Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8)

by Jessica Gadziala

  My body and heart pretty much flipped my brain off and said: oh yeah? Just watch us.

  Great.

  Just great.

  NINE

  Pagan

  About, say, oh, point-two seconds after I came, I realized I was glad I agreed to a fuck buddy situation. Because I was going to need a whole hell of a lot more of her.

  I had barely caught my breath, but thoughts of bending her over, getting her on her knees, or eating her sweet pussy until she fucking screamed, had my cock stirring again already as I moved off to the bathroom.

  I knew going in that she wasn't a hookup girl, but I had no idea she was fucking shy about sex. I also had no idea that I would find that shit ridiculously hot. How could I? Pretty much all I had known in my life were women who viewed sex as casually as I did.

  For me, it was a physical act. Nothing more, nothing less. It was needs satisfying needs. Any woman was just as good as the next for that. Sure, some fucks were better than other fucks, and that meant I had them multiple times during a one-time encounter, but I had never felt the need for a repeat past the one night.

  A large part of that, admittedly, was the fact that I didn't want anyone trying to sink her hooks into my dick and reel me in. And the best way to avoid that was to avoid any type of confusion about the situation at all.

  It was easy to have a fuck and know that was all it was, for both men and women alike.

  The fuck buddy situation, yeah, not as cut and dry. Some could pull it off, some couldn't. It was smarter to avoid it entirely.

  I dealt with the condom and washed my hands, careful not to scrub the scabs on my knuckles, not wanting to break them open again. I healed fast thanks to all the years of toughening up. By morning, I could loosen them up. In another day, the scabs would be gone and I would be ready to go again. You know, not that the scabs would have stopped me if the need for a fight arose in the meantime. But knowing Kennedy was squeamish meant I was going to try to keep my blood inside my body around her.

  For sex like that, it wasn't too much to ask.

  I rolled the tension in my shoulders from the fight, flicked off the light, and headed back into my room to find her sitting off the bed with my sheet mostly covering her, like she was torn between whether to go find her dress and acknowledge that the fucking portion of the night was over, or if maybe she was staying.

  "Fuck you doing? Get on the bed," I said, walking back toward it, watching as her eyes got big, worried almost. Worried about what? Fuck if I knew.

  "I thought you would be taking me..."

  "Won't be taking you home 'till I'm done with you," I said, stopping in front of where she was still sitting off the side of the bed, raising a brow at her until she finally shifted and moved up onto the center of the bed, leaving space for me to climb in. I did, snatching the sheet she was holding to her body like a fucking thermal blanket in a blizzard, and climbing under as well.

  The after fucking thing, yeah, that was new. Usually, it involved hastily redressing or, if I needed a round two, me disappearing outside for a smoke then finding a drink somewhere, then going right back in, fucking until my heart's content, then getting the hell out of Dodge.

  This? This sitting against the headboard shoulder-to-shoulder in awkward silence shit? Yeah, it was weird as fuck. Maybe made doubly so because it wasn't normal for either one of us in our own ways.

  So, at a loss, I reached for a remote that had the TV cabinet across from the bed opening. "Alright, Jason Bourne or John McClane?"

  "Ah... what?" she asked, body jolting when I spoke like she had been lost in thought. Likely not good ones either.

  "Your buddy said you liked action flicks. Which fictional character sets your panties on fire?"

  A slow, light blush worked its way across her cheeks, something I shouldn't have, but fucking did find almost annoyingly attractive. Then she went ahead and bit her lip too, because, y'know, I needed my attention to be drawn there right then. "Definitely McClane."

  My lips tipped up at that. "Like the old geezers, huh? Fucking perv."

  A strange, choked sound escaped her at that, her mouth opening and closing for a second while those bright eyes of hers danced a little. "I don't think there is a red-blooded, straight woman alive who doesn't want to get it on with John McClane." Her lips twitched even harder, but she shut up at that.

  "What?" I demanded, wanting to know what put that look on her face.

