Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

Normally, that would not be something that excited me. I was pretty sure I didn't know any woman who was as comfortable being naked as most men were comfortable free-balling. But, somehow, the idea of him stripping off my clothes and keeping me naked for his usual brand of constant physical contact was exciting.

Hell, even as he drove, his hand found its way halfway up my thigh, gripped tight, and held there for the rest of the ride. Now if I was naked... and I maybe just shifted a little...

Okay, my mind was running away with itself.

What can I say, it had been several days since I had had the best sex of my life. Most of that was spent pissed off at him which managed to just barely keep my panties from catching on fire the whole time. But now? Yeah, I was going to need an extinguisher if we didn't get back to his place pretty freaking soon. Hell, my nipples were at attention at just the thought of him touching me, rubbing against the material of my tee that felt almost oppressive suddenly.

By the time we made it to the beach house and pulled into the garage, every inch of me was humming in anticipation, beyond any kind of rationality. All I knew was I needed his hands on me. I needed to feel his body slide against and inside mine.

It had only been four days.

But it was far too long.

"You hanging here?" Pagan asked, ducked inside his door, making me realize he had somehow cut the engine and gotten out without me even realizing.

"Oh," I said, shaking my head, reaching for my bag by my feet, and climbing out with him.

"You want a drink?" he asked as we stepped through the garage door that led into the kitchen. "Or are we done with the pretense bullshit so I can rip off those clothes and fuck you until we both can't see straight anymore?"

"I'll take option two," I admitted with a smile, glad that I was literally just minutes away from relief of the pulsating need between my thighs.

"Thank fuck," he growled, moving toward me, bending low, and freaking sweeping me off my feet.

It was so unexpected that I shrieked and fought the hold for a long second as he completely ignored me, charging through his house and toward the stairs leading up.

I dropped my bag inside the door before he, ever so gently, lowered me down onto the edge of the bed, laying me flat. His hand drifted between my swollen, painful breasts, the center of my belly, then resting on my ribs. "Can't be rough with you until these stop hurting," he answered the question that must have been in my eyes.

"They're not that..."

"And I'm not fucking making them worse," he cut me off, knowing where I was taking that. "Now if you're done complaining about me treating you right, shut it so I can bury my face in your pussy."

Really, there was not one single argument against something like that.

So when he grabbed for the waistband of my borrowed pants, I lifted my hips and let him peel them off me. And when he slid his fingers softly up my thighs, I let them slide open, invited more of his 'treating me right,' excited to see a man as fierce as him show me gentle.

He folded downward, his wrecked hands holding my thighs to the mattress. A strange, fluttery sensation worked its way through my belly as he placed a kiss in the center of the triangle above my sex. His scruff scraped my sensitive inner thighs as he moved downward, exhaling hot air onto my swollen clit, the sensation unexpectedly intense, a second before his lips closed around the swollen bud and sucked it into his mouth, making me arch up off the mattress as the pleasure shot from the contact and up my spine.

"Oh my God," I whimpered, hand slamming down on the back of his neck, holding him to me, begging for him to give me more. Which he did, happily, perfectly. Until my hands were clutching the sheets, until the pressure in my lower stomach felt oppressive.

And just when I thought I couldn't take another second of the torment, his finger slipped inside me, turned, and raked over my G-spot, sending an orgasm shooting through my system, making my thighs shake, my hand to practically crush the back of his neck, and his name to scream from my lips.

"That's a good fucking sound," he rumbled, nipping into my inner thigh before moving to stand, reaching behind his back to discard his shirt.

A part of me wanted to fold up, to undo his pants, to take him into my mouth again. The other part was post-orgasm numb and thought watching the show was equally enjoyable as he slipped out of his pants, then boxer briefs, holding his straining cock in his hand, stroking it as he looked down at me.