Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

It was a hell of a lot more intimate than I realized as the soft, sensitive skin of my inner thighs met the rough material of his jeans, as my crotch pressed right up against him, as my breasts crushed to his back when my hands went around him.

It was practically foreplay, and he wasn't technically even touching me.

"Tighter, pet," he instructed as the bike roared to life.

My thighs tightened on his as my arms squeezed harder as well, my belly tightening for the inevitable pitching feeling I would get when he pulled off.

Then we were off.

Slowly at first, through the main area of Navesink Bank. I felt my brows draw together as we reached city limits and he kept going, taking a side street that I knew from experience led toward the beach.

Pagan lived near the beach?

Well, I reminded myself, there were some not-so-nice areas around the beach by us. Maybe he lived there. It seemed to sort of suit his personality, even if the idea of heading there made my belly turn over a little.

Somehow, I was sure I was safe from pretty much any threat with Pagan beside me.

That was a bit presumptuous, but if his own friends were afraid to get into a fight with him, that pretty much said it all, didn't it?

But when we turned onto the street lined on the right by retaining walls to keep the water in when the tide got crazy and headed not toward the bad area which was, apparently, "up and coming" (or so the real estate agents liked to claim), but into the area where the nicer houses were located, I felt myself stiffen.

They weren't all mansions, though some certainly were, all raised thanks to the hurricane years before that destroyed so much property. But regardless of their size, I knew that they all cost a literal fortune for literally being all of twenty feet from the shore. But maybe he was just taking the scenic route, trying to get me calmer, then turning off back toward what was still, technically, a shore town, but nowhere near as expensive as beachfront property.

But that idea got shot to shit all of ten seconds later when he pulled straight into a driveway off the main drag. It wasn't a huge house, but certainly bigger than one man really needed. It was a beach-style two story white house with porches on each level, big windows, and blue accents. There wasn't much property, as there never was in shore towns, with the neighbors a literal stone's throw to either side.

He cut the engine but didn't move.

This was likely because I was still holding on like we were moving. "You live here?"

"What? Cage-fighting, gun-running bikers can't have nice crash pads?"

Crash pads.

I was pretty sure the snort that I thought was internal was totally audible.

But seriously? His 'crash pad' cost more than I would probably ever see in a lifetime. I guess crime paid well. It was something that didn't surprise me the least actually.

"Hop off," Pagan said, sounding amused. Which he should, seeing as I was still all clutching him like a weirdo.

I released him, reaching up to take off the helmet, self-consciously trying to fluff my hair back up as I quickly jumped off the bike, and reached to pull my skirt back down.

"Come on," he said, touching my hip to steer me toward the door, reaching out to a security system and punching in a code.

The inside was light and airy like any beach house, using mostly white and other neutral colors. Directly forward was a U-shaped staircase leading up on either side. To the right was a living space with deep blue couches around a coffee table, all facing a positively massive flatscreen TV. To the right was a dining space that, while decorated, looked like it had never had one single diner in it. Forward and beneath the stairs was a hall where Pagan walked, hand still on me, bringing me with him.

"You're going to have to settle for ginger ale as a mixer," he told me as we walked into his massive kitchen with white everything and a huge set of windows and doors which led out onto a deck with a hot tub and then down stairs to a small, kidney-shaped in-ground pool.

"That's fine."

Hell, I'd settle for whiskey straight I was so damn nervous.

Why? I wasn't sure. It wasn't like I was some starry-eyed virgin. I had engaged in many a sexual encounter with men I had been involved with since I was eighteen. And, sure, maybe the first time with someone new had a few awkward giggles or fumbling, but it was all in good fun and not overly uncomfortable.

But right there, in a beautiful kitchen in a lovely beach house with a big, sexy biker man fixing me a drink, I felt like I was crawling out of my skin with uncertainty. I guess the long drive had managed to calm my sexual frustration a bit and allowed room for doubt to sift back in again.