The Henchmen MC: Renny Part 9

"Because you're supposed to be my woman and that means you need to look like you live here. They bought that you were away on a work trip, but you need to settle in."

"Alright," I agreed, but moved to the closet and put my bag at the bottom. I wasn't ready to settle in. A part of me was sure I might run at any minute. "So, I know Laz..."

"The bearded one is Cyrus. He plays guitar at a coffee shop. Charming. Laid-back. Reeve is his older brother. He's an electrician. More tight-lipped."

"And there here because..."

"Their pops was a member before he was killed."

"So, this is a legacy thing?" I asked, brows drawing together.

"Cyrus made the same argument," he nodded.

An awkward silence fell then as we both just stood there- me by the closet, him near the door. "Let me just clear this up right now, Renny. I'm here to work."

"You go ahead and do that, Mina. And I will work on breaking down those walls of yours."

"Renny," I sighed, shaking my head. "Give up."

"Can't do that, sweetheart. But what I can do is say I sleep on the left side of the bed and I have to have the TV on or every f.u.c.king thing wakes me up."

"I sleep with headphones on at Hailstorm," I commiserated.

"I will remember to put the seat down but I leave my shoes every f.u.c.king where."

"Why are you..."

"I don't snore, but I sometimes have entire conversations in my sleep. It's weird as f.u.c.k. Oh, and blanket stealing will not be tolerated."

d.a.m.n him. I felt my lips curve up at the end of his little speech. "Good to know," I said, realizing for the first time that I would have to share a bed with him. I thought he would be considerate enough to bring in a cot or something. But of course not. Why would he do that when all he had wanted for months was to get me into a bed?

"Your turn," he prompted.

"My turn?"

"Tell me your little life secrets. You know, so I know what to expect. Do you leave the toothpaste in the sink? 'Cause that's f.u.c.king disgusting."

"I don't leave the toothpaste in the sink. And, um, I don't snore or talk in my sleep. I clean up after myself because that is what Lo expects at Hailstorm. I like to sleep in mostly because I don't sleep well."

"Alright, so we got that handled," he said as I moved to the door, figuring now was the best time to get to work. The sooner the better. "Ah, I think not," he said, slamming his hand on the door as I reached for it.

"What? Why not? They're all out there. It's the perfect time to catch them, when they're all at-ease."

"Yeah, babe, but we've only been in here five minutes."

"Don't call me babe. And so what?"

"So, I might be cool with a fifteen minute quickie, but you're not walking out of her in under five looking like I didn't even muss your f.u.c.king hair. In fact," he said, smile wicked, "maybe you can throw in some throaty 'yes, yes, yeses' or some 'just like that' or, if you're feeling naughty, 'yeah, f.u.c.k my p.u.s.s.y!'."

Oh, good lord.

I wasn't exactly shy about s.e.x. And nothing about what he actually said offended me, but I felt my face getting warm as I stood there.

"You blush? No f.u.c.king way," he said, grinning huge. "Look at that, it gets redder when you bring attention to it!" he added, clearly delighted by my discomfort. "Do you think they'll turn beet if I maybe," he started, hands raising and framing my face, "said I wonder what you taste like. Sweet? I bet you have the sweetest f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.y. There," he said, but his voice wasn't teasing anymore; it was heated; it was low and s.e.xy and promising as his thumbs moved out to stroke over the apples of my cheeks.

"Do you flush when you're turned on too?" he asked, mostly himself, as one of his hands left my jaw and slid down my neck, snagging the collar of my s.h.i.+rt and pulling it down to expose some of my chest, looking for proof of his theory. "I can just imagine," he went on, leaning forward, his nose moving up my jaw toward my ear, making me s.h.i.+ver involuntarily again, "stripped bare on my bed- your chest, belly, thighs all warm and red as I run my tongue up your inner thighs, biting hard once," he said and his teeth snagged my earlobe unexpectedly, making me let out a surprised groan, the sound loud even to my own ears. "Then feeling your entire body tremble as my tongue slides up your wet p.u.s.s.y and my lips close around your c.l.i.t and sucks hard."

Desire was a pulsing, overwhelming thing coursing through my whole body. It was loud and strong enough to push away the rational voice in the back of my mind telling me to raise my hands and push him away.

My arms did raise, but my hands landed on him- one low by his hip, the other on his arm just under his shoulder, and they curved and dug in as my hips pressed into his, as my body tried to get closer, get a relief from the need overtaking me.

