Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8)

by Jessica Gadziala

  I dropped my bag inside the door before he, ever so gently, lowered me down onto the edge of the bed, laying me flat. His hand drifted between my swollen, painful breasts, the center of my belly, then resting on my ribs. "Can't be rough with you until these stop hurting," he answered the question that must have been in my eyes.

  "They're not that..."

  "And I'm not fucking making them worse," he cut me off, knowing where I was taking that. "Now if you're done complaining about me treating you right, shut it so I can bury my face in your pussy."

  Really, there was not one single argument against something like that.

  So when he grabbed for the waistband of my borrowed pants, I lifted my hips and let him peel them off me. And when he slid his fingers softly up my thighs, I let them slide open, invited more of his 'treating me right,' excited to see a man as fierce as him show me gentle.

  He folded downward, his wrecked hands holding my thighs to the mattress. A strange, fluttery sensation worked its way through my belly as he placed a kiss in the center of the triangle above my sex. His scruff scraped my sensitive inner thighs as he moved downward, exhaling hot air onto my swollen clit, the sensation unexpectedly intense, a second before his lips closed around the swollen bud and sucked it into his mouth, making me arch up off the mattress as the pleasure shot from the contact and up my spine.

  "Oh my God," I whimpered, hand slamming down on the back of his neck, holding him to me, begging for him to give me more. Which he did, happily, perfectly. Until my hands were clutching the sheets, until the pressure in my lower stomach felt oppressive.

  And just when I thought I couldn't take another second of the torment, his finger slipped inside me, turned, and raked over my G-spot, sending an orgasm shooting through my system, making my thighs shake, my hand to practically crush the back of his neck, and his name to scream from my lips.

  "That's a good fucking sound," he rumbled, nipping into my inner thigh before moving to stand, reaching behind his back to discard his shirt.

  A part of me wanted to fold up, to undo his pants, to take him into my mouth again. The other part was post-orgasm numb and thought watching the show was equally enjoyable as he slipped out of his pants, then boxer briefs, holding his straining cock in his hand, stroking it as he looked down at me.

  "On your stomach, pet," he demanded, moving toward the nightstand as I forced my lazy limbs to roll as instructed. I turned my head to watch him slide the condom on, then move out of view back toward the foot of the bed. "Nice fucking view," he praised a second before I felt his body fold over mine, his chest into my back, his cock against my ass, his face in my neck where he sucked in the skin hard, making me sure there would be a mark and just as sure that I genuinely did not care.

  His scruff scraped down my skin, eased by his lips or tongue, every motion sweet, yet somehow explosive to my system. By the time I felt his teeth bite into the left side of my ass, I was beyond turned on again.

  Then he lifted up and his cock slid between my folds and pressed against my pussy, not quite pushing in, just a firm pressure, hinting at fulfillment without offering it.

  "Pagan, please," I whimpered, shamelessly shoving my ass up in the air, demanding he take me.

  Then he did.

  Slowly, so I felt every thick inch spread me.

  "Too fucking long," he growled, speaking the words I felt to my core. Four days, when four minutes felt like an eternity.

  He started slow, sweet, gentle, unhurried, like he had told me he would. But it wasn't long before my body, and therefore my mouth, was begging for harder, faster, an end to the beautiful torment.

  And Pagan, likely so far gone himself, gave me what I demanded, pounding into me hard and fast and unrelenting, never giving the orgasm a chance to wane, making it build and crash almost painfully through my system.

  There was no scream that time, my lungs feeling oddly constricted, so all I got out was a strangled whimper of his name as he slammed through the waves, dragging them out, making them last until I swore I felt it through every inch of my body.

  Then and only then did I hear him curse and call my name as he slammed deep and came.

  He stayed buried deep for a long minute, one hand clutching my hip almost hard enough to bruise. Then he slowly slid out of me and disappeared for a moment before he dropped down on his back beside me, making me angle my head over at him, finding him already watching me with a sly smile.

