Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2)

by Jessica Gadziala

  Then, of course, I imagined him making meals for his women because, well, who went whole hog making a huge, multi-step meal for just themselves? Along with that thought came an intense and almost overpowering jolt of jealousy that was so unwelcome that I had to throw myself into something to distract myself or I would drive myself half-crazy about it.

  Seeing as his house was almost freakishly tidy, I set my mind to cooking.

  I was a fair cook, having spent endless hours making food for my father when I was younger after my mother died. Him being a bit... traditional (read: chauvinistic) about women's roles in life, that meant it was my job to learn to handle the stove at the tender age of eleven. I had a fair amount of burn scars on my hands as testament to those first awkward, unsafe fumblings. Then, when I was on my own, living in the safe house, I never so much as hooked up my stove. If I couldn't make it in the microwave, I didn't eat it. I was sick of the task.

  At Hailstorm, a bunch of the guys and even one or two of the women actually enjoyed the chore and even had more than a little skill at it, so they ended up being the ones who took turns feeding the rest of us.

  I had been out of practice for the better part of twenty years but, well, it wasn't exactly something you could forget how to do and I was almost a little tickled to get to do it again... without a man expecting it to be done.

  The door opened while I was chopping carrots for the stew I had starting to simmer on the top of the stove, the meat already cooking away in the broth and tomato mixture.

  “What smells so good? You order in?” Cash asked and I could hear the sound of my bag hitting the floor in the living room and his boot-clad feet moving toward me. I didn't answer and when he moved into the doorway, he did a slow up-and-down inspection of me standing at his counter, wearing nothing but his tee, my hair in a messy knot at the top of my head, chopping away. “Are you... cooking for me?” he asked, a strange breathlessness in his tone that had my head snapping up to watch him directly, unsure where the inflection came from.

  Unsure what to say, I waved the knife casually around. “We needed to eat, right?” I asked, feeling a bit insecure about the whole thing.

  “I've never had a woman cook for me before,” he said, watching me with eyes that were too intense and completely devoid of his usual jocular lightness.

  “It's not a big deal,” I said, having to look away from him. There was something passing between us and it felt too intimate, too something I didn't quite understand.

  I had barely had a chance to get another carrot out of the bag before I felt him move up behind me, as in right behind me, as in... his whole front was against my whole back and he was looking over my shoulder, his chin resting there casually like it was nothing new for us to stand together while I chopped vegetables, like we did it every night of our lives. His hand moved across my belly, pressing in slightly, and I swear the contact shot right between my thighs.

  “It is to me,” he said and my brain was racing a million different ways and I had to struggle to remember what he was responding to. Oh, right... me saying it wasn't a big deal. It was a big deal to him? Great. As if I didn't feel insecure enough about doing it.

  “Don't get your hopes up. I'm not that great of a cook,” I said, forcing my hands to focus on getting back into motion while I was pretty sure that the last thing I should have been allowed to handle at that moment was a sharpened object.

  Cash's head shifted downward and then I felt his teeth sink into the exposed skin on my shoulder which his too-big shirt had slipped to the side to reveal. It was just the barest of bites, but holy hell, I felt it.

  Then he moved away to stand next to the pot on the stove, arms behind him, grabbing the counter as he casually watched me work. And I was working, if for no other reason than to not have to look at him.

  It was crazy that I was so turned on by him. True, he had given me some really good reasons to be turned on around him after the events of the night before. And, well, let me say one thing: a lot of men could fuck. A lot of men could climb on top of you, slip inside, and plow into you until weren't sure what your own name was anymore. But it took real skill, real understanding of women and how their bodies worked to get them off with oral. Sure, a lot of guys could manage it by sheer dumb luck. The clit was sensitive, you raked over it enough, eventually she's riding the waves. But Cash was in a whole league of his own. Cash ate me like he was a man in famine, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered to him, like it gave him what he needed to go on. He knew when the intensity was bordering on pain, and moved away. He knew when the motion was getting old, and changed directions. He paid attention. And, well, there was nothing like a man who paid attention to a woman's pleasure.

  I had never came that hard from oral before. I had a sneaking suspicion that I never would again.

  So, yeah, I was having trouble meeting his eye.

  “Tell me something no one knows about you,” he said out of the blue, making me narrowly miss slicing off the tip of my forefinger as I startled.

  “What?”

  “Tell me something no one knows about you.”

  “Why?

  “Why not?”

  “What are you twelve?”

  “Christ, woman, would it kill you to answer the question? It's not like I am asking you what your favorite position is. Though,” he said, his boyish smile creeping across his lips, “I wouldn't mind knowing that either.”

  I looked away, taking a deep breath. Tell him something no one else knew about me? It wasn't like it was a hard thing to figure out. Most people didn't know anything about me and positively no one knew everything.

  “When I was seventeen,” I started, shocking myself way more than him that I was willing to give him any of my secrets, “I really wanted to go to this show in town, but I was grounded. I snuck out when my dad was sleeping and had a blast. When I got home, I cut the lights on my car so he wouldn't see me pulling in. And, I kind of... tapped the bumper of my dad's truck because I couldn't see.”

