Page 93 of Road Queens
“I try to be an accommodating hostess.”
“And I, a grateful guest.”
She laughed and wriggled beneath him, slipped away and straddled him. This gave him an outstanding view of her face, her riot of red waves, her small, sweet breasts, still flushed and marked with beard burn from his stubble. Seeing his marks on her pale, pretty flesh was as erotic to him as if she’d decided to drop everything and swallow his cock.
She reached back, found him already semihard, raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my.”
“You’re not the only one who was enduring a sexual drought.”
“We really should come up with a better phrase for that. Hand me one, will you?”
He obliged so quickly that he nearly dumped the drawer out on her floor. When she’d invited him up and made clear her intent to fuck his brains loose, he’d had to tell her he didn’t have any condoms on his person. Or anywhere. (He hadn’t been kidding about the drought.) But that was fine, because she did.
Hearing a condom packet rip was Pavlovian; in fewer than thirty seconds he was fully hard, and she slipped the condom on, tightened her grip, and guided him into her. She was still slick from earlier, and as she groaned and started to rock against him, his eyes rolled back.
“Oh, fuck ...”
“Bossy.”
“Exclamation. Not ... verb.” He tightened his grip around her waist and thrust against her, then parted her damp red curls with his fingers and reached for her clit.
“Oh, that’s ... just a bit higher and a bit ... a bit more to the ... ah ... yes ... like that ...”
“Like that?”
“Justlike that.” She rocked faster, and he tugged her down for a kiss and stroked the long line of her back, clutching her to him as they soared together, and it was every cliché in the world, and he didn’t care, because it was Amanda, and she was a delight, and he had never felt more at home, not even when hewashome.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
When the penny dropped (stupid yet accurate phrase), she jumped out of the shower and ran to her bedroom, not even bothering with a towel, and skidded to a halt before she brained herself on her dresser.
“Baggage!”
Sean catapulted upright from sound asleep. “What? Are you okay? What?”
“Baggage, Sean!” She jumped on the bed. “That’s how we’ll catch him! Not that we’re investigating! Because we aren’t! I’m pretty sure none of us have gotten around to hiring you yet! But if we were!”
He blinked, shook his head. “Um.”
Probably should moderate my tone.“Did you get that, or should I break it down?”
“What?”
“Sonny Manners told us someone’s been taking Cassandra’s Commando out. At night, when the shop is closed.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah.”
“So who hates Cass and can ride and could lug a body to the river and would love it if she went to prison?”
Sean’s gaze tipped up as he thought. “That’s gotta be a short list.”
“Really short. A list of one.”
She grinned to see him come to the same conclusion.“Problem-solving is hunting; it is savage pleasure, and we are born to it.”It was a line fromThe Silence of the Lambsand, in her opinion, much more interesting than the overused “ate his liver with some fava beans” passage.
“Jeff Manners,” he said, and tossed the blankets aside to get dressed. “Brother of Sonny of Manner’s Bikes.”
Sidney’s minivan pulled up beside Amanda’s bike, and she hopped out. “All right, where’s the jackass?”
