Duke (The Henchmen MC 5)

I silently thanked the universe that I had the good sense to take the batteries out before I packed it.

Thank God for small miracles.

"Lo said you were worried about all your real life shit," he said, pushing the boxes to the side with his foot and moving toward the bed. He sat down, wide back to me, the material of his tee stretching as he bent forward to untie his boots. "Figured the least I could do was get your stuff so you feel less like a prisoner."

He kicked out of his shoes and his body moved backward, flattening against the mattress, one arm cocked behind his head, his feet still on the floor.

Again, I realized how tired he looked.

He had never come back to the room.

And it didn't look like he found another place to crash either.

I turned and put the knife on the nightstand, scooting down toward him. "I know I'm not a prisoner," I said, shrugging. "I get that this is best for me. Things are less likely to happen to me here."

"Won't let anything happen to you," he said, his arm swinging out, his palm grabbing my leg above my knee and squeezing.

It stayed there even after he was done speaking.

I found myself way too focused on it for a long minute too. "You look tired," I heard myself say, my hand reaching out and moving a strand of hair from where it had fallen in front of his eye.

The second my fingers brushed against him, his head turned to me; his eyes pinned me. "Long coupla days," he said, eyes getting heavier by the minute.

"Thanks for bringing me my stuff," I said, meaning it.

"No problem, Pen," he said, voice a little groggy as his eyes drifted closed.

Then, less than a minute later, it was clear he was asleep. As in, in the same bed as me. His hand was still on my thigh. I sat there deathly still for the better part of a half an hour, too terrified to disturb him, not wanting to rob him of any sleep. When he hadn't moved at all another ten minutes after that, I slowly lowered myself down onto my side which made his hand slip up and settle on my hip, inching my shirt up as it went, exposing me up to the edge of my panties.

I curled into my body pillow, arms around it, head on it, like I always did, like it was a boyfriend replacement, the only way I could sleep well.

And I drifted off to sleep to the sound of his breathing.

I woke up, well, not where I had been sleeping.

I woke up, still clinging to my fluffy, girly body pillow, but considerably higher than I should have been. This was because I was no longer on the mattress; I was up on Duke's chest.

My eyes went huge as I tried to think of a way to move off him without disturbing him.

It was about then that I realized his hand was still on my hip. But it was moving in lazy circles.

Duke was awake.

As if sensing my alertness, his very awake voice greeted me. "Good morning."

I pushed up, looking down at him with wide eyes, immediately yanking my body pillow down from where it was settled next to his face, way too girly next to way too manly a guy.

"Way I figured, you were trying to suffocate me with that fuckin' thing," he said, giving me a small, bemused smile. "Woke up to a mouth full of fluff."

"How did I get..." I started, shaking my head, sleep like a heavy fog around my head.

"Think you rolled onto your back at some point. You cried out. Woke me up and next thing I knew, you had rolled back and onto me."

Well, yeah, that was mildly embarrassing.

"I didn't mean..."

"Don't," he said, his hand raising and tucking my hair behind my ear.

Hair that I hadn't washed in three days.

Three.

"Ew, don't," I said, swatting his hand away, killing a mood that was obviously heading in a very interesting direction. But I couldn't think about that with greasy hair and morning breath.

"Ew?" he repeated, hand resting on my neck, still touching the offensive tresses.

"I haven't been able to wash my hair yet. It hurts my back to reach above my head," I admitted. I had truly tried my best when I had had my whore's bath. But it was no use. I had tears in my eyes by the second try.

"Well, we can't have that, huh?" he asked, curling upward slowly, an arm slung low on my hips, pulling me with him until I was up on my knees.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he kept pulling me until we were both on our feet at the foot of the bed.

"Washing your hair," he informed me, releasing me and turning away to go dig around in my boxes.