Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

"If you insist," he said, practically bouncing off toward the ring.

I grabbed my drink as the fighters were announced, and moved toward the couch that was obviously of high quality because I literally sank down into it.

There was a bell, and I could, even from a distance, even with music pumping out of the speakers, still hear the sound of bones hitting flesh, of pain being inflicted, making me cringe and drain the rest of my drink, pointedly keeping my gaze downcast.

"Nice fucking dress," a deep voice said as the seat beside me depressed.

I didn't have to look up. I might have only spoken to him a handful of times, but I would know that voice anywhere. It was the same one that whispered and growled dirty, sexy, raunchy as all hell things at me in the incredibly vivid sex dreams he had been starring in as of late.

I didn't have to look up, but I did anyway.

He didn't look like he was going to fight. He was in a tee, jeans, boots, and his leather cut, still scruffy, still hauntingly good looking.

The second my eyes found his, my drink was taken and met the surface of the coffee table.

Then, in a move so slick it almost seemed practiced, his hand planted at my hip then slowly whispered downward until it slid under my knee, then the other, snagging them, and dragging them over both his legs. His arm snaked around my shoulders, pulling me the rest of the way until my whole side was against his chest, his arm an oddly reassuring weight, anchoring me to him.

His heat radiated through his clothes, warming my very exposed body in the short dress, the AC cranking in the room. And, well, there may have been a slight (okay, intense) shiver at the warmth.

The corresponding rumbling noise in Pagan's chest warmed me all the more, but in a much more sexual way. That was literally all it took. Just a noise from him and I was already getting way too turned on by a practical stranger. That being said, with the sex dreams being so realistic for over a week, it didn't exactly feel like he was such a stranger anymore.

"You can stomach Taxi Driver, but Hex is too much for you?"

I smiled at that, acknowledging the hypocrisy. "It's different when it's cinematic I guess. I love action movies, but if I get a paper cut, I'm feeling woozy. Don't worry," I went on when he stayed silent, lips twitching a bit. "Cyrus already warned me to stay away from the ring when you're in it."

"Probably good advice," he agreed, his free hand leaving my thigh where I swear I felt suddenly branded, and moving upward to stroke my hair behind my ear, making me glad I chose to wear it down despite the heat outside.

Feeling uncomfortable with his dark, penetrating gaze, I swallowed hard, waving a hand toward the table. "Thanks for the drink."

He completely ignored that. "What are you doing after this?"

"Um, it's a Monday night," I said, smiling a little. Wasn't it obvious that I would be going to bed so I could get up for work the next day? Then again, he didn't live that normal kind of lifestyle. "You know for normal people, meaning not cage-fighting arms-dealing bikers, we need to get to sleep at what is called a 'reasonable hour' so we can get up in the morning to go to this place called 'work'."

"You own the place. Make an executive decision."

"It's not that easy."

"No?" he asked, lips tipped up ever so slightly at one side, his eyes mischievous.

But before I could realize his intention, his hand slid from my face, down my neck, arm, the side of my breast which seemed to get immediately heavier, then settling at my hip. Almost the second that that hand stopped, the other hand moved toward the center of my back, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked back hard until my mouth opened on a silent gasp.

And, well, he took that opportunity.

I had never been one for PDA, and it was something I didn't think I would ever be comfortable with. But the second his lips claimed mine, the entire world fell away. There were no people, no sounds, no nothing but the two of us, his lips searing into mine, his hands digging in perhaps too hard into my hip, yanking at my hair, my heartbeat slamming in my chest, his stubble scraping over my skin, the overpowering pulsating need between my thighs.

Maybe I wouldn't be going home and sleeping.

That was the last fully conscious thought I had before his tongue moved inside and claimed mine.

His hand released my hair, using his arm to pull me even closer, making me almost on his lap, my top half twisted toward him so my breasts were crushed to his chest, my nipples straining and, seeing as all I had was a shelf bra that hid very little, I knew he was very aware of. His fingers drifted to my knee again, grabbing, and yanking it toward him.