  Then, the laugh broke free, lighting up her whole fucking face. "I just..." she started shaking her head. "You know that catchphrase of his?"

  "Yeah." Who didn't?

  "I was thinking maybe he says it when..."

  Then I chuckled too. "He shoots his load?" I asked, knowing I could have said 'comes' and that she likely wouldn't be bothered by that, but enjoying it way too much how her cheeks reddened when I said something more off-color. If she spent more than an hour with me, she'd probably have a permanent fucking blush. "Alright, pick one," I said, bringing up the Die Hard menu.

  "Four," she said without even a hesitation.

  "Fucking serious?" I asked, brows lowering. Who chose four over one?

  She shrugged one of her shoulders, making the sheet fall down and show the tops of her breasts for a second before she snatched it back up. That modesty thing, it needed some work. Because I wanted to be able to look at that fucking amazing body of hers whenever I wanted. "I like Justin Long. I know, I know," she rushed on, holding up a hand like I was about to interrupt her, "that is not a popular opinion. But I think he has pretty good comedic timing and the best voice for sarcasm."

  It was a weird opinion, but I shrugged. "Vengeance it is," I agreed, flicking it on.

  Watching the set-up begin, I was oddly aware of my hands and the fact that I had nothing to do with them. Really, it was something I was sure I had never fucking felt before. And if I had, I probably just grabbed a cigarette or a drink. But I didn't smoke inside the house, and the drinks were downstairs, and I had this weird as fuck urge to not get up out of the bed and away from her.

  Glancing over, Kennedy seemed similarly afflicted with discomfort, her arms crossed over her tits, hands clutching the sheets right up under the sharp edges of her clavicles.

  But the fuck was I supposed to do? Spoon her?

  Not to sound like a dick, but, yeah, spooning was some other world weird fucking shit. Like here, I want your ass in my crotch but not to fuck it, just to settle there all inviting, but my dick better not get any ideas because then I'm a jackass for not being able to touch you without wanting to fuck you. And your hair is all in my face. And your tits are right there but I'm not supposed to touch them. And, it's fucking hot. Bodies are hot. Nothing sexy about sweat.

  Yeah, spooning was off the table.

  At a loss, I crossed my hands over my chest, leaned back, and watched the movie.

  Well, my eyes were on the movie. My brain kept doing weird shit like wondering if she was feeling as off as I was and if she was watching it or just looking like she was like me.

  Sometime around the middle of the movie, she slumped down so her head was on the pillows. Looking over, her eyes were small slits, likely not used to the late night kinda lifestyle that I was being that she had a business to run and that meant she had to sleep at normal hours.

  Before the story really started to unfold, when I chanced a look again, her eyelids were closed, her light lashes resting on her cheeks, making me realize maybe for the first time how bad her under-eye bruises were. Like she didn't get enough sleep. And, with absolutely no evidence to support such an idea, I felt like it wasn't just the normal stresses of owning a business that put them there.

  In sleep, her face seemed even more delicate than it usually did. Her lips were parted somewhat. And, given that I could do it without her catching me and thinking I was a creep, I really looked at her. Her lips were still slightly swollen from mine; a slight beard burn covered one of her cheeks, her throat, and disappeared down beneath the sheet where I
imagined there were marks on her tits as well.

  When she woke up, I wanted those marks on her inner thighs. I wanted it on the triangle over her bare pussy.

  I wanted her marked.

  And that shit, well, it was fucking insane.

  So I finally dragged myself up, taking the soaked boxer briefs and tossing them into the wash. I had about five cigarettes and three drinks, trying to get those ridiculous thoughts out of my head.

  Then, the sun sneaking across the sky, I finally went up to bed where she was still sleeping where I had left her.

  And I did something I had never done before; I fell asleep with a woman in my bed.

  Then, fucking hand to fucking God... I woke up spooning the goddamn woman.

  TEN

  Kennedy

  Okay.

  Alright.

  So... big, badass, scary as all hell, sexy as all sin, gun-running, cage-fighting, smoking, drinking, crazy Pagan was spooning me.

