It occurs to me as we pull up in front of his house—a tiny log cabin barely bigger than a toolshed—that this is where I was supposed to spend the weekend. Where I should have spent the weekend, if I had listened to Hawk and not let Harrison manipulate my own academic ambitions against me. The whole lunacy of what I’ve done comes crashing down on me and before I know it, tears form rivulets down my face. I don’t even notice that Hawk’s gotten out of the car, walked around, and opened my door until I’m in his arms. He swoops me out of the passenger’s seat, kicking the door closed behind me. My head falls against his shoulder—making both it, and the lapels of his jacket still wrapped around me—wet from my sobbing. On the front porch, he cautiously stands me on my feet just long enough to fish the keys from his pocket.
He leads me to the bathroom and puts me in the shower. I shudder as the cold water assaults me. Hawk mumbles a curse as he steps in, still fully clothed other than having kicked off his shoes. Somewhere between the door and here, I’ve lost his jacket, but the pull of wet fabric against my skin makes me realize I’m still in my bra and panties. Under normal circumstances, that thought would bring out my nerves, but as things stand now I can’t bring myself to care. I could be dressed in a burka and still feel naked. My insecurities have laid me bare before the person I care most about at Manderson, and who just the day before I hated for demanding I do something I was determined to do come hell or high water.
Hawk reaches behind to turn up the hot water, all the while reciting a litany of apologies. The temperature of my skin reacts as hurt turns to heat, and comfort washes over me. Hawk pulls me under the showerhead and into his embrace, all the while repeating the same thing. At first I think he’s apologizing about the cold water, and it isn’t until my crying slows that I make out his words completely.
“I’m so incredibly sorry, Robin. It’s all my fault.”
When the meaning sinks in, I look up at him wearing a quixotic expression.
“If I had told you before,” he says, stroking a hand over my matted hair and down my chin, “this wouldn’t have happened. I should have told you the truth, all of it. Who the hell cares what agreement I signed? You were … You are more important to me than a stupid university regulation. This is all my fault.”
Two thoughts occur to me simultaneously: how does he know what happened because I haven’t yet said anything, and despite that, how can he think it’s his fault?
“Don’t you dare. This is all because of me,” I insist, unwilling to let him take the blame. “I refused to listen to you. I let my prejudices get the better of me.”
As though he’s getting the first chance to do so, he examines me in detail. “Did he hurt you?”
“Scared me more than anything. One thing’s for sure, though, he’s going to need stitches.”
Hawk breaks out into a smile. “That’s my girl.”
“Your girl?” That thought introduces a colony of butterflies into my stomach. All of them flutter in the direction of Hawk’s lips, which over the last three seconds have gotten impressively close to mine. “Am I?”
“Despite your best efforts. You’re a stubborn woman, Robin Lewis, but I’m a damned bit more stubborn than you,” he says, brushing his lips against mine but holding back, not granting me anything more than a chaste kiss. “Lucky you.”
The cadence of the water becomes the soundtrack by which Hawk tends to me. His face contorts when he takes a moment to remove his clothes, muttering something apologetic. As though he wants me to be sure where his intentions lay, he leaves his boxer shorts on. The pinstriped, cotton fabric clings to the outlines of a sleek figure of which I’ve so far been denied a view, but of which I can easily visualize based on the contours before me. Hawk begins caring for me like a delicate creature, washing me like a mother cat its kitten. At first I’m insulted that he’s handling me with such kid gloves, but then I realize the amount of reverence with which he’s attending me. As he slicks the sudsy natural sponge over the curves of my body, being careful not to breach the borderlines dictated by the presence of my bra and panties, I find myself relaxing. The fresh, sage and rosemary aroma of his masculine soap triggers memories of our late night make out sessions, when the scent tickled my senses. As Hawk moves his attention to my legs, actually sinking down on his knees and putting one of my feet on his upper leg while he washes it, a stirring awakens within me. His slippery hands move up to my thigh, and despite my best efforts, a moan escapes me.
