Sugar (The Henchmen MC 12)

It seemed to last forever, my muscles aching, my skin glistening slightly when I finally came back down, feeling Sugar slam deep, hissing as he came.

He sat there for a moment after, head ducked, eyes closed, seeming - like me - to try to come back down.

But then his head lifted; his eyes opened, and there it was again.

I felt like he was seeing me.

Seeing too much.

I pulled my legs up, curling to my side, and rolling off the bed. "One sec," I said, not bothering to grab clothes, rushing out of the room, half-hopping over Hannibal on my path to the bathroom, figuring that if he had been around the block as much as I imagined he had been, girls rushing off to pee after sex wasn't exactly unusual.

Besides, there was no way he could suss out the real reason I had needed to run away. Because I was feeling off. Exposed. Vulnerable. In other words, completely not myself.

I closed the door, taking a deep breath, placing my hands on the sides of the sink, looking up at my face.

Post-orgasm content.

That was the look.

I recognized it.

I'd seen it on my face before.

The flushed cheeks, the crazy hair, the tired eyes.

But they weren't just tired. They were freaked. I was a total Bambi - deer in the headlights.

And I needed to get it the fuck together.

What the hell?

Going all gooey over a biker who knew how to use his tongue, and hands, and cock?

Ridiculous.

I took a deep breath, grabbing my robe off the back of the door - a light pink silky number with little brass knuckles and crowns all over it. It had been a gift from Scotti - my, well, sorta but not really sister-in-law - who had come across it on some nobody website.

The sketchy kind you have to open a Paypal account to buy from because you'd never trust them with your credit card information.

I tied the sash loosely, letting it fall open in the front, a deep triangle to my navel. I wanted to cover up, but I didn't want it to look like I was hiding. Just a little shield. Maybe if I could put a small physical one up, I would feel better about the strange fall of my usually strong and impenetrable emotional one.

Walking back into my room, Sugar was on the other side of the bed, condom discarded, but still casually naked. And, well, with a body like that, it was a crime not to be naked as much as possible.

"He finally woke up," he informed me, meaning Hannibal who was situated at the end of my bed being pet on the belly by Sugar's foot. "Along with half of your neighbors, I'd bet," he said, cocky, self-satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

To be fair, he'd earned it.

I wouldn't begrudge him it.

I moved to the other side of my bed, climbing up, reaching into my nightstand for my book.

"Care for a tickle?" Sugar asked, making my gaze immediately shoot over, confused, before I saw what he was holding. My condom bowl. Which I had made at Savvy's last birthday party when she had dragged us to paint pottery. She had the skills for it. Jamie too. Me? Not so much. So mine had a badly drawn pickle with a somewhat squiggly-lined word bubble that said 'Care for a tickle?'

I thought it was hilarious.

Jamie and Savvy had rolled their eyes.

"I have all the art skills of a four-year-old."

"With the humor of a high school boy," he added, putting the bowl back.

"Yep. They do have the best jokes. Alright," I said, finding my bookmark, and flipping the page open. "You can head out."

There were a solid five seconds of silence following that.

"What?" he asked, voice almost a little hushed.

"No need to hang out." At his blank look, I took a breath, squashing down the desire to be nice, to be decent, knowing that being a bitch was the only way to get him out and save my pride. And maybe prevent whatever I was really feeling from being as obvious to him as it felt to me. "Does going over all those potholes on your bike cause brain damage or something? Let me try this again. Me fucked good. Me no want to snuggle. You go now."

To his credit, he didn't look insulted.

Actually, he looked... thoughtful.

His gray eyes were on me, his dark brows drawn together. "You fuckin' serious?" he asked, voice almost... soft? But that couldn't be right. His voice couldn't be soft.

That sound, it was doing something to me.

Something I couldn't let happen.

Because it was something I never let happen.

Ever.

Except with family.

And even then, only rarely.

But I squashed that down.

"Ugh, is this a pride thing? You were great. You rocked my world. I will be wrecked for any future man. Is your ego properly stroked now? I have a woman to watch getting decapitated tonight," I said, holding up my book. "And you sitting here breathing on me is going to ruin it for me."