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“I’m going to come,” Lachlan gasps.
I’m one step ahead of him as every muscle in my body coils, my back arches and I scream, I think, my nails digging into Lachlan’s shoulders. I collapse onto his chest as Knox roars his release, thrusting into me.
We’re all panting like we’ve just won Olympic gold. Eventually, as our bodies cool, the heat behind me disappears, and I miss Knox immediately, but after how long I don’t know, he gently washes me.
“You okay, baby?” His hand stills on the small of my back as he gently tends to me.
“Yeah, better than okay.” I snuggle closer into Lachlan. Turning my head, I take in the glorious sight of Knox. “You’re still beautiful, my big growly Braveheart,” I say with a yawn.
“Still a sleepy girl,” he chuckles.
Lachlan tucks me into his side, an arm around my waist, and nestles my head on his chest. He presses a soft kiss on my forehead.
“You’re in good hands,” Knox says, and Lachlan squeezes me. “Come down to the pub tomorrow for breakfast.”
I nod.
The lights flick off when Knox leaves the room.
“I’ve got you, Leannan.” Another soft kiss on my forehead.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
“Sweetheart. Lover.”
I drift off to sleep to Lachlan’s heartbeat, cradled, safe and satisfied. For the first time in my life, sated and happy.
Chapter Thirteen
FINN
Knox’s words pound against my skull like hammers. Hammers with spikes that beat against the inside of my head in a vicious, never-ending cycle.
We fucked Georgia last night, Lachlan and me. Jesus what a firecracker. Turns out she’s staying here, in the flat we rent out. What are the fucking chances, eh?
I stared at him slack-mouthed with shock.
She was magnificent. That ass, that pussy. Fuck me man. Sad that you missed it.
He told me this at eight this morning before he sauntered past me, a fucking gleam in his eye. He knew. He fucking knew I was into her. Luckily, he’s in the office making money and doing deals because if the fucker shows his face, I will wipe that smirk off it.
The good mood that I started the day with has gone south. I rarely lose my temper. I’m easy-going because basically, I don’t give a shit about a lot of stuff. If Georgia had returned to the bar last night, I fully intended to charm the pants off her and have her in my bed. Hell, all of our beds, but no, Knox and Lachlan didn’t think to call or text me. Oh, no, they just took what I wanted.
I scrub the cloth against the bar, way more aggressively than needed. It’s that or punch something. Punching a wall will only hurt my hand, and I’ll need that later when I jerk off imagining Georgia on my bar, naked. Her gorgeous hair will be around my fist as I take her from behind after she’s come all over my face.
I groan out loud, trying like fuck to wipe the image out of my brain. If I don’t, I’ll have a hard cock for the rest of the day and the bluest balls known to man. Nope, the image of Georgia is stuck in my head. Looks like I’ll have to rub one out. My hand is already rubbing the front of my jeans. My cock is painfully hard. The fucker is throbbing and angry.
A soft scent of fruit and flowers lifts my head.
I blink. Christ, I’m hallucinating because the woman who has me harder than granite is standing in my doorway wearing a too-small tank top with my hero on the front. Elvis Presley no less. This is Karma that she has one of my favorite crooners plastered over her chest. I follow the image of my idol to a pair of denim cut-off shorts. No bra. Her gorgeous breasts push against the fabric, and her dark nipples are hard. Elvis would be mighty pleased to have her breasts pushing against him. All she needs is a cowboy hat and boots, and she’s straight out of my teenage wet dreams.
Georgia spots me, and a sunshine smile that reaches her eyes stops me. My heart is doing all kinds of weird shit, like flipping and flopping. Her smile only gets brighter as she walks toward me where I stand like a statue holding my rag like an eejit.
I’m surprised when she reaches across the bar and smacks her lips against mine.
“Morning, handsome,” she murmurs. Her hair is wet, and the scent of her hair—some fruit, coconut and pineapple like a Pina Colada, settles lightly in my lungs.
“Angel.” I mouth against her and fuck me if she doesn’t smile larger than the sun.