Biting his bottom lip, Hawk’s eyes close and his hand freezes in place. I can see the dilemma marching through his mind as though funding to subtitle his thoughts has been paid for by a generous grant from the MacArthur Foundation.
Oh, God … I’m turning her on. And I do want her. But after what just happened, does that make me an ass?
I know I’m the world’s most selfish person at this moment. Hawk blames himself for what happened to me, even though I don’t for a moment hold him accountable in any way. I know because of that guilt, he would do nearly anything I ask of him right now. I know that means what I’m about to ask him to do might be done out of obligation and not emotion, but I’ve become a creature of need. What I need is tenderness, compassion, and an embrace.
“Hawk?”
I turn heavy-lidded eyes down to him. What I need most is him.
“Yeah?”
My hand moves down to where his is still arrested, and I’ve noticed he’s squeezing the sponge with an amazing amount of pressure. Under my direction, his grip loosens and I lead him through several rotations, which moves his focus from the front of my leg to my inner thigh, and up to where I need to feel his touch. He swallows hard as his hand guides the sponge over my panties, making me gasp and arch my back. I hiss when the cool, wet tile of the shower wall meets my shoulder blades, but the duality of sensations only heightens my awareness of the pleasure beginning to radiate in a lower location.
Hawk shoots to his feet, concerned perhaps that I’m injured. My smile beckons him, and he leans in to me. I give him a slow, languid kiss under the fall of water.
“Make love to me.”
(5x4)-½(9)
At first, his face is filled with confusion. His hold on me loosens as he inserts space between us, both emotionally and physically.
“Robin, I …”
In the shadow of his reluctance, my courage withers within me. “I just thought …” Words stumble over emotional potholes in the road to clarity. “If you don’t want to, I get it. I know we had a fight, but—”
“Shhhhh.”
He presses two fingers to my lips to silence me, before he replaces them with his mouth. It’s only a ghosted kiss, and yet I feel it’s the most intimate experience that’s happened yet between us. When he pulls away and opens his eyes again, any hint of reticence has fled his intense, purposeful gaze.
“I want you. A lot. But I do not want you to do this because you feel like you owe me.”
“I don’t feel like I owe you.”
He pulls back, now looking a bit hurt, and I rush to clarify.
“No, I feel like I owe you, but that’s not why I want you,” I say. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull myself up to him. Our mouths meet and our conversation turns physical. I feel his resistance melt and wash down the drain with the water that runs over our bodies.
Hawk continues to kiss me as he reaches behind me and works the taps. The water comes to a halt. Despite the fact that I’m coming to a slow boil inside, my body develops gooseflesh as the chill of the air hits it.
“A towel?” I ask as he leads me out of the shower stall.
Hawk continues to dot my lips with pecks, all while he manages to pull a fluffy, deep purple towel from a rack on the wall. I don’t want a pause in our dance, but practicality and common sense tell me I’ve already filled my quota on exposure to the elements tonight. I don
’t want to catch cold, and I’m also concerned that he’ll become ill as well if he doesn’t towel off. Luckily, he’s produced another towel for his own use, leaving me to tend myself. The absorbent fabric wicks all the moisture from my skin, but it can’t dry out the fabric of my underclothes. Feeling shy for a fraction of a second, I let the now soaked towel fall to the floor as I reach behind me to unhook my bra.
“Let me,” he whispers.
Hawk turns me around and relieves me of the damp garment. I press my arms against my chest, and when I turn back around, he shudders for a moment. My assets don’t challenge gravity, but the way my arms frame my breasts, they appear ample. Hawk’s hands reach out and encircle my wrists. I resist when at first he tries to lower my arms, and he stops, his questioning gaze taking me aback. He’s confused, wondering if I’ve changed my mind. Knowing I haven’t, I smile and let my arms fall to the side. When he sees me bare-chested for the first time, his breath catches in the back of his throat. I’m amused by his reverence, but the air quickly shifts as he reminds me that he’s not a supplicant come to adore me, but a man intent on pleasuring me.