  I woke up several moments before, weirdly disoriented, sleep-heavy. It had been so long since I had a restful night that unconsciousness didn't want to loosen its hold on me. But when my eyes registered the windows I was facing, the sun shining through, the unmistakable sprawling loveliness of the shoreline greeting me, yeah I snapped fully awake.

  And it all came flooding back.

  Hex. Making out. Going home with Pagan. The hot tub. Oh, man, that hot tub. Then the after the hot tub. Namely, the sex.

  Oh, sweet, sweet Jesus, the sex.

  Even just remembering it had the desire uncurling through my system, spreading its limbs like waking from a long sleep, reaching into every inch of me until my blood felt heated, my breasts oddly heavy, wet pooling between my thighs.

  The after sex, well, there was no way to sugarcoat that. It was awkward as hell. And it wasn't just me for a change. It wasn't just me who was feeling weird. Pagan was too. True, I hadn't known him long, but had found him somewhat talkative and often in motion, and definitely, definitely physical. He always seemed to find reasons to touch me. I had sort of figured, at the very least, he would land one of those massive arms across my shoulders or something like that.

  But nope.

  He put on a movie and kept a cool distance between us until everything caught up with me- the long night out, the drinks, the sex, the weeks of near-sleeplessness. And I passed out.

  Cue waking up.

  Being spooned.

  Now, if you told me that a man like Pagan even knew how to spoon, I probably would have laughed in your face. It was just an absurd idea.

  Yet, there I was, facing the amazing, million-dollar view, in sheets so smooth they must have had a thread count to brag about on the package, with a heavy arm draped across my belly, a solid body cocked behind mine, warm breath in my ear, a cock pressing into my butt cheek, and, I kid you not, a hand closed around my breast.

  In his sleep, because he was asleep, his body still and his breathing even, he was holding onto my boob.

  I almost wanted to laugh, but the more prudent part of me didn't want to ruin the moment, wake him up, and make him realize what he was doing. I had a feeling a conscious Pagan would not be cool with spooning me, even if he did get to feel me up in the process.

  So I kept my body as still as possible and simply let myself.... enjoy it.

  Because that was what I had wanted and needed the night before. What can I say? I was a cuddler. I liked being close to someone after they had been inside me. Maybe that was a little needy of me, but it was just how I was wired. I had never needed a man who called and texted and told me he loved me every ten minutes. I just needed a touch and I always felt infinitely better.

  Me, I was eating the spooning session up.

  But it wasn't long until his cock, straining in his dreams, was starting to drive me to distraction, reminding me of how good he felt inside me, stretching me, making me his.

  And I went ahead and ruined it.

  But for all the right reasons.

  I rubbed my butt against his erection, drawing a low, ragged growl out of the chest behind mine, his body jolting slightly and I knew he was waking up. So I did another little shimmy against him. The rumbling sound was louder. His hand tensed on my breast then, I guess finally realizing where it was, gave it a good hard squeeze, making me let out a small groan as my head fell back against his shoulder. His thumb rolled my slowly hardening nipple and I made a strangled, whimpering sound that made him do the yummy growl thing again.

  "Nice fucking way to wake up," he informed me as my hips thrust back into him shamelessly, though offering me no relief from the need growing low in my belly.

  Sensing this, his hand left my breast, snagging my leg, and lifting it so his could slip forward, then let my leg rest atop his. I was confused by the move for point-oh-one second because after that, I felt his hard, straining, thick cock slide up my cleft to press against my clit.

  And I swear, I almost, just almost, came right then and there.

  That was how far gone I was even though all we had been doing was spooning. And he hadn't even been a conscious participator for most of it.

