Cash (The Henchmen MC 2)

“Why not? They're both trained. Malcolm had training in the military and Mike was...”

“An EMT.”

“Exactly. So they would be more qualified to...”

“They ain't seeing your tits, babe. Sorry.”

“What?” I half-accused, half-laughed.

“Those might be on your body and all... but they're mine now. And neither Mike or Malcolm are getting to see them.”

“They probably already did. You noticed I'm shirtless, right?” I asked, fighting the smile because I didn't want him to know that his possessiveness was giving me the warm and tinglies.

“Sure. But that was then. This is now and I'm gonna be the one to help you stand and wrap those bad boys up.”

“You're ridiculous,” I said, but I was smiling.

“You love it,” he countered with a wink.

I had a sneaking suspicion that might be a little too true.

“Right so now... we're gonna get you up on an arm and then swing your legs off the bed. Then you can just sit there while I wrap you up.” His hand went under one of my arms and pulled as I pushed, biting hard into my busted lip to keep from crying out. “Seriously? With the stoic shit?” he asked, watching my face. “Not gonna think less of you if you curse and spit about it, babe.”

So then, I did. And I earned a smile for it to boot.

Fifteen minutes later, Cash took a few steps back, watching me while he held his chin in his fingers.

“Was it completely necessary to make a fucking tunic out of the gauze?” I laughed, looking down to where I was wrapped from pelvis to five inches over my breasts. Hell, there were even straps.

“Yep,” he said easily, moving back toward me and extending his hand. “Bathroom?” he asked with a shrug when I furrowed my brow at his hand.

“Right.” There were things you didn't want to admit to a man you were sleeping with, especially only a few days into said naughty-bits-rubbing, and one of those things... was telling them you had to pee. But, given the fact that I was pretty sure I'd double over in pain if I tried to make the journey myself and the fact that I really did have to go, well, I took his hand.

The move across the floor was excruciating in both actual pain and slowness. I felt like every time my foot landed that the sensation shot up my back. By the time we reached the bathroom, still steamy from Cash's shower, I was sweaty and clutching painfully into Cash's arm for stability.

He walked me over toward the toilet and didn't let go.

Okay. I was willing to admit to him that I needed to go, but there was no way in hell he would get firsthand knowledge of that experience.

“I got it from here,” I said, letting go of his arm, which made me need to slam my hand down on the cool surface of the sink counter.

“Babe... seriously...” he tried, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“No. We are so not at the point where I am going to let you watch me pee. In fact,” I went on as he started grinning, “I don't think we will ever be at that point.”

“Honey, I don't see how you'll be able to lower yourself down, let alone get back up if I'm not...”

“Then I will just... live here,” I said, shaking my head.

“Lo...”

“Cash... out!” I said, my tone a little too sharp, but well, just standing there was painful enough for me to want to pass out and he was just dragging the whole process out.

Cash sighed, shaking his head at me like I was being stupid, then slowly moved out of the room and closed the door.

I knew his ass was waiting right outside the door and that was sweet and all... but he could hear. So I turned on the tap high as I moved to try to get myself to the toilet. I was pretty sure I heard his chuckle from outside the door, but frankly, I was hurting too much to care if he thought I was being ridiculous.

Ten absolutely horrifyingly painful minutes later, I had handled my business, gotten up, and was washing my hands and ignoring the tears streaming down my face when the door opened and there Cash was.

“Baby,” he said, coming up beside me and watching my reflection. “Was your modesty really worth it?” he asked, reaching up and wiping my cheeks before handing me a towel to dry my hands.

“Yes.”

“Women...” he said, shaking his head, but he was giving me a soft smile. “Know this is probably fucking salt in the wounds,” he said, turning me slightly, “but I have to do it...”

“Do wha...”

The last of my word was hushed by his lips landing on mine, soft, so gentle it was barely a touch at all, but damn if I didn't feel it down to my toes. My hands moved up, grabbing his cocked arms as his hands held the sides of my head and his tongue moved between my lips to stroke mine, sending a jolt of desire so strong through my body that my legs felt wobbly. I moaned softly into his mouth and he pulled away.

My eyes opened slowly to see him smirking. “What?” I asked, close to being offended and he hadn't even said anything.

“You moaned...”

Oh, god.

“Yeah, so?” I said, attempting indifference though a part of me was dying a little inside.

“So...” he said, his smile spreading wider, “for a minute there... you weren't hurting.”

The swirling, uncomfortable feeling subsided, replaced with a rush of warmth. God, he really was just too... good at times.

“I guess.”

“Know what?” he asked, his smile taking a turn toward the scandalous.

“What?” I asked, smiling back.

“I can think of a lot of ways to naturally kill the pain...”

My sex clenched hard and I felt a rush of wetness between my thighs. It was so easy with him. All he had to do was talk to me. Hell, even just look at me.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, my hand sliding up his bicep to toy with the long strands of hair falling toward his neck.