by Cynthia Sax
“I understand.” The Organization gives veterans private sector jobs, employing former military men to act as bodyguards to the wealthy. They would support their own.
I don’t know how difficult it will be to comply with this requirement. Furniture shopping is a new experience for me. I’ve never had a place of my own to decorate.
Not that this is my place, I mentally correct myself. But Hawke doesn’t care about his furnishings, and making his condo habitable is one of the ways I can thank him for allowing us to crash here.
We enter the bedroom and I look around me, seeing possibilities, not poverty. Other than a huge pine-crafted unfinished four-poster bed, an upended trunk serving as a nightstand, and a collection of electronics by the window, the room is bare of furniture. The space resembles an empty closet waiting to be filled with delectable designs.
As I’m waiting to be filled with hot, hard man. My gaze shifts to the unopened plastic fishbowl of condoms set on the pseudo nightstand, and my toes curl in my ballerina flats.
“You bought the one hundred and forty-four pack?” My voice is jittery with nerves, my laughter shaky. We’re both clean. I’m on birth control. The only reason he bought these condoms is to please me, to calm my irrational fears. “That’s optimistic.” I force the levity.
Hawke pulls me into his big body, his warmth soothing me. “It’s practical.” He nuzzles against my neck, the stubble on his chin leaving a trail of arousal across my skin, branding me, scorching any remnants of worry. “I like buying in bulk.”
I turn within the circle of his arms. “I noticed.” I pluck at his hideous black T-shirt, one of dozens he owns. “Shopping is a pleasure. It shouldn’t be rushed.”
I gaze up at his rugged face, at the silver scars slicing through the short brown hair on his cheeks, his flattened nose, broad forehead, twinkling blue eyes. No woman would ever describe him as handsome. He’s striking, powerful, and tonight, he’s mine.
“No pleasure should be rushed.” Hawke captures my lips with his, the force of his kiss driving my head into the cradling palm of his right hand. He holds me securely as he ravishes my mouth, each stroke of his tongue zapping more of my resistance, more of my thoughts, leaving only him and the passion building within me.
Hawke tastes of mint and smells deliciously clean, his natural male fragrance a breath stronger than the scent of leather and engine grease. My chest warms with appreciation, with pride. He must have showered, preparing for tonight, for me. I’m special to him. He cares for me. He must.
My military man advances, pressing his chest against mine, flattening my breasts, teasing my sensitive nipples, and I retreat, blindly conceding ground, my lips covered by his, my moans of pleasure swallowed by his mouth. My calves hit the edge of the bed and I fall backward, bounce on the soft mattress.
Hawke clasps my waist and lifts me as though I weigh nothing, as though I’m truly the tiny woman everyone claims I am. He positions me in the middle of the bed and joins me, lowering his body over mine, gazing down at me, a thrilling mix of wonder and need reflecting in his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his low rumble rolling up my trembling form. “Priceless.” My rough, tough former marine sprinkles heartachingly gentle kisses over my face and neck, adoring me with his lips.
I thread my fingertips through his hair, puckered scars adding texture to his otherwise smooth scalp. He’s known violence, my tattooed biker, but tonight I’ll show him bliss, show him whom he fought for. I bend my knees, holding him between my thighs.
His hot mouth reaches the collar of my blouse and he pauses. “Did I tell you I love the color of your shirt?” His gaze meets mine, his lips stretching into his tilted smile.
“Did I tell you it’s a blouse, not a shirt?” I quip, my chest heaving.
“Minor details.” He bares his straight white teeth and nips at the flimsy fabric, punishing me for my insolence. I jerk under him, his dominance tightening my nipples and moistening my pussy.
“Right now, that blouse is a barrier.” Hawke tugs the offending garment over my head and tosses it behind him. I watch the thin blue crepe sail through the air, my fingers twitching with the urge to catch it, fold it, set it neatly to the side.
