Virgin (The Henchmen MC 16)

"She could smudge her nail polish," the nail tech told him with a knowing smile.

"Hear that? You could smudge your polish. After all this work. Can't be having that, can you?" he asked, then suddenly yanked his feet away from his tech. "I'm gonna go ahead and skip the polish," he said with quirked lips and a head shake.

"It's clear."

"And shiny," he shot back, reaching for his socks and shoes, then his wallet, handing a twenty to his tech as he got to his feet. "You go dry up. I'm gonna square up and grab coffee. You actually take it as sweet as you made it at your place, or were you... distracted?" By him. He knew I had been practically drooling over him.

"Three sugars," I told him, sidestepping the last part of his question with the same precision as I sidestepped the leg of a chair so I didn't smudge my polish on the way to the dryer.

I had barely slipped my butt into my seat and my feet into the dryer when I felt his body move behind my chair, curling forward to tower over me, his hands moving down to grab the armrests, lowering his mouth to my ear.

"Be right back, baby."

He had likely made it outside before the shivers inside died down.

Easy.

I was so damn easy.

And I couldn't even get mad at myself about it.

"Here you go," Kennedy said, dropping a glass of water that had come from a giant dispenser with cucumbers and lemons floating in it. "I remember that beginning phase. If I had a block of ice for you to sit on, I'd bring it over," she added with a smile before she moved away to talk to Benny.

My shoes in my hand, new reusable pink flip-flops with Kennedy's on the bottom on my feet, I made my way toward the door where Virgin was waiting with two cups of coffee, his head ducked to the side slightly, lips tipped up just the tiniest bit.

And it didn't escape me either that just about every woman's eyes were on him, eye-banging him, thinking about how nice it would be to have that smile of his aimed at them.

That's right, ladies, that smile is for little ol' me.

It was an oddly possessive thought for me to have, but there was no denying how good it felt to step up to him, have him hand me that coffee he got just for me, then look down at my feet to compliment the color. I'd swear I heard sighs around me at that.

His arm rose over my head, holding the door open, then as we stepped onto the street, his hand went to my lower back, staying planted there. A comforting - and incredibly distracting - presence.

"My bike is at the compound," he explained when he saw me looking at the street for it. "Hence the coffee. Figured we could finish as we walked the block or so. How is it?"

"Perfect," I admitted. "Have you recovered from your tickle torture?" I asked, watching as his smile went almost bashful.

"I can take a back rub any day of the week. But I don't know how you tolerate that shit. You ticklish anywhere?"

"My ribs," I told him. "Don't use that against me," I demanded, locking my elbows down at my sides. I'd endured endless torture sessions at the hands of brothers who wanted something from me. The idea of it happening as an adult filled me with dread.

"If I got my hands on your skin, baby, I wouldn't be tickling you."

"Oh."

Yeah, that was eloquent.

And totally the right response to something that, well, swoon-worthy.

The hand on my back suddenly slipped to the side, sinking into my hip, using it to turn me, press me back against a building.

There was a swoop and crunch as Virgin's arm tossed his coffee cup in a nearby bin, freeing his hands.

So that they could slither their way up my sides, barely grazing the ribs that didn't feel the least bit ticklish at all, sliding up the sides of my breasts, up over my chest, the sides of my neck, stopping only as they framed my face, tilting it up.

And they met absolutely no resistance.

In fact, I was pretty sure my body was incapable of resistance.

Everything went weak, fluid.

It was a miracle I was still able to keep upright as his body shifted inward, his hard lines pressing into my chest, belly, hips, pinning me gently to the wall as his eyes held my gaze for a second before his head started to lower.

My heartbeat tripped into overdrive, and a silly, insecure, niggling little voice wondered if he could feel the pulse pounding in my throat from where his hands were.

But then his lips pressed to mine and all thoughts about anything fell away.

The contact set off a jolt through my body, my muscles all involuntarily tightening and loosening in the span of a blink, and I was vaguely aware of the fact that my hands had spasmed as well because there was the hot splatter of my coffee on my bare feet as the cup dropped, the clink of my shoes falling at my other side.