Duke (The Henchmen MC 5)

And I did.

Never before had I truly understood the term 'screaming orgasm' until that moment.

Because there was no other way to describe it. I screamed. His name. And my body just... shattered in a way that was so intensely satisfying that it almost hurt.

Duke kept thrusting through half of my orgasm before planting deep and growling out my name, making another small wave wash over me.

The second my sex stopped clenching, my body seemed to lose control of itself. Because I was trembling hard, every inch of my body too overwhelmed to process the excess sensations and chemicals coursing through my system at once.

Duke pulled out of me, depositing the condom with no ceremony into the garbage beside the bed, and dropping down beside me on his side, reaching out and dragging me against him. His arms wrapped me up tight, his chin on the top of my head.

"Aftershocks," he mumbled as they kept moving through me.

Aftershocks.

What an appropriate term.

"Breathe, Penny," he said softly and I realized he was right, I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly and took a long, deep breath in, realizing it was slowing the shaking so I focused on doing it over and over again, uncomfortable with the way I couldn't seem to control my body.

"Well," he said when the shaking finally stopped and my arm went around him, pulling him even tighter. "Mission accomplished, huh? Can't get more out of control than that."

I smiled, turning my head and kissing the center of his chest. "You lost control too," I said, my voice a little dreamy as my overworked body started drifting toward sleep.

"Yep," he agreed, squeezing me tight. "First time for everything."

My heart squeezed at that, knowing it really meant something when you gave over control to another person. Because I had never done it myself before Duke. I hadn't even realized it until then. I had always thought I put my best effort into relationships. But maybe that was the problem. It shouldn't have to be worked on. At least not in the beginning. If you have to talk yourself into it, if there are reservations and control, then, well, it wasn't really love, was it? Love was one of the uncontrollable forces of the universe. That was the awfulness of it, the ever-present chance that you felt it for the wrong person at the wrong time in the wrong place.

But it was also the beauty of it.

It wasn't a choice.

"What's this?" he asked, bringing me out of my thought and I felt his finger running up a mostly healed four-inch cut down my thigh.

"Oh. Lo likes to train with knives sometimes." I paused, smiling a little. "I'm kind of a badass now," I declared, feeling my cheeks heat, but glad I said it anyway.

"No 'kind of' about it," he said, giving me another squeeze as he rolled onto his back, pulling me onto his chest.

"And I'm officially a member of the girls club. But I still need to meet, um, Alex and... Elsie and Amy."

"Alex is a riot. Got that dry, sarcastic humor. She gives Breaker a run for his fucking money even after all these years. She likes to fight just for the fuck of it. She contracts with both The Henchmen and Hailstorm so we see her a lot. Elsie and Amy are more fringe girls club members. And they're also the most 'normal' of the members. They grew up in average families. Well, Elsie was rich as Midas, but normal. You'll like them."

I had an almost overwhelming need for that to be true. And it wasn't for Duke's sake either. It wasn't that I wanted to get along with his friends' women. I genuinely liked feeling like I belonged. It was easier with the girls club because they had all gone through some crazy stuff that average people couldn't understand. We could commiserate on that. And we could also commiserate on what it is like to live the unconventional lives we led.

"Lo said that if I keep going with training, that she might get me certified to teach the teen self-defense classes at the gym," I said, my voice a little low, unsure about how that sounded.

I knew it was soon. I had just started training. But Lo claimed I was picking it up fast.

"Do you have some hairspray fetish?" she had asked me one afternoon, both of us covered in sweat, sitting on the ground, drinking out of water bottles.

"What?" I'd asked, shaking my head.

"You've only worked in hair salons. Is that a thing or just what you know and what you feel qualified for?"

"Um the latter, I guess," I admitted, a little embarrassed that I hadn't tried to make something else out of my life.

And then she told me about the possibility to be a self-defense instructor. The second she suggested it, I had an unmistakable feeling of rightness inside me. First, because I genuinely loved training. Second, because I was never a fan of my old jobs. And third, because it would be nice to teach somewhat advanced self-defense maneuvers to young girls in the hopes that it could protect them from finding themselves in the situation I had. Or worse.