Cary (Henchmen MC Next Generation 5)

Then my gaze held his as I started to use the leverage of his body to lift upward, then sliding down on him again, feeling him rock inside of me.

Cary let me lead for a long couple of minutes before he was too far gone to let me set the pace.

He slammed me back against the wall of the car and started to take over—a little careful at first, but getting harder and faster with each passing second.

“Look at me,” Cary demanded, voice tight.

He stilled inside me until I complied, then started to fuck me again.

Harder.

Faster.

Driving me right to that edge.

Then, before I could even suck in a breath, he was throwing me off of it, leaving me falling, crashing, crying out as the orgasm crashed through me.

“Fuck, baby,” Cary hissed, pumping into me faster and faster, dragging it out, then slamming deep and hissing out my name as he came.

I clung to him after, too overwhelmed to think, let alone move.

That, I realized, that was what everyone else loved so much about sex. The orgasm, yes, but also the connection, that level of intimacy that was unparalleled outside of that particular act.

“We gotta get back to the room, love,” Cary murmured before his lips pressed into my temple.

I’m not sure what to call the weird sound I made then, but Cary took it as agreement, moving away, tucking himself away, then helping me drag my pants back up my legs.

He grabbed the bags, then hauled me into his side, half supporting my weight, then pushing the stop button again to disengage it.

The next thing I knew, we were in the room.

Cary excused himself to the bathroom for a moment as I numbly kicked back out of my pants and sweater, slipping into a soft, lightweight shorts set pajamas, then sliding into my bed.

I figured I would think about it, then overthink about it, but I found my mind oddly blank. My body was fuzzy and satisfied as I curled up under the covers.

Not two minutes later, Cary was walking out of the bathroom, still fully dressed.

Stopping at the foot of my bed, he pointed between the two beds, as if asking me where I wanted him.

Scooting to the side, I patted the spot beside me, a movement that made Cary shoot me a sweet, eye-crinkly smile.

Then he reached up, pulling off his shirt, giving me a good, long look at him.

Off came his pants next, leaving him just in his boxer briefs as he came to the bed, then climbed in with me, sliding in behind me—legs cocked under mine, his chest to my back, and his arm draped over me.

I never felt anything close to the peace that I felt at that moment.

“You know how many nights I’ve thought about this?” he asked, voice soft in my ear. “All those times in that fucking hellhole. Didn’t even know what you looked like. But there was always a connection there. I felt it. And I imagined a world where I might get out and get to meet you, get to show you what it is like when you’re with a real man, not that shithead you had that didn’t appreciate you.”

“Stop,” I begged, feeling the sting in my eyes. “You’re being too nice,” I added, not wanting him to think I didn’t like what he was saying. It was more that it felt like too much for someone who never got any kind of kindness from men, who’d never had one validate me, tell me how much they thought of me.

“Not nice. Just honest,” he countered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Well, honesty is nice then. Coming from you at least.”

Or so I thought.

Until the next afternoon.

When we somehow managed to get into our first fight.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cary

“Absolutely fucking not,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. Like that was going to dissuade her.

Maybe, objectively, I was a scary guy.

But, at this point, she knew me.

And she damn sure knew that she had nothing to fear from me.

Abigail had never been someone who put her foot down about something, to dig her heels in. She’d never been in a world where that would be allowed.

I guess it was testament to how different she felt already, how much safer she knew she was, that she was willing to do both those things.

I was in a tough spot.

Because, on the one hand, I was proud of her. For using her voice, for standing up for herself, for not kowtowing to me even when I was being stern about something.

On the other, though, there was absolutely no fucking way I was giving in on this.

“I thought I was free here,” Abigail said, chin raising, a small act of defiance I found way too fucking appealing. So appealing, in fact, that it took a lot of effort not to grab her, toss her onto the bed, and get another taste of her.