My back arched backward as his lips kissed down the column of my neck and down to my chest where he was still holding my s.h.i.+rt down several inches.

"I'd let you come," he told me, his tongue moving out to trace under my clavicle. "But then before your p.u.s.s.y even stops spasming, I'd slam deep inside you and f.u.c.k you hard and fast, make that one o.r.g.a.s.m roll right into another one. Then just because you've made me wait so long for it, I'd give you another one. Until you're so come-drunk that you can't even f.u.c.king move afterward."

My air sighed out of me as his tongue traced back up my throat until his mouth was by my ear again.

"But not just yet," he told me, pulling back suddenly, leaving me embarra.s.singly unsteady, grabbing him tighter for a second as my heavy lids fluttered open to find his light eyes watching me intensely. As soon as my gaze found his, he released me, reaching up toward my hair, slipping his hands in, and mussing it up. "There we go, that's better," he said, s.e.xy as all get out to teasing and light in the span of a blink. I would have found it impressive if I wasn't so thrown off by it. "Let's go," he said, reaching down, grabbing my hand, opening the door, and pulling me out.

I reached up self-consciously to flatten my hair as we walked out into the main room, feeling a blush creep up again as Renny threw himself down in an armchair and I moved to go sit on the arm of the couch next to the guys.

"Pumpkin cheeks," Renny called, making my eyes bug. Pumpkin cheeks? "I have your seat right here," he said, patting his thigh.

And, well, we were supposedly post-coital. It made sense for me to sit with him. The jerk.

"Right," I said, forcing a smile as I moved back to him, sitting carefully down right above his knees.

I should have known better. He was never going to let me get away with that. He reached for my hips, sank in, and dragged me upward until I was on his lap. And it was right then that I realized he hadn't been able to completely cool his desire as quickly as he pretended to. Because his hard-on was pressing into my a.s.s as I sat there.

My gaze went to his face without me realizing and I found him already watching me, eyes a little heated. He reached out, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. "Bet you're just as wet as I am hard," he said in a low, audible only to us, rumble.

He would win that bet.

But I needed to focus.

This was a job.

And I had known he was going to make a move. I thought I was prepared. I obviously underestimated Renny. I had him pegged for sweet and charming and boyishly flirtatious.

But Renny was a man.

And Renny could dirty-talk any man under the table.

And I was a woman and I reacted.

Now that I knew what he was capable of, I would be better prepared.

Or so I was telling myself.

Because if I really thought about it instead of making unfounded declarations, I would realize that there was no preparing for it. Anytime he got that close to me, talked that dirty to me, put his hands and mouth and tongue on me, I was going to melt.

"So, this is Mina," Renny declared, making me shake my head, realizing I had totally been starting at him. Feeling me jump and to squash any hopes I had that maybe he hadn't noticed, his fingers dug into my hipbone and his lips tipped up. I turned back to the others in the room and gave them a smile. "Mina, this is Reeve and Cyrus and, of course you already know Laz."

"Nice to see you without the cuffs on, Laz," I said, and he smiled at me. He was a somewhat serious kind of man. Seeing him smile was almost off-putting.

"Cuffs?" Cyrus perked up, brows raised. "Angel, did you cuff this man and have your dirty way with him?"

I was in the process of laughing when Renny's voice cut me off. "Just so we're clear- when we have an old lady, that means we don't f.u.c.king share. Mina is mine. Look at her all you want. Can't f.u.c.king blame you and it's a compliment to me seeing as I'm the one she crawls into bed with at night. But keep your hands off and don't insinuate she is anything but loyal."

Chastened, Cyrus slumped just ever so slightly. He wasn't used to a firm male presence which probably had a lot to do with losing his father young. "Got it," he said, his voice having lost a little of its levity.

"It's nice to meet you Cyrus," I offered, making my voice a little softer, a little sweeter than usual. "Don't mind Renny. He's a neanderthal," I offered, figuring it would be good to create a different dynamic with the guys than Renny had. If he was a boss, a man to take orders from, someone who maybe couldn't take a joke because it said he wasn't being authoritative, then I could be the one who made fun of that. Because as an old lady, that was in my power. And maybe it would make the guys, especially Cyrus, flock to me and open up to me. "I hear you play guitar."

"Picked it up because it seemed like all the musicians got all the p.u.s.s.y," he offered, smirking.

"He is leaving off the fact that he first picked up a guitar at eleven," Reeve added, smiling slightly.

