.
Definitely testing his ability not to give in and let her atleast suck him off.
Her beat-up backpack was lying on the floor next to thechair and it’d exploded since Jag dropped it there the night before.
As far as he knew, she’d slept good after he fed her, gother tipsy, brought her home and took his time eating her out.
But now she was…
Where?
He got out of bed and noted the bathroom was dark, but helooked there anyway.
She wasn’t there.
He then headed out.
His search didn’t last long.
He found her perched on the felt of his pool table, crosslegged, wearing panties and a tank, the backs of her wrists on her knees.
Her eyes were closed.
And, okay…
There was only ever going to be one woman’s ass on the backof his bike.
But he didn’t expect there would only ever be one woman’sass on his felt.
Feeling his lips twitch, he retraced his steps, did hisbathroom business including brushing and flossing, yanked on the jeans he worethe night before, leaving his chest bare.He headed back out, went to hiskitchen and started coffee.
By the time he returned his attention to her, she hadn’tmoved, but her eyes were open and on him.
“Please come here,” she requested.
Apparently, meditation-on-a-pool-table time was over.
This chick was something else.
No hesitation, he went right there.
He stopped, standing in front of her.
She reached out with one hand and touched the tattoo overhis heart.
“OG,” she said.
“Yeah,” he muttered, taking her in up close, hearing thevibe of her voice, not certain what her mood was.
“Where do you go from there?”she asked.
He understood her question immediately.
She wanted to know where she would be.
Their kids.
“Where do you go from there, Jagger?”she pushed.