  "Don't get too comfortable," he said, slapping a hand onto my ass cheek hard enough to smart then giving it a squeeze. "I'm nowhere fucking near done with you."

  "Oh yeah?" I asked a little groggily, completely wiped from two intense orgasms in a row.

  "Yeah, pet. Got about a hundred more positions we got to try and about... ten rooms in this house we need to break in."

  Something about the way he said 'we' made an unwelcome sliver of hope slide into my heart, hope that it wasn't just casual, that it meant something. Or, alternately, that it was on the way to meaning something.

  "Come on," he said, sitting up and getting up toward the top of the bed. I pushed up onto all fours, catching the look he was giving me. "You gonna crawl to me, Kennedy?" he asked, his voice oddly heavy with something I didn't know him well enough to interpret. When I paused, feeling suddenly weird about the whole thing, his eyes went deep and heated. "Crawl to me," he demanded quietly, barely more than a rumble, patting his chest.

  And, well, if he was offering to have me lay on his chest, there was no way I wasn't going to go to him. So I did, each move making his face get more and more intense.

  I slid in beside him, his arm settling heavy on my shoulders and folding me onto his chest where I settled happily, perhaps way too happily to be honest. His one arm stayed around my shoulders, the other sliding over my skin for a long couple of minutes before settling at my hips.

  His chest expanded wide on what had to have been a yawn, reminding me that he had snuck out while I was asleep, likely after having very little, if any, sleep himself.

  "You need some sleep," I told his chest, my hand tracing over a strange almost circular scar on his pec.

  "Ain't gonna lie," he said, giving me a small squeeze. "It's not bad to have a woman fussing over me."

  Finding myself completely unable to stop the impulse, I turned my head just slightly and pressed a kiss to the center of the scar I had been tracing. "Get some sleep," I said, trying desperately to maybe take his attention away from the gesture that I was sure was a little too sweet for him. "You can screw me silly when you wake up," I offered, smiling when his chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle.

  "Sounds like a plan," he agreed, slowly drifting off to sleep, his arms becoming dead weight on me, trapping me. Though I was pretty sure there was no force on earth (aside from maybe his rejection) that would move me from that spot right then.

  And, by the time I felt him stirring beneath me, I had worked my belly into knots by doing my usual stress thing- weighing pros and cons about Pagan, taking apart everything he did and said and trying to see if there was deeper meaning, if he maybe was starting to feel like I was- that this wasn't really casual, that maybe it never had been, that maybe if we put the effort in, it could really go somewhere good.

  Then, when I worked myself up to a near panic attack over that, I went ahead and added on the stress about Ethan on top of that. What would it mean for me that he got beaten to high hell? And I was sure it was to high hell since Pagan didn't seem to go into any kind of battle half-cocked. Would he take that out on me? Raise my rent? Make it impossible for me to keep my business?

  He was dickish enough to do that.

  Also- would he try to come at me again?

  My guts twisted at that thought, but it didn't get a chance to really take root as Pagan's body moved under mine, arm tightening for a second, then loosening as he stretched.

  "Fuck, woman, you just let me cage you in for three hours?"

  So, it was three hours then.

 
Somehow, it didn't feel long enough. I could stay there forever. It felt... safe. Maybe it shouldn't have because he was big and mean and scary and violent. But maybe that was also why he felt safe- because that was never used against me. In fact, he used it to protect me.

  My unlikely savior.

  And because I didn't want to be that girl, that clingy girl that no man wants to get her claws into him, I shrugged. "You didn't sleep last night. I didn't want to wake you by moving."

  "Don't give me too much sweet, pet," he said, flipping me onto my back and looking down at me. "I might get used to it." He leaned down, sealing his lips to mine for one long, but not nearly long enough moment. "Don't give me that look or I'm gonna have to fuck you again."

  "And that's a problem... how?" I asked, smiling up at him.

  His chuckle was low and rumbling, vibrating into my body, and making my sex clench in response. "Right now, 'cause I need some fuel. After I get some food in me, I'll give you whatever you need from me."