  Cash's smile turned a little warm, a little too sweet. “He never found out?”

  “Oh, he found out alright,” I admitted, the bitter taste of the memory making me feel queasy, “about the sneaking out, not about the car. It was the only thing in my whole life that I could get past him. His truck was a real piece of shit, covered in dents and dings.”

  “Did you get in trouble?” he asked, still looking a little too pleased to get the information he wanted out of me.

  He had no idea the kind of trouble I got into. “Yes,” I said, with finality, and his smile fell. It was such a sad sight to behold, that I found my mouth opening again before I could stop it. “And... lotus.”

  His brows knitted together, trying to make that information make sense. “Lotus?”

  I felt my own lips quirk up as I met his eyes, lifting my chin slightly. “My favorite position,” I clarified and was rewarded with him throwing his head back and laughing. I was helpless to do anything but watch, a full smile spreading across my face, making the bruises smite, but it was worth the pain. “Your turn,” I said, unable to stop myself.

  He stopped laughing, but the smile remained, his head tilting to the side a little. “You have the sweetest pussy I have ever tasted.”

  The words hit with actual impact, making me take a step back, my face, no doubt, twisting in a mix of surprise and arousal. Who said things like that? In the kitchen? To someone they all but hated?

  Apparently, fucking Cash did.

  I swallowed hard, trying to pull myself together. “Classy,” I tried, attempting to put a shield back up.

  “Tight too,” he went on, making the place in question, well, tighten.

  “Cash...” I said, tone half pleading as I shook my head at him.

  “Yeah, I like it when you say my name. I'll like it even more when you say it when I have my cock inside you.”

  Oh, hell.

  There was absolute chaos
between my thighs at that idea.

  “That's not going to happen, Cash,” I said, remembering my words from Summer's dinner party that suddenly felt like it happened ages ago.

  “It is,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was inevitable, like my objections didn't hold any weight.

  “No,” I said, my tone as firm as I could make it, and seeing as I was raised by an ex-marine of a father and learned from the best, that was really freaking firm.

  “Honey, why you fighting it so hard?”

  “Why are you pushing it so hard? You don't even like me Cash.”

  Again, another shrug. “True.”

  Holy hell. He wasn't even going to try to deny it? He thought it would be a good idea to tell me he didn't like me and then expected me to still spread for him whenever he wanted?

  “But what does that have to do with anything?”

  He could not be serious. “It has to do with everything.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don't have sex with men who don't like me.”

  “Baby, just because I don't like you doesn't mean I wouldn't treat you real good. Do you need a refresher of last night?” he asked, giving me a sexy little smirk as he pushed away from the counter and made his way over toward me.

  My hand raised instinctively, pressing the flat side of the knife against his chest to still his approach. “You try it, your balls will be part of that stew,” I offered, pressing the knife a little harder against him.

  “While I think you are perfectly capable of chopping a man's balls off, Lo, I know you're all bluster.”

  “Try me, Cash,” I threatened.

  “What was the dog park about?” he asked, once again throwing me off my game with his unusual change in conversation.

  “What dog park?”

  “When Reign, Wolf, and I came to Hailstorm to ask you for help with Summer and you took us to your command center... you had all kinds of shit on your walls: information on the local crime syndicates, plans for hits, mugshots of bail jumpers you guys were chasing down, and a fucking... flier for a dog park. What was the dog park about?”

  “Why?”

  “What? Are you twelve?” he asked, throwing my words back at me.

  There was no reason not to answer, but I found myself not wanting to. Still, chances were, if I didn't, the conversation was probably going to turn sexual again and I needed for that not to happen.

  I shrugged, pulling the knife from his chest. “We do a lot of different jobs. Like you said, hits for hire, catching skips, some private security, all that jazz. But sometimes we get wind of things and do stuff just because.”

  “What could you have gotten wind of at a dog park?”

  “Six dogs died after having the water bowls poisoned with anti-freeze,” I recalled easily. Janie had been so fucking furious about that case. She had worked day and night for weeks to come up with leads.

  I remembered asking her one night as she downed her third energy drink why that case in particular was affecting her so much. She looked up, exhaling a breath, her face looking unusually open and vulnerable and said in a quiet voice (which was also not like her. She tended to bitch and yell and scream), “No one should get away with hurting defenseless creatures.”

  I didn't ask what she meant. I didn't need to.

  “You guys were trying to figure out who did it?”

  “We did find out who did it,” I clarified.

  “Is he still breathing?” Cash asked, obviously having a really low opinion of me.

  “Sure. Breathing nice and easy in a jail cell for the next fifteen years. Though, if he ever gets out, well, I don't doubt Janie might pay him a little visit.”

  “Janie?” Cash asked, looking almost guarded at the mention of her.

  “She doesn't like when people pick on anyone or anything smaller than them.”

  “Who the fuck does?” was his knee-jerk response, like he really meant it, like it bothered him too. God, could he get any more endearing?

