CHAPTER EIGHT

Mick was pumping hard, just the way Roz liked it, as they both were moaning and groaning from the sheer feel of him inside of her. They were naked in bed, and they had been going at it for nearly forty minutes. But it still felt like they could do forty more.

At least Roz felt that way. Mick was near exhaustion as he pumped and pumped. They’d already cum once together, but it felt so great to them that Mick stayed in, expanded again, and they continued to go for seconds. He was exhausted, but it felt too good to quit.

They kept going, for nearly seven more minutes, and then they came again. Just as powerful and wonderful as the first time. Roz had that way of making Mick feel as if it was the best he’d ever had every time he made love to her.

When he was all poured out and her pulsations were finally dying down, he pulled out of her, moved off of her, and they both were on their backs in bed staring up at the ceiling. Both breathing hard. Both so sweat-drenched that they felt as if they had been doused with water.

“My poor hair,” Roz said as she fingered through it, knowing that the sweat didn’t help the look. “You got me looking like Wolverine’s sister.”

Mick laughed and then pulled her into his arms. “It’s not that bad,” he said.

She smiled, too, as he embraced her. It was a rare event, Mick showing affection, and she cherished it whenever she could get it. But as their smiles dissipated, the reality of tomorrow, and why they were asked to go, came over them.

Roz moved her head off of Mick’s chest and looked up at him. “What could it be about?” she asked him. “Have you heard anything?”

Mick had heard several things, most notably that there might have been more people involved in Jenay’s murder, but he wasn’t sharing that third-hand rumor mill nonsense with anyone. “I haven’t been able to verify anything, no,” he said.

“But you’ve heard chatter?”

“I always hear chatter.”

“What are they saying?”

“It’s noise, Roz. Don’t worry about it.”

Roz frowned. She hated when he didn’t communicate his thoughts with her. “Fuck you, Mick!”

Mick looked at her. At this beautiful woman with that razor sharp temper too. He could have easily lashed back at her. But he understood why she said it. He was not a man given to jabbering on about his inner thoughts, and he never would be that kind of man. “You already have,” he responded to her outburst.

“I already have what?” When he didn’t respond, she frowned again. “What, Mick?”

When she realized what he meant, she couldn’t help but smile. And punch him in the chest. “Very funny,” she said as he feigned pain.

Then they both settled back down to restfulness. Although Mick, who couldn’t stop thinking about that meeting tomorrow with Hammer Reese, was anything but.