  With that, he rolled off me, and stood up beside the bed, reaching for his clothes.

  I got off the other side with a small grumble, moving a bit self-consciously toward the door where I dropped my bag to find some of my own clothes to wear.

  "Nope," he said, ripping the bra out of my hand. "No need to put the kids in a carseat."

  "Seriously?" I asked as he stood there, whipping the light pink bra around on his finger in a circle.

  "About your tits, pet? Couldn't possibly be more serious about 'em."

  I snorted to cover any possible evidence on my face of the swelling feeling in my chest again as I whipped a blue tee over my head, pretending to ignore that I wasn't aware my nipples were hardened points sticking out of the fabric thanks to his air conditioning.

  I dragged shorts up my legs and raised a brow at him still circling the damn thing. "Are we done with that?" I asked, snatching it out of his hand, and stuffing it back in my bag.

  "Guess so," he agreed, touching my hip as he moved passed to go out into the hall. I followed him down to the kitchen where he sat down at the island and waved toward the fridge. "So what are you cooking me?"

  "I... what?" I asked, smiling.

  "Cooking. You put things together, heat them up, feed your man."

  I'm pretty sure my mouth made a full O before I shut it quickly, trying to not make a big deal out of it. Though, let's be real, inside, I was doing the most obnoxious little happy dance ever. "I know what cooking is, smartass. I was wondering why I'm the one having to do it. Is it because I have the boobs? Because, and I know this is hard to believe, they don't actually give me magic cooking skills."

  He smirked at that. "I'm not picky."

  I shook my head and opened the fridge, more than a little surprised to find it fully stocked. He didn't seem like the kind of man who spent an hour in the food store filling up a cart.

  When I reached to pull out a container of mixed greens, Pagan was shaking his head. "Do I look like a salad kind of guy?"

  "You said you weren't picky," I said, rolling my eyes. "Besides, why is it here if you don't eat it?"

  "Guessing the house sitter bought it," he said casually, making me turn back around.

  "The house sitter?" I repeated, the concept almost completely lost on me, seeing as I didn't even have my own place, let alone one that I wasn't at enough to require someone to watch it for me.

  "Yeah, fucking kid tries too hard. Probably brings skirts back here, cooks them some bullshit candlelight dinner in the hopes of getting them up in the Egyptian sheets."

  "Ah..." I said, suddenly stiffening.

  "Don't worry," he said with a smile, reading my thoughts. "He is under strict orders to change the sheets."

  "Why would you let your house sitter have sex in your bed?"

  He shrugged as I reached for a three pack of pork chops in the fridge, putting them on the counter, and going in search of spices. "Someone should." When I turned back, brows drawn together, he almost looked a little... uncomfortable. It was such strange on a man as self-assured as himself that I couldn't look away. Sensing the unasked question, he shook his head. "I fuck women at their places or the compound."

  Was I the first woman he had had in his bed?

  That thought did the swelling thing to me again.

  "Why?" I asked, pretending I was unaffected as I heated a pan with oil and set to prepping the meat.

  "The women I fuck know it's just that- a good time. There's not even a thought of anything else. I'm not exactly the kind of man a woman wants to settle down with- some cage fighter and biker. But if they saw this place, they might start getting ideas that I don't want them getting."

  Yet he brought me.

  Maybe that meant something.

  "Well, that makes sense," I agreed breezily, putting the chops in the pan, and going into the fridge to get the green beans to throw on too. "Do you know if you have anything... I don't know... starchy?"

  "Pantry?" he suggested, obviously having no idea, but waving me to a door at the side of the room.

  I grabbed potatoes, deciding I didn't have enough time to really make them interesting with some kind of double baked recipe, so threw them in a pot to boil.

  For the next half an hour as I cooked, he was silent. He got up once to grab a beer, offering me one which I refused since beer had about all the appeal as toilet water to me. And though my back was to him, I could literally feel his eyes on me until I finally turned with all the plated food, setting it on the island, then grabbing all the cutlery and butter and whatnot.

