Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, slowly drifting off to sleep, his arms becoming dead weight on me, trapping me. Though I was pretty sure there was no force on earth (aside from maybe his rejection) that would move me from that spot right then.

And, by the time I felt him stirring beneath me, I had worked my belly into knots by doing my usual stress thing- weighing pros and cons about Pagan, taking apart everything he did and said and trying to see if there was deeper meaning, if he maybe was starting to feel like I was- that this wasn't really casual, that maybe it never had been, that maybe if we put the effort in, it could really go somewhere good.

Then, when I worked myself up to a near panic attack over that, I went ahead and added on the stress about Ethan on top of that. What would it mean for me that he got beaten to high hell? And I was sure it was to high hell since Pagan didn't seem to go into any kind of battle half-cocked. Would he take that out on me? Raise my rent? Make it impossible for me to keep my business?

He was dickish enough to do that.

Also- would he try to come at me again?

My guts twisted at that thought, but it didn't get a chance to really take root as Pagan's body moved under mine, arm tightening for a second, then loosening as he stretched.

"Fuck, woman, you just let me cage you in for three hours?"

So, it was three hours then.

Somehow, it didn't feel long enough. I could stay there forever. It felt... safe. Maybe it shouldn't have because he was big and mean and scary and violent. But maybe that was also why he felt safe- because that was never used against me. In fact, he used it to protect me.

My unlikely savior.

And because I didn't want to be that girl, that clingy girl that no man wants to get her claws into him, I shrugged. "You didn't sleep last night. I didn't want to wake you by moving."

"Don't give me too much sweet, pet," he said, flipping me onto my back and looking down at me. "I might get used to it." He leaned down, sealing his lips to mine for one long, but not nearly long enough moment. "Don't give me that look or I'm gonna have to fuck you again."

"And that's a problem... how?" I asked, smiling up at him.

His chuckle was low and rumbling, vibrating into my body, and making my sex clench in response. "Right now, 'cause I need some fuel. After I get some food in me, I'll give you whatever you need from me."

With that, he rolled off me, and stood up beside the bed, reaching for his clothes.

I got off the other side with a small grumble, moving a bit self-consciously toward the door where I dropped my bag to find some of my own clothes to wear.

"Nope," he said, ripping the bra out of my hand. "No need to put the kids in a carseat."

"Seriously?" I asked as he stood there, whipping the light pink bra around on his finger in a circle.

"About your tits, pet? Couldn't possibly be more serious about 'em."

I snorted to cover any possible evidence on my face of the swelling feeling in my chest again as I whipped a blue tee over my head, pretending to ignore that I wasn't aware my nipples were hardened points sticking out of the fabric thanks to his air conditioning.

I dragged shorts up my legs and raised a brow at him still circling the damn thing. "Are we done with that?" I asked, snatching it out of his hand, and stuffing it back in my bag.

"Guess so," he agreed, touching my hip as he moved passed to go out into the hall. I followed him down to the kitchen where he sat down at the island and waved toward the fridge. "So what are you cooking me?"

"I... what?" I asked, smiling.

"Cooking. You put things together, heat them up, feed your man."

I'm pretty sure my mouth made a full O before I shut it quickly, trying to not make a big deal out of it. Though, let's be real, inside, I was doing the most obnoxious little happy dance ever. "I know what cooking is, smartass. I was wondering why I'm the one having to do it. Is it because I have the boobs? Because, and I know this is hard to believe, they don't actually give me magic cooking skills."

He smirked at that. "I'm not picky."

I shook my head and opened the fridge, more than a little surprised to find it fully stocked. He didn't seem like the kind of man who spent an hour in the food store filling up a cart.