  "Fucking drenched," he said, nipping into my earlobe. "You been awake thinking of my cock for a while, huh?" he asked as his hips ground into me, making him do another intoxicating swipe of my clit. "What were you thinking about me doing, hm?" he asked as his hand went back up to my breast, grabbing the hardened bud and twisting, creating just the right kind of pain to make my hips slam back as he pressed forward again. "Thinking about my cock slamming into that tight cunt of yours?" It was a question, and yet it wasn't, and even if it was, my brain couldn't get the message to my mouth to say anything. "Like this?" he asked, thrusting up again, making me let out a moan that was in no way quiet and I was too far gone to care. "Or are you going to be a good girl and ride my cock for me so I can watch those perfect fucking tits bounce?"

  Honestly, I would take him literally any way right then.

  So, without giving it any thought because I knew I would psych myself out if I did, I rolled over onto my front, and got up on my knees, letting what was left of the blanket slide off of my body, baring me completely.

  The sound of his breath hissing out of his lips was pretty much all I needed in that moment, making my belly do a flutter that was almost obnoxiously good feeling as he moved to lay back. I reached for the sheet and pushed it off him as well, bringing my leg up to move to his other side to let me straddle him.

  His hands rose immediately to my hips, thumbs pressing into the dips of my hipbones, an unexpectedly erotic spot that had my hips sliding over his cock.

  I wanted him inside me.

  I wanted it more than I wanted to have my shit together.

  I wanted it more than I wanted to be able to take my next breath.

  But as my eyes lowered to find his body, I couldn't seem to stop myself from folding forward, my lips seeking his neck, knowing that perhaps kissing him all over was a bit too sweet, too romantic for a man like him, but finding I didn't care. I needed to learn his spots that drove him wild, like just behind his ear when my tongue moved out to tease that skin, like the line between the center of his stomach that made him curse viciously and grab a handful of my messy hair.

  Really, I was tracing his scar, the deep one I was so fascinated with. But seeing as I was heading in that direction anyway, I slid my hand up his thigh and curled it around his cock at the base, feeling a thrill inside when I realized my hand barely closed around him. My head shifted, and I traced my tongue over the sensitive head, licking off a bead of pre-cum there, and almost smiling at the curse he let out.

  Before he could yank me up by my hair like I was figuring he was planning to do, I closed my lips around him and sucked him deep.

  "Fucking Christ," he growled, using his hand to bunch up my hair, but not to pull, to move out of the way so he could watch.

  I had always had a sort of passive interest in oral sex, liking the idea of pleasing my partner even if the
act itself didn't exactly do anything for me.

  But this was different.

  This was like power and privilege and worship. Each noise he made spurred me on. Each hitch in breath sent another rush of wet between my thighs.

  Never before had I wanted to taste someone's release like I did right then.

  So I sucked harder, moved my head faster, let my other hand slip down to gently move over his balls.

  And it was right about then that Pagan decided he had had enough. Because the hand in my hair twisted and yanked hard, dragging me up until his cock left my mouth.

  Unaware it was even going to happen, a strange, whining noise escaped me, something I immediately recognized as disappointment.

  "You like my cock in that sweet mouth of yours, huh?" he asked as he pulled me up until I crawled back up his body to straddle him again. "Trust me, pet, I want nothing more than to watch your lips wrap around my cock as I come down that throat, but right now, I want you to ride me," he told me, releasing my hair, and reaching into the nightstand for a condom. He rolled it on, then held his cock at the base. "Take my cock," he demanded, eyes heavy, voice deeper than usual, a sound that seemed to turn my belly liquid as I arched up and he rubbed his hardness between my folds, pressing my clit, then pushed hard against my pussy entrance.

  I paused for the barest of seconds, my eyes seeking his.

  Then, the pressure was too much to take, I slammed down, taking him hard and fast and deep, my hand slamming down on his stomach to hold myself up when just the simple act of penetration almost pushed me over the edge.

  "Kennedy, move," he demanded, voice rough, obviously as far gone as me, both of us knowing it was going to be a quick fuck with, what I was sure, was going to be a shattering orgasm.

  So I moved.

  Slow for a moment, then gaining confidence, harder and faster, until the entire bed was shaking with each thrust, until my head was thrown back, until my whimpers became moans that became something else entirely that I didn't have a name for- something akin to a scream, but not quite.