Camden (The Henchmen MC 18)

It wasn't like I thought he'd never been injured before. In his line of work, it seemed like an inevitability, something that couldn't be avoided.

I guess I just didn't imagine he'd have been shot. Least of all more than once. But by the looks of things - just in the front - he'd been shot at least four times.

Four.

My hand reached out automatically, finger tracing over one that was just under his lowest rib, feeling his muscles twitch under my touch.

His gaze, though, was suddenly guarded, his jaw tight. I wasn't sure what that meant, what he was feeling, what emotions he had attached to his scars, to the past that they represented. I hoped that someday he would feel comfortable enough with me to tell me.

But that was not today.

That was not what this moment called for.

The last thing I wanted to see in this moment with him was apprehension, insecurity.

My hand slid away, gliding between the lines of his muscles, taking my time in those deep-set V ones that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Cam's breath got faster, more shallow, stopping entirely when my hands went for his button and zip, slowly dragging them down before pulling his pants off his hips, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that in no way hid the fact that he wanted this just as badly as I did.

My butt settled back down on the mattress, reaching outward, pulling down his boxer briefs, hand sinking into his hip, pulling him forward, taking him in my mouth.

The hiss of his breath, the catches, the way his muscles tensed, his hand sinking into the back of my neck, just holding, not pressuring, letting me take the lead, it made everything else but his need fall away, numbing me to my own until his fingers suddenly twisted in my hair, forcing my head back until he slipped out of my mouth.

My eyes fluttered open, finding him watching me, something almost like wonder in his eyes as his other hand moved out, gently brushed over my lower lip.

"Cam." It was a throaty, desperate voice that came out of me, something foreign even to my own ears.

His eyes blazed as he pressed me back on the bed, leaning down to - I imagined - getting his shoes and pants fully off, coming back with a little square in his hand, ripping it open, slipping it on, before lowering his body to mine, his lips immediately seeking mine.

There was no soft exploration this time, his mouth was hard, pressing deep, full of barely contained need as his body settled between my legs, his hardness pressing against my cleft, his mouth muffling my almost painful moan at the spark of need that gripped my system.

My hands moved down his back, distractedly noticing more scars, almost a full back of them, but my mind was on other things as my fingers sank into his ass, holding him tightly against me as my hips ground upward, feeling him press against my clit, sending a shiver through my body.

His lips pulled from mine as he planted one arm, the other reaching between our bodies as his hips shifted slightly, allowing him to start tapping his cock against my clit until my whimpers became moans that became nothing but gasps of breath.

Then and only then did he drag the head against my sex, pressing against me, then sliding inside with one deep thrust.

His pelvis pressed into mine, putting pressure on my clit. That along with the fullness inside, it became too much, too perfect.

The orgasm coursed through my system, a surge of pleasure that started in my core and exploded outward, taking over me completely.

A low, growling noise escaped from somewhere deep in Cam's chest as my sex clenched hard around him.

His forehead pressed to mine as he started thrusting through my orgasm, guiding me right into another before I could catch my breath from the first.

With that one, he settled deep, body jerking hard once as he came with a deep sigh.

I knew that maybe it wasn't how one was supposed to act with a man you were newly intimate with, but I clung to him afterward, legs wrapping around his waist, arms circling his shoulders, face buried in his neck.

But the most important thing to me in those moments was that he let me. He didn't pull away. He didn't stiffen up. If anything, he sank into it, into me.

I was the one to ultimately shift, making him press up, look down at me.

"Leg cramp," I admitted, watching in a bit of awe as a sweet, easy smile spread across his face before he rolled off to the side, sitting up, reaching for my leg, and pressing his thumbs into the tight muscles of my calf.