Roan (The Henchmen MC 17)

Good.

He was so freaking good.

I felt so unworthy of his attention.

But so incredibly grateful I had it.

"And lastly," he went on after letting his words sink in. "I didn't call or text earlier because I had some business this morning." He almost seemed to spit the word business. Like it left a sour taste on his tongue. "And then a little trip to pick something up," he finished, reaching down to grab my hand, sliding his fingers between mine, giving my palm a squeeze as he pulled me with him down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

"Are you going to tell me what you had to pick up?" I asked, noticing a marked lightness to him. Excitement, maybe. Over what, I had no idea. But I wanted to share in it.

"Not yet, no. First, lunch," he told me, pulling me with him toward his car. Which struck me as unusual since we usually just walked to somewhere nearby to cut down on the potential of being late if there was traffic.

"Where are we having lunch?" I asked as we got in the car, as he turned it off into traffic.

"Someplace new," he told me cryptically, refusing to give me anything more than that on the short drive that had us pulling to a stop across from a hotel.

His hotel.

"Oh," I said, not even trying to hold back the smile that pulled at my lips at the idea of his hands, mouth, everything on and in me again. The slight tenderness I had gone to bed with had been absent when I had woken up. And now that I knew he wasn't turned off by my lack of experience, well, the idea of another session with him flooded my body with need even before he offered me his hand to help me out of the car.

"Lunch should be coming up any minute now," he told me as we walked down the hall toward his door.

As if somehow seeing the disappointment as it crossed my mind, he leaned down near my ear and told me, "Just Mezze," he told me, meaning a selection of small dishes of cheese, vegetables, and meat. It was usually an appetizer, a finger food in a way. Or, in this case, just something quick to shovel in, so we could get to more exciting things.

"Can I know what you had to pick up today while we wait for the food?" I asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed, looking up at him as he sent me a soft smile.

"Well, maybe..." he stared, only to trail off at the knock at the door. "Maybe not," he told me with a wicked smirk, like he was enjoying my anxiety.

Clearly, he had picked up something for me. That was why he was enjoying making me wait. That was why he seemed so excited.

I'd never really gotten a gift from a guy before, unless the hideous corsage my prom date had brought to me while informing me his mother picked it out counted.

I think everyone in the world would agree that it absolutely didn't count.

So many firsts with Mikhail.

It was equal parts euphoria and terror, realizing this.

Euphoria for obvious reasons, because someone like him - older, more experienced, more worldly, more, well, interesting, somehow thought I was good enough to spend his time with.

And terror because the idea of losing that was almost too much to bear.

But it wasn't time for those kinds of thoughts.

It was time to throw food into my mouth, swallowing it down before really even getting to chew - or taste - any of it. Much to Mikhail's amusement as he watched, only picking here and there himself.

"Okay. The food's gone," I informed him, hand in front of my face, talking with my mouth half-full.

"You're going to have a stomach ache," he informed me, but his eyes were bright, dancing.

I don't know where it came from. I'd never been accused of being confident or flirtatious. But maybe that was all just because I'd never felt quite as interesting, as desirable as I did with Mikhail around.

"Well, then you're going to have to make me feel better, huh?" I asked, shooting him what I hoped was a sultry smile.

I didn't know if I accomplished this or not, but if I didn't, then he simply took pity on me, his eyes getting heavy, his hands reaching out, moving the cart out of the way, scooting closer, tilting up my chin, and sealing his lips to mine.

There was none of the hesitant exploration, the slow sweetness of the night before.

I had no idea if it was due to the time constraints, or simply the hunger with which we craved each other.

One moment, I was dressed, sitting off the edge of the bed with him.

The next, my clothes were thrown all over the room, tangling with his.