Rowe (Henchmen MC Next Generation 4)

“Fuck,” Rowe hissed when I pressed his hand between my thighs. Right up against my bare skin since everyone knew panties and yoga didn’t really mix. Rowe’s thumb moved up, finding the swollen bud of my clit and working the pad of his finger in slow circles around it. “You’re so wet,” he groaned as his middle two fingers slid down my cleft to tap against the entrance to my body.

Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead to his. “I always get wet thinking of you,” I admitted, close enough to hear his low, ragged groan at my words. “I’ve thought of this so many times,” I added, loving the way his breathing was getting quicker at my words, the way his cock was getting harder against my thigh. “Rowe, please,” I begged, rocking my hips down until his fingers started to slide inside me. “Yes,” I moaned as they settled to the hilt, and my walls tightened around him.

Pulling back slightly, I looked down at him, finding his eyes molten. My hands rose, cradling his face, tilting it up slightly, and then leaning down to seal my lips to his.

I’d thought about kissing Rowe more than was probably healthy. I wondered about how his lips would be. Hard and demanding or pliant and gentle. I thought about how he might taste, how his tongue would feel sliding over mine, the way his body might react as the kiss deepened.

None of those musings quite got it right.

His lips were soft and pliant for a stunned moment after the contact. But they quickly got rougher, more demanding.

His free hand rose to the back of my neck, holding me against him as he deepened the kiss, his lips bruising into mine even as his fingers started to thrust inside me. They were lazy, barely-there movements at first that only got faster as my hips started to rock against him, as my teeth nipped his lower lip, as our tongues started to move over each other’s.

Rowe’s fingers twisted in my hair, grabbing, pulling, then yanking back as my whimpers became moans, as he pushed me closer and closer to that edge. With his thumb. With his fingers.

I rocked my hips backward and held there, so Rowe’s thrusts rubbed up against my top wall, engaging my G-spot, leaving me teetering on that edge for just a moment more.

My breath caught.

“Come, babe,” Rowe whispered, his thumb and fingers keeping the perfect pace, sending me crashing through the orgasm.

I leaned forward into him, my face burying in the crook of his neck as the waves crashed through me time and again.

I was still resting there, trying to catch my breath when there was a splashing and sizzling sound.

“What was that?” Rowe asked even as my brain cleared of the surge of oxytocin from the climax, making me remember what I’d been doing when he’d called me over.

“Soup,” I said, jolting backward, then climbing off of him to rush around the sectional and into the kitchen to lower the heat under the pot. “Whoops,” I said, shooting Rowe a lazy smile from over the steaming pot whose bubbles were already slowing to a slight simmer.

“Turn it off and get back over here,” Rowe demanded, voice husky, and the sound made my stomach shiver.

And, well, I wasn’t about to object to that, was I?

Except then there was gravel crunching, something that made both of us stiffen as Tommy and Chuckie got up from their respective places and ran toward the door, butts wiggling.

“Oh,” I said, deflating.

“Shit,” Rowe hissed, moving to sit up, likely trying to talk himself down from the hard-on I’d felt against my thigh as his best friend parked, then started making his way toward the house.

“You cooked?” Malc asked immediately upon entering, looking over at me.

“Kitchen Sink Soup,” I told him, wondering if I still had a post-orgasm flush on my face, if there was a sex vibe in the air.

“Rowe, you got anything to pack it up in? We got church. Fallon thinks he has something to go on with the fucks who ambushed the club.”

“Oh, so am I free?” I asked, brightening. “No babysitters? I don’t like that smirk,” I grumbled when he smiled at me.

“We got the girls to agree to have a night in with you,” he said. “Think you’ll be covered.”

“Is Hope coming?” I asked, knowing I’d been avoiding the lecture I knew was coming from her for not speaking out about the first box when I got it. With her job, she saw a lot of women with stalkers. And she knew how bad things could get if they weren’t taken seriously. I never avoided my loved ones, but I’d been screening my calls from Hope since the news spread about my situation. I would ‘miss’ the call, then text her back when I knew she would be at work, apologizing and saying I’d been on a job.