  “So, um, did you have any trouble at the storage place?” Christ, that was dumb. What was wrong with me? I was a grown ass woman, I didn't mumble and stumble to find decent conversation.

  “What the fuck you have in that bag? Bricks?”

  “Books,” I clarified immediately, more than a little surprised that he hadn't gone through it (and also extremely relieved). “You didn't look?”

  “Of course not. So how long until dinner? Do I have long enough to run to the clubhouse and talk to my brother?”

  “Sure.” I mean... it was stew. It would, well, stew for as long as needed.

  “Do you still want me to talk to Reign about your situation?”

  My eyes shot up to his. Of course I did. That was the deal, wasn't it? But, somehow, I found myself saying instead, “Do you mind keeping this between us for the time being?”

  He nodded, chucked me under the chin like a ten year old, and took off, leaving me utterly confused, still completely turned on, and having no idea what to do about either of those things.

  So I made stew, and then I ate stew alone when he didn't come back as quickly as he made it sound like he would, then I went through my bag and got one of my books and curled up on the couch to read. I didn't, however, change into my own clothes. And I didn't stop to think about why... because I was pretty sure I already knew the reason.

  By the time nine o'clock rolled around, the words on the pages seemed like they were swimming in front of my tired eyes and I bookmarked my page with one of the television remotes and curled up on the couch to watch mindless TV.

  I didn't plan on sleeping, but that was exactly what I did.

  I woke up sometime later to the feeling of someone lifting my legs, sliding under them, and then resting them on top of their jean-covered thighs. I didn't have to look to know it was Cash. No, instead, I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the feel of his warm hand on my bare skin as I pretended I was still asleep.

  I heard the sound of his spoon scraping a bowl and knew he was eating. Then his weight shifted forward, his stomach pressing into my legs as he did so, to put his bowl on the coffee table.

  I didn't know, however, that he had also picked up my book and pulled it open until his mouth opened to start reading, “'Declan ran his hand up her wet cleft...” My entire body jolted as my eyes flew open, mortification like nothing I had ever experienced before overwhelming my system.

  I wasn't lying when I told Reign upon first meeting him that I was a sucker for a good love story. As such, I had a slight obsession with romance novels. And by 'slight obsession', I meant I devoured at least three a week... and they weren't the fade-to-black love scene kind. They were the down and dirty, explicit kind.

  That was actually the reason I had decided to stop reading where I had: because the hero and heroine were just about to get it on for the first time and I wanted to be fully focused to be able to enjoy it.

  And there was Cash, sitting on the couch next to me, my book in his hands with the half-naked man on the front, reading the sex scene.

  Holy shit.

  No. That could not be happening. No way in hell was the sexy as heck guy who went down on me the night before figuring out that I was a dirty little closet smut reader. No no no.

  “Cash, give me that back,” I demanded, sitting up as fast as my ribs would allow and making a grab for the book.

  Cash simply lifted it out of my reach, smiling way too devilishly. “Nuh-uh. This sounds interesting.” I reached for it again, but he swatted my hand again, holding the pages open with one hand and starting to read again. “'His tongue found the swollen, sensitive swell of her clit and started moving over it in slow, light circles until her hands fisted in the sheets and her hips were grinding up into him, begging for more...'”

  I wanted to die. Right then and there, I wanted some undetectable blood clot to rush to my heart and just... end it because I simply could never face him again.

 
“Honey, relax,” his voice said and my gaze lifted to find him looking down at me, no teasing humor on his face like I had expected. If anything, there almost seemed to be... heat.

  “Please give me my book back,” I tried, not caring how desperate my voice sounded. I was desperate.

  “Do you like this book?”

  Oh, hell. “Yes,” I admitted, shaking my head at myself.

  “Then why are you so embarrassed?”

  “Cash...”

  “'Cassidy let out a low moan, reaching down to grab Declan's head, pulling him up her body and wrapping her legs around him...'”

  “Please stop reading.”

  “Are you getting hot, baby?” he asked, turning to look at me. My legs were pressed tightly together and I was more than a little shocked that I was able to be completely and utterly turned on and mortified at the same time. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the fact that the sex scene was being read in the deep, smooth timbre of his voice. At my silence, he reached out, grabbed my hand and pulled it toward him. I had no idea what he was going to do until I felt my palm press up against the crotch of his jeans where, holy shit, he was hard and straining. “Who'd have thought a book could be as hot as porn?” he said, his lips quirked up.

  His hand stayed on top of mine, pressing into his cock and my thumb automatically stroked over the head. Christ, I wanted him. I wanted him more than I had wanted someone in longer than I could remember. Cash's hand slid off of mine and both of his hands reached for my hips, gently pulling me toward him until I was straddling him.

  “These are still hurting,” he said, his hand flattening over the elastic bandages around my center.

  “Yeah,” I admitted, because they were.

  “No way I can be inside of you without it hurting,” he mused. “I don't want to hurt you.”

  Oh man.

  Suddenly it wasn't just in my lady bits I felt him, it was in my chest, it was a fluttering, melting sensation that I was trying really hard to ignore.