Hawk sinks down, his face coming to my chest as his fingers hook around the edges of my panties. His mouth descends upon my left breast as he begins to pull down the fabric hooked around his two index fingers. It’s my turn to gasp as his tongue swirls the sensitive, hard nubs. My hands clasp on to his shoulders; not to push him away, but to keep myself from falling down as my knees go weak. My panties fall to the floor, and as Hawk straightens, bringing his lips back to mine, he also slides his hands behind me and cups my backside, lifting me. My legs hook around his hips as he walks us out of the bathroom. He slows in the hall and reaches to the right. From the corner of my eye, I see that he’s turning a thermostat up, but I don’t know that it’s necessary. Beads of perspiration on my chest and temples leads me to believe being too cold will not be an issue for us for some time.
A little voice in the back of my head tells me I should take this opportunity to inspect my surroundings, being that I’ve never before seen his room. That voice is told to go stuff it as my backside meets the bed. Hawk deposits me atop a down comforter as he stands, all the while his eyes chart out a plan of attack on my body. His visible desire empowers and emboldens my action, and I lay myself back, crooking a finger to invite him to me.
“More glorious than I ever imagined,” he says from his position at the end of the bed. “I’m so lucky.”
“Not yet,” I tease, “but you’re getting close.”
A grin flickers across his face as he pulls at the waistband of his boxers. Maybe he didn’t get as wet as I did in the shower, or the material just dries quickly, but the fabric falls without the sloshing sound I was expecting. The lamp on the bedside table only affords us dim light, but I can see even through the filtered ambiance that my boyfriend doesn’t lack in his endowment. His hand instinctively palms his member as he steps to the bed and crawls up on his knees.
He bends down to kiss me, but I pull back.
“Hawk, do you remember what I said that first time you made me climax, right?”
He looks confused. “About you being very sensitive?”
I nod. “I’m usually loud, too. It was hard for me not to scream then. I didn’t get a good look outside, but is there anyone nearby who might … get concerned if they hear a woman crying out?”
His laugh fills me with whimsy. “No. You get as loud as you like, and I’ll do my best to give you a reason.”
I know we both need this connection, to reaffirm what we’re coming to mean to each other. More than that, our intimacy gives us strength. We were both victimized by the same man. While I know we’ll both have our chance to see that Harrison gets his, right now, it is our duty to each other that brings us together.
I cry out when Hawk rocks into me. His solidity and my softness combine as a perfect ratio, as though we were fashioned to be a set. He fills me like no one else has ever done, and for the first time ever, I find myself wondering if a man can be too big. How can this be? How can he be a great academic, a compassionate teacher, a good friend, and have the body of a Greek God? Considering the package of perfection that is this man, I feel my world shift as one of my basic beliefs goes flying out the window. There is such a thing as luck, and I have the monster load of it in belonging to Hawk Stephens to prove it.
My body adjusts, and soon I’m moving in unison with him, letting each thrust go deeper. His mouth constant on mine, it doesn’t take long for me to fulfill my own prophecy, screaming out as the first wave of pleasure comes crashing down on me. Hawk allows me a moment to recover, slipping out and laying down on the mattress beside me. As soon as my breathing has evened out, I throw a leg over him. I want him to feel everything I’m feeling right now and more. I align myself, slowly sinking down on him. His eyes roll before fluttering closed. Placing a hand on his chest, and with his grip on my hips, we play tag with rhythm and control, a wax and wane to each other’s needs that soon brings him to his zenith and me to my second.
Like the mathematical topics each of us are consumed with, we are compliments. What one gives, the other receives in reciprocal, always adding up to a perfect, encompassing whole. Together, we are complete.
