Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [67]
“Five, Asha.”
He nipped the side of her neck, then sucked hard. He’d mark her: that idea made him almost growl ferally. Marking his mate with his brand of possession pleased him. A very primitive urge. Very empowering. Off in the distance, Jago heard the slow roll of thunder. It made him smile, wondering if he really heard the rumble or if it was just the magic of Asha.
“Do you hear the thunder?” he asked.
“Hmmm?” Too caught up in the splendor of their passion, that was all she could reply.
“Let’s see how long it takes to reach fifteen.” Grinning like an idiot—a very happy idiot, he said, “We’re riding the thunder, lass.”
With a low groan, she put her arms around his neck and held on.
Still tired from the lack of sleep—and a rather vigorous morning of healthy, demanding, ‘multiorgasmic’ exercise—Jago stifled a yawn. Arching a brow, he watched the black Jaguar slowly roll down the driveway of the horse farm and park next to Liam’s red Viper and the farm’s pickup truck. What’s His Name curled around his boot and rumbled loudly as Asha and Netta climbed from the Jag.
Asha wore a navy, scoop-neck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, her ever-present heavy Celtic cuff bracelet on her right wrist. Her long auburn hair had, once again, been tamed into a proper braid that hung over her left shoulder and down to her waist. She was so bloody beautiful she robbed him of breath. Her head turned in his direction, obviously assessing him as he did her, though she was hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses.
“It’s wary-time again, Puss. She let down that drawbridge this morning in the pale gray light. Now her fight-or-flight response is kicking back in, making her scared—especially after I did a cut and run with barely a good-bye kiss. You and I might be in the doghouse . . . so to speak.” The cat meowed up at him. “Now, do I give her space and let her repair that invisible wall between us, or do I immediately push her buttons and remind her how she moaned when I was inside her?”
There were no two ways about it: Asha was obviously ticked at him. After teaching her just what a ‘climax virtuoso’ she was, he’d dashed off with barely an explanation of where he was going. In the heady heat of lust, he’d forgotten that he’d made an appointment to buy another Harley from one of Derek’s friends. The man, a long-haul truck driver, was going away for two weeks immediately after church was out in Leesburg. A half hour late, Jago had to fly to catch the trucker before he left. Now, he could tell the quick kiss and the “be back later” he’d tossed over his shoulder hadn’t gone over well with her at all.
Tail twitching, the fat feline watched Asha as if giving deep thought to the problem. He looked up to Jago, meerrrrrrred and then offered one of his silly smiles.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look out, Asha, this knight errant is on a mission,” Jago said lowly. Bending down, he scooped up the feline and half draped him on his shoulder before heading to greet the women.
As he approached he could see Netta’s face was scrubbed free of make-up; her hair wasn’t styled, but pushed back in a ponytail. That fresh-face look made her appear twenty-something instead of her age. She glanced around tentatively, clearly ill at ease and trying to hide it. Once again, Jago sensed a vulnerable young girl lurking under that veneer of brass and sass, one who obviously had been hurt deeply. He wondered if she knew this rarely seen side of her slipped through now and again. He doubted it, figuring she would ruthlessly quash it if she were aware.
He’d been raised with two brothers, but in an odd way Des, Trev and he had been the caretakers of their mother. She suffered