“I’d never met someone who made me want to try, anyway.”
“Until now?” Priest asked, with a small, teasing smile.
“Yeah,” I said. “Until now. Something about all those years of friendship made it pretty easy to fall for you. And I’m finally ready, I think.” I paused and grinned. “Unless we’re too old to give it a shot.”
Priest scoffed and rolled his eyes dramatically. His grip tightened on my waist, but it was still gentle, mindful of my still-healing injury.
“No way,” he said. “I think we can give the young bucks in our club a run for their money.”
“Think so?” I asked. I gripped his thigh, just above his knee, and then slid my hand up his inner thigh, following the seam of his jeans. I let my hand linger just inches away from his groin. I was nearly dizzy with relief, with desire—he wanted me. He wanted us. And it was so easy, and natural, to slide back into our sexy, playful dynamic, built on decades of trust and friendship. “Think you can prove it?”
His blue eyes sparkled. “Yeah, I think so,” he said, then pulled me in for a hard kiss.
PRIEST
The pressure of Mal’s hand on my inner thigh was like a brand, sending a hot rush of arousal through me. Fuck, I wanted him so badly. The weeks without him had only made me want him more—only made me realize how well we fit together, how our bodies worked together like two pieces of a puzzle. I ached for his touch, his kiss, his hands on me. Now that we were together, I never wanted to let him go.
Mal stood up, took my hand, and guided me to the bed. I lay down on top of the covers and watched him carefully as he moved to join me, my attention focused on his shoulder, and the way he still held it slightly stiff.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I said. “You’re still healing.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m healing well. And I want you.”
“I want you, too,” I said. “So fucking badly. Come here.”
Mal straddled me, his thighs straddling my hips, and leaned down to kiss me deeply. The kiss was slow, lazy, but intense—his tongue slid against mine, his teeth set into my lower lip, promising more. Still, I was careful with my touch. No matter how badly I wanted him, I wasn’t going to hurt him more. Not after everything he’d been through. I slipped my hands under the hem of his shirt and skated them gently over his lower back, soothingly.
“I’m not going to break,” Mal said with a small smile. “You want to see it? Make you feel better?”
My heart flipped in my chest. Strangely enough… I did think it would make me feel better to see with my own eyes that he was healing up. To know that yes, he’d been shot. He’d bled out in my arms. That had happened… and we’d both survived. He was recovering. Maybe seeing that with my own eyes would stop the dreams.
“Yeah,” I said. “Please, let me.” I gently curled my fingers in the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head.
Mal climbed off me and spread out on his stomach on the mattress, head pillowed on one arm. I lay on my side next to him, still dressed, and ran hand down the divot of his spine.
His shoulder was bandaged tightly, white gauze taped down across the wound, but it was clean. There was no blood visible, nothing visible through the gauze. His dark skin was bruised, though, mottled purple across his deltoid and down his back. I traced my fingers over the edge of the bruises, then the edge of the tape.
“Does it hurt?” I asked. Even though I knew the answer, I wanted to hear him talk about it—wanted to know everything I’d been stupid enough to miss.
“Yeah,” Mal said. “It hurts like a bitch. It was worse before, though. I can finally sleep through the night now. And shower, that’s a goddamn blessing. Dante’s been helping me change the dressing.”
“I can help do that now,” I said. I leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his shoulder, above the gauze. “If you’ll let me.”
“I don’t know,” Mal said. “It’s pretty nasty.”
“I’ve been in a motorcycle club for nearly four decades,” I said with a laugh. “You think I can’t handle a mostly healed gunshot wound?”
“Good point,” Mal said. “It’s not nearly as gross as road rash.”
“Ugh,” I said. “Don’t