"What can I say? I was an early bloomer in the ladykiller department. Don't get your d.i.c.k all bent out of shape because I always get all the chicks." He tempered the comment with a wink that would have been ridiculous on anyone else, but he managed to pull it off.

"And Reeve, you're..."

"An electrician. While some of us were singing f.u.c.king John Mayer songs, the rest of us were doing actual work."

"I played a John Mayer song once. f.u.c.king once," Cyrus defended. "And it was a request. 'Your Body is a Wonderland'," he explained to me. "And, well, her body was a mother f.u.c.king wonderland which I got to experience because I sang that song, you f.u.c.k."

"You still knew that f.u.c.king song, man," Reeve said, shaking his head.

They were close.

If I was right, they likely moved out together when they were old enough. Reeve, being the more responsible and serious one, got a job that would make up for the fact that his brother was a bit of a slacker.

Really, none of this was groundbreaking. And all of it could have been ascertained by Renny and Renny alone. He knew what he was doing. I wasn't needed there.

"Got a four inch scar across his throat," Renny said, only loud enough for me to hear.

"What? Who?"

"Reeve," he offered and I turned back to Reeve, squinting a little and sure enough, there it was. I had completely missed that.

A scar across his throat?

"Suicide?" I asked, barely letting my lips move.

"Not a chance," he answered back, reaching up to pull me so my head was on his shoulder.

"How do you know that?" I shot back, trying my best to not nuzzle in. He smelled good. How had I never realized that before? It was something clean and un.o.btrusive. So not likely cologne. Maybe it was just his soap.

"Just do," he said, his hand moving absentmindedly down my arm, making the skin gooseb.u.mp in a delicious way.

"So what is he hiding?" I mumbled.

"Exactly," he agreed, leaning over and planting a kiss to my forehead. And it was so unexpected and so sweet that my belly did a weird little flip flop.

"And if he is hiding something, so is Cyrus."

"Yep. See?" he asked, reaching up to boop my nose, "we make a good team."

As I sat there and listened half-heartedly to the guys talk, knowing Reign was paying me an obnoxious sum to give them my full attention, I couldn't help but, for the first time in my career, start to doubt myself. I missed Laz's knuckles. I missed Reeve's throat. Granted, I never claimed to be hyper-observant; my specialty was figuring out what was being said between the actual lines of dialogue, what motivated people, what made them who they are. But still, those were some pretty huge things for me to have completely missed.

"Sugar lips," Renny said, his voice amused.

Sugar lips?

He was just s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with me.

"Yeah?" I asked anyway, tilting my head up to look at him.

"Asked if would whip us up something to eat," he said, clearly enjoying himself.

"I, ah..." was a pretty awful cook.

"Anything will do, hop to," he demanded, pus.h.i.+ng me off his lap and I took my feet in a weird little daze.

Hop to?

Hop to?

He would pay for that later. I gave him a look that told him just that. "Fine," I snapped, making my way toward the kitchen.

"Trained her pretty good," Renny said, just to goad me. "She couldn't follow an order for s.h.i.+t when she showed up."

I was pretty sure an actual growl escaped me as I turned into the kitchen and went for the fridge that Repo always kept well-stocked. It was full, of course, but I didn't know any recipes.

But I grabbed about half the contents of the fridge and dropped them on the counter anyway. I was leaning down trying to drag a giant pot out of a cabinet when I heard a male voice from above me. "Not much of a cook, huh?" Laz's voice asked, making me straighten, pot between my hands.

I put it down on the stove. "Why would you say that?"

"Honey, you took out a bottle of maple syrup along with the b.u.t.ter, hot sauce, and all the meat and fruit in the fridge."

Okay, so maybe I wondered if maybe you made dishes a little sweet when you added a little syrup. And apparently that was wholly wrong.

"He knows I don't cook," I let him in on. "He's just flas.h.i.+ng around his peac.o.c.k feathers so he looks like a bada.s.s around you new guys."

Lazarus chuckled, putting the hot sauce, b.u.t.ter, and maple syrup away. "So the pot," he said, jerking his chin toward it. "Were you thinking soup or stew or chili?"

"I was thinking of throwing everything in it and see what happens."

"A fire, most likely," he smiled, making little crows feet form next to his eyes. I found them endearing. "My ma, growing up, we didn't have a whole f.u.c.k of a lot of money, not even for food. So she used to make what she called Kitchen Sink Soup when we had just little bits left of a bunch of s.h.i.+t. She hated wasting anything."