(24-20) x 9 -18
Hawk’s bedroom reveals itself to me in the morning light through one cracked eye. It’s nothing exceptionally unique, which oddly disappoints me. Is it because he’s so different from anyone I’ve ever known that I expect to find artifacts proving that theory? If so, it’s time to get my expectations in check. Bed, queen with plain white comforter, no headboard. Desk? Covered in papers, wood, scratched, with a student chair of a mismatched stain. Closet? Door slightly ajar, and the outline of what’s probably a laundry pile barely peeking around the corner. The only characteristic I find, which tells me I’m indeed in Hawk’s abode and not that of a dormitory transplant, is a poster on which tall white letters contrast against a black background.
MATHEMATICS CAN EXPLAIN EVERYTHING, EXCEPT THAT WHICH SIMPLY DOESN’T ADD UP.
Hawk’s nowhere to be found when I rise. Instead, there’s a note on the bedside stand.
“Gone out for something to feed you, woman. Figured you’d need some good grub after last night. Or, more appropriately, you’re going to need some to be ready for today. Be back soon.”
I find that he’s left me a pile of clothes at the end of the bed. While his flannel pj bottoms and Manderson crew T-shirt aren’t exactly my size, it’s better than walking around naked, I think. At this point, I wouldn’t mind doing so in front of Hawk, but the morning air is a bit nippy and I’m happy for the warmth.
The T-shirt falls down over me as my thoughts turn to the prior evening. A twist in my stomach has me clutching at my midriff when I remember the feel of Harrison’s hands. I also realize for the first time that I left my bag in his hotel room, and that everything from my wallet to my laptop to my cell phone is in it. As much as I’m not ready to face him, so much of my life is on that computer and in that bag. Part of me wants to ask Hawk to drive me back to the conference venue immediately to retrieve it, but I know that’s just not going to happen. Hopefully Harrison’s not that good at hacking past passwords.
By the time I hear Hawk’s car out front, I’ve washed myself and calmed down. I’ve even managed to brew some coffee and am drinking a cup when he walks into the kitchen.
“Ah, I was right!” He leans down with a full grocery bag and brushes a kiss to my cheek.
“About what?”
“You are beautiful in the morning light,” he declares. He begins pulling pastries from the sack like Mary Poppins pulling out house plants and hat racks from her carpet bag. “I realized when I got to the store that we’ve never had breakfast together. I literally have no clue what you like, other than coffee, so I got a bit of everything. Eggs, bacon, bagels, cream cheese
. No lox, though, but then again, you didn’t seem to me like a person who leans kosher pareve.”
“That would make the bacon useless as well, wouldn’t it?”
He nods as desperation fills his features. “For the love of all pork-product goodness, tell me you’re not Jewish.”
“If you round up, I’d probably be considered a Baptist, but it’s been a while,” I answer.
The tension ebbs from his face as he opens the package and grabs a frying pan from the dish rack. “Phew. There’s few deal breakers you’re going to run into with me, but the inability to appreciate bacon and making fun of lacrosse are two we should get out of the way pronto. So, lacrosse?”
“I have no opinion, for or against.”
He considers this a moment before bobbing his head. “Good, because I’d hate to break up with you the morning after such incredible sex because of that, but I would. Mind you, it would be the principle of the thing, and not because I actually disliked you. We could still acknowledge each other in pleasant company.”
“And sleep together?”
“Well, of course we’d still sleep together,” he declares without missing a beat. “I’d just ridicule you about the abomination of combining soccer and tennis into a so-called sport between orgasms. I’d also send you straight home afterward, and feel really badly about what we’d done in the morning.”
All through an omelet, two cups of coffee, and half a bagel with cream cheese, Hawk keeps the conversation light, and keeps me smiling. It isn’t until there’s a lull almost a half hour later when his smile goes straight and focuses on me with a new gaze.
“Robin, what do you want to do?”
He’s not asking if I want to go for a walk, or see a movie, or curl up on the couch, and that fact pulls down the corners of my mouth. I put down my coffee cup and lean back.
Compliments Page 14