“Passion is messy, love,” Hawke reminds me, reading me as he always does. He bends his head once more, his lips seal over my exposed skin, and he sucks. I forget all about my blouse, my spine bowing, the room echoing with my cries of more, more, more.
He chuckles, the stubble on his chin rubbing against the curve of my right breast, the friction delectable. Needing his hot mouth on my nipples, I yank the cups of my white silk bra downward, offering him my body.
Hawke rocks back onto his knees and peruses my breasts slowly, his eyes darkening to a brilliant blue. “I’ve wanted you for months.” His voice is deeper than the hum of his bike’s engine. “You’ve been teasing me all day, rubbing your cock-hardening scent over my thighs, sending me photos of your fuck-me face and pretty pink pussy.”
He swipes his calloused thumbs over my nipples and we both shudder, his response tied to mine. “I want to take this first time slowly, sweetheart, make it special, make it last, but look at me.” He places my right palm on the bulge in his jeans, his hard shaft pressing against the denim, threatening to pop the button fly. “I’m one squeeze of your fingers away from coming in my pants.” His lips twist. “I’m like a damn teenager around you, out of control.”
“I make you lose control.” I gaze at him. I’m not alone in this reckless passion. This thought reassures me, giving me back any power I thought I’d relented to him. “You’re not thinking of anything or anyone other than me right now, are you? I’m your focus, your everything.” I’ve never been anyone’s everything. I stroke the ridge of denim, taunting him some more, pushing him toward the edge, where I’m already waiting for him.
“Belinda,” he growls, his lips flattening, “this isn’t a game.” He rocks into my hands, his fingers folded into massive fists. “Torment me and I won’t be gentle. I’ll rip the clothes off your back and take you hard and fast, no foreplay, no loving words or gentle kisses, rutting into you like an animal.”
I shiver with anticipation, his so-called threat spiraling my desire upward.
“That’s not what I want for you, love.” Hawke shakes his head. “You deserve leisurely lovemaking, not a savage fuck.”
My smile wavers. An out-of-control fuckathon was how I was conceived, my biker dad leaving town once he heard my mom was pregnant. I won’t repeat my mom’s life, won’t raise a child on my own, dooming my son or daughter to endless judgment and ridicule, crushing poverty, feelings of worthlessness.
I rest my palms on Hawke’s groin. “You won’t forget the condoms during this savage fuck, will you?”
His eyes soften. “I’ll never forget the condoms, love, no matter how lost in you I become.” He covers my hands with his, pressing my fingers against him. “And if there are consequences, we’ll deal with them together.” A lump of emotion forms in my throat. He knows my concerns, knows me. “I won’t ever leave you.”
“This is only one night,” I remind him, unable to commit to more.
One corner of his lips hitches higher than the other. “You’re not a one-night type of girl.” He brushes his fingers over my cheeks, meaning hanging between us, thick and heavy and lasting.
My feelings for him are foolish. I shouldn’t be thinking about tomorrow, about a forever with a man unable to afford furniture.
“Leisurely lovemaking can wait.” I squeeze his denim-covered cock, throwing myself into the moment, trusting him to catch me, to keep me safe. “Give me the savage fuck tonight.”
Chapter Nine
HAWKE COMPLIES, POUNCING on me, tumbling me under him. Fabric tears as he yanks on my pants, the rending sound of the cloth loud in the quiet bedroom, the narrow waistband leaving a streak of arousing burn across my hips. My panties are snapped with a twist of his fingers, their removal rendering me compl
etely bare.
I pull on the collar of his hideous black T-shirt, attempting to strip him as he stripped me. I don’t have his strength.
“Hawke.” I plead for assistance, frustrated by his layers of clothing.
He shreds the T-shirt easily, destroying the ugly garment. A fierce satisfaction fills me. I push the remnants off his broad shoulders and lick the exposed skin, tasting salt and Hawke. He pops the fly of his jeans, freeing his long, hard cock.
As I outline the tattooed wings on his collarbone, tracing each inked feather with my tongue, I reach down and curl my fingers around his shaft.
