Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

That included me, unfortunately.

Why did I read that book?

Why did I read it out loud in front of her?

Why did I have to look up to find her eyes heavy-lidded, her breathing heavy, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, looking at me like I was the entire fucking ice cream shop on a hot summer day?

Knowing how much Reese liked her ice cream, that was saying something.

And the thing was, I had no idea if it was the book. Or if it was me.

If it was the book, well, the blue balls sucked, but I could get over it.

If it was me, though, fuck. I didn't even know.

I had spent so much time trying to fight my feelings, that I never really stopped to consider hers.

Honestly, it seemed too crazy even to think she might have more than friendly feelings for me.

Seeing as I wasn't one for insecurity, that was an entirely new sensation to me.

But there was no denying the desire in her when I looked up from that book. It was like a hot poker straight to the fucking balls. I'd never experienced anything like it before. I swear to Christ, I could have come just from seeing it.

I couldn't imagine what it would be like to feel her writhing under me while I ran my hands over her breasts, teasing her nipples, down her belly, up her soft inner thighs, then moving over her wet pussy...

Damnit.

That was all my mind could focus on since the night in the library.

Over a month ago.

And I was feeling like the biggest fucking dick in the world. Because I hadn't seen, called, or even texted her since.

Why?

Well, I didn't trust myself.

If I saw her again, I was sure I was going to cross a line I had no right to cross. And because she had lived in an apparently sex-filled fictional world with no actual human contact, and because she cared about me and trusted me, she might have been needy enough to give in if I did such a thing.

Then likely promptly regret doing so.

I didn't want that on her conscience, or my own.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I stayed away.

And, according to Sugar, it was making me 'pathetic,' 'moody,' and 'pent-up,' since I hadn't been in the mood to hit the town, let alone take a woman home.

"Losin' it, man. You're losing it," he declared but was giving me a smile as he tipped back his beer.

And, well, maybe I was.

It sure as fuck felt like it.

An entire month, I had been feeling like I was in a fog, like the sun that I normally basked in all my life was hiding away.

Hell, I was starting to act like fucking Reeve.

And I had nowhere near the kind of excuse my brother did to be such a goddamn Debbie Downer.

Before my mood could sink any lower, though, there was the sound of a door bursting behind me, the click of heels, and the whistle of one of the new bloods.

I knew

Don't ask me how I knew, but I knew.

Because if ever there was a woman to burst down a door, to announce her presence like the Second Coming, not to simply be granted attention, but to demand it wordlessly, well, that woman was the kind of thing that didn't die when it stung you, that was too goddamn badass to let anything get in her warpath.

Wasp.

"Well, this is just as depressing as I had imagined," she announced, voice all milk and honey, something that suited her.

I turned, finding Wasp looking around, her wild blonde hair flowing around her, her tan skin showing signs of time on the West coast, her blue-green eyes taking in my - for all intents and purposes - home. She, like Reeve and me, was tall, long-limbed, and slim. Though she, of course, had more softness than either of us had. And she wrapped that in a pair of tight, well-loved skinny jeans, six-inch heels, and a t-shirt that declared 'Strong Women Intimidate Boys and Excite Men.'

"Fuck," Sugar said at my side, something that wasn't done quietly, so Wasp's gaze slid in his direction, a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Hmmm," she said, moving over toward the sitting area, having the gait of a goddamn cat stalking prey. But it had nothing to do with Sugar, though her gaze was there, and when she moved in past me, she dropped her ass right down in his lap. She just always walked that way. My sister, the conwoman, always looking for a mark, always stalking her prey. "Hi," she purred at him, her finger tracing across his collarbone.

And I kid you fucking not, this man, this hardened, lifelong biker, this connoisseur of women, he tripped over his own goddamn tongue.

That shit, well, it was hilarious.