  When I sat, his head was turned, a strange look on his face. "What?" I asked, feeling self-conscious.

  "Never had a woman cook for me before," he admitted. "Could get used to this too," he added as he dug into his meal.

  I pressed my lips together to keep the smile from spreading.

  If he wanted my sweet and my cooking, well, he could have it. I was hoping he would eventually learn to see that for himself.

  But I was not bringing that up to him.

  "Alright," he said suddenly, making me jump, losing the potato on my fork after getting used to the long silence. "Give it to me."

  My brows drew together. "Give what to you?"

  He waved his hand out with the beer in it. "Whatever it is that had you kowtowing to that mother fucker, that has you renting out a room from some old bastard, that you don't have a car, all of it."

  He wanted my story?

  I had a feeling that that meant something too.

  It was also not a story I told anyone in my personal life except people who had to know- like Benny and Ethan, people it directly affected.

  "Where do I start?" I asked, shaking my head.

  "That guy of yours... he said you came from the wrong side of the tracks. How about there?"

  So he wanted my whole story.

  "Um, yeah. I grew up over by Bayburg. I had a mom and a dad, but no siblings. They always struggled money-wise. We were constantly having to move when we were getting kicked out for not making rent. But we weren't hungry, so there was that. Then when I was ten, my dad just... never came home. Then it went from bad to worse money-wise. I was hungry a lot back then. I think that's what had me choosing to do the vocational cosmetology class and try to get a head start so I could take care of myself before I finished high school."

  "Didn't interrupt you," he said, and I figured that meant he wanted me to go on.

  It felt weird to talk about your whole life. It wasn't something you usually did all at once. It was something that came out in drips and drabs over a long period of time.

  "Ah, well, by eighteen, I was working at a salon around here something like fifty hours a week. I had my own apartment all by myself. And a car," I added with a smile. "And I decided that while I was making good money, the only way I could really have a stable future was to open my own business."

  "So you started saving."

  "Yep," I agreed, picking at my green beans, mostly just moving them
around my plate.

  Those were better days.

  True, it was a lot of work. But I was eighteen; I had boundless energy and a thirst to know the sort of financial freedom I had never known before. That was always the worst part of growing up for me, knowing I had no power. I was too young to work, to bring money in so my belly didn't have to go empty. So when I finally had that power, I took it by the balls. I didn't care about the blisters on my feet, my sore arm muscles from holding up blow dryers and such all day, every day.

  But my bills were paid on time. I had money building in my bank account. And I had a plan.

  Then, at twenty-four, I had the money to put that plan into action.

  It was probably the best feeling I had ever experienced at that point to be able to get a real estate agent and look at places that could actually be my own salon someday. It was almost surreal, like a part of me, the part of me that was the hungry twelve-year-old, didn't think that it was even possible.

  In fact, I don't think it ever actually felt real to me until I signed the paperwork and was given the keys.

  I had chosen the most prudent of the spaces I was shown, the smallest, with a store next door to grow one day maybe. So I cut down at my old salon to about thirty hours a week, and I spent every last waking minute working on my new one, doing every possible thing I could do myself, so I didn't have to hire anyone and eat through my budget.

  Me, I had done everything, literally everything right.

  I met Ethan my first month in the shop when I caught him in the space next door. And, to be perfectly honest, I had found him somewhat charming at the time. Though, I was convinced now that it was merely the paint and glue fumes getting to my head.

  A couple months after my grand opening, I put an ad online for a new hairstylist, my demand too high for me to keep up with myself, even killing myself with long hours. Because we did all the cool things- the unique colors, the funky cuts, the new things that the other shops in town didn't.

  And one day, after four disappointing interviews with women my own age who didn't have my hunger, didn't have the 'do what it takes' drive, didn't, in fact, want to even work weekends, the door chimed... and in walked Benny.