Virgin (The Henchmen MC 16)

Her hands free, she cocked her arm, catching me in the jaw with her elbow with enough force to make me rear back, the crack sending off sparks of pain through my jaw, mouth, teeth. Using the opportunity, her foot finally found my hipbone, cracking in hard, knocking me off, onto my ass.

She was up in a blink, shoving her hands into my shoulders as her hips slammed down on mine, pinning me to the ground.

On top of me as pain ricocheted off my nerve endings, her face victorious, proud, beaming, she was the sexiest fucking thing I had ever seen.

"You're supposed to run," I reminded her, my hands settling in at her hips.

Her smile went slow, sly, as her body folded forward to press against mine, her lips pressing into the spot below my ear as her hips ground down into me.

"You want me to run?" she asked, voice low, teasing.

It was right then that I realized two things.

Training turned her on.

And I suddenly had absolutely no objection to it.Freddie - 1 yearOkay.

I was being picky.

I will admit that.

And, judging by Ty's defeated look, I didn't even have to.

We'd been looking at places.

As in to move into.

Together.

It was time. We'd spent pretty much every night - save for when he was on a run - together since we had started officially dating. But it was always at the clubhouse where there was next to no privacy, or Thad's apartment that felt a lot more crowded lately since he finally found his upside-down-feeling person.

Had you told me that a tall, skinny, cardigan-wearing, glasses-clad, economics professor would be the one to steal his huge - albeit carefully guarded - heart, I would have laughed in your face.

But Olwen Doyle had been his first back-to-back.

Then his first week-ender.

Then his first meet-the-family-at-a-formal-introduction guy.

Until, finally, four months into dating, they decided it was time to move in together. And since Olwen's place was a shoebox in a crummy area a long drive away from the college, it made sense for them to shack up at Thad's apartment. Where they promptly adopted a bright orange flat-faced cat with unsettling yellow eyes named Odette who silently judged everything you did.

After a couple months of awkward 'we heard you having sex last night' morning interactions, Ty had been the one to suggest it was time to get our own place.

Then probably just as promptly regretted it.

I'd dragged us to eighteen places in seven days.

Some were great, but too far from the clubhouse and my job.

Some were just around the corner, but had noisy neighbors or terrible light or too small of a backyard.

See, my mind was on things other than a house where we could have sex without being overheard.

There needed to be at least two bedrooms.

And a yard to play in.

Because, well, while I hadn't taken a test yet, I was late. And I was never late. You could set national calendars based on the regularity of my schedule. First, the craving for sweeter coffee. Then pizza, always settling for pizza bagels instead of ordering in. The telltale soreness. The cramps. Then finally, the big event.

It never mattered what was going on in life, it came as expected since I was fifteen-years-old.

I was going on three weeks late.

I didn't want to settle for a smaller space, only to have to upgrade with a baby or toddler in a year or two.

"Just this last one today, I promise," I consoled him. "Then I will make you something to eat."

"Two courses," he demanded, rolling his neck as we climbed back into my car which I had proudly bought with my own money after six months of working. Sure, it was three-times used. The back seat had stains that no upholstery cleaner could fix. And the radio came and went. But it was mine. I bought it. I took care of it. Took it for its oil changes. At Repo's garage. Because he, apparently, got butt-hurt if you paid for it at another place.

If Ty thought it was weird that I insisted on the car instead of the bike all the time, he didn't mention it.

We would get there.

I just wanted to be sure first.

"Done," I agreed, thinking of what was in the fridge and cabinets as we drove two blocks over. Still walking distance from the clubhouse. In fact, it was just one street behind where a bunch of the other club members bought houses, nearly owning their entire neighborhood.

It was a quiet street of starter homes - nothing with a second floor, everything with quaint fifth of an acre lots.

The one we were going to see was the last, on the corner that butted up to the back of a soccer field where there used to be little league games when I was growing up. I imagined there still were every weekend. It was a craftsman style painted a sweet gray-blue color with all white trim. I knew from the online advertisement that it was just shy of twelve-hundred square feet with three bedrooms, one oversized bath, and a basement that could easily be converted into more living space.