“Fuck.” Hawke jerks, muttering more curses. I tighten my grip, holding on to him. He’s large and thick, and tonight I’ll take every inch of him, finally indulging our yearning for each other.
This out-of-control desire I’m feeling might fade with the morning light. I allow Hawke to push me flat on the mattress. Having an openly proud superslut for a roommate, I know that some passions are fully sated with one fuck, one night.
If one night is all we have, I’ll make the memories last a lifetime. Needing his mind-drugging kisses, I reluctantly release his cock, lift my chin, and part my lips. Hawke grants my unspoken request, sealing his mouth over mine, reassuring me with his lips and his tongue and his hands. He’s here. He’s with me.
I rub my curves over his hard muscle, flames flickering at each point of contact, warming me to my soul. He’s tanned skin and silver scars and black ink, the barbed wire tattoo rippling around his bulging right bicep, the letters dancing over his left pec, reminding me that he was and will always be a marine, ready to serve his country, to protect me.
“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.” Hawke slides his shaft along my wet pussy lips, teasing my clit with his tip, drawing moisture from my core and passion from my soul.
We undulate, torturing each other, my need for him building and building. Even if I wanted to stop, to delay this encounter until another night, I couldn’t. I’m too far gone, my craving for his cock nearing the point of pain.
“Hawke.” I stretch my left arm toward the fishbowl filled with condoms, unable to reach. “I need . . . ”
“I know what you need, love.” He leans over me, his arms longer than mine. “I need it too.” Plastic wrap crinkles. “Fuck, they sealed this bastard securely.”
As Hawke struggles with the plastic condom container, I swivel my hips against him, grinding my feminine folds into his shaft, keeping him hard, ready, mine. He’ll be inside me soon, and this strange connection we have will either snap, severing completely, or intensify, linking us forever.
Forever. Rolling that word over in my brain, I stroke his chest, admiring the movement of muscle under golden skin, his tattooed feathers fluttering, free.
“Finally.” Hawke rips a blue foil package open with his teeth, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He sheathes himself quickly, his hands trembling.
I expect him to lunge forward, to seize what he wants, what we both crave. His body is painfully hard, his balls hugging his shaft. He won’t last for much longer.
Instead, Hawke places my hands on his cock, closing his fingers over mine. “Done,” he declares solemnly, holding my gaze.
My breath catches. He’s assuring me that I don’t have to worry, that he’s taken care of me, conquered my crazy fears. No one has ever cared this much for me.
I recline on the bed and open my thighs, giving him access to everything. “I’m yours, Hawke.” I spread my pussy folds, brazenly revealing my empty entrance. “Take me.”
“You’re mine, Belinda.” Lightning flashes in his eyes. “After tonight, you won’t have any doubts.” He lowers his body, bracing himself with his arms, his heat and scent and strength engulfing me.
I don’t have any doubts that I’m his. My only uncertainty is for how long.
Curling my fingers around his shaft, I guide Hawke into my empty pussy. He’s a huge man all over, his tip stretching me agonizingly tight. I press my lips together, seeking to hide my distress from him. He’ll reshape my body. I won’t ever be the same.
A part of me, a needy, lonely part, wants this transformation.
Hawke pauses, with only his cock head inside me. “You’re small and hot and wet.” Awe colors his voice. Beads of sweat form on his forehead. His arms shake.
He’s waiting for me, forging forward slowly to ease my anguish. “More.” I push my hips upward, forcing him deeper and deeper and deeper, the slide never ending. My fingernails dig red crescent moons on his shoulders, relaying some of my pain. He takes this punishment without a sound, intent on claiming my body.
My wet pussy lips finally kiss the coarse hair covering his base, and the erotic invasion halts. “Done,” I croak, echoing his earlier declaration, my eyes prickling with unshed tears. I’ve never felt this full, my body clinging to his, our souls connected.
“You took all of me.” Hawke skims his lips over mine, his caress careful and light, his stubble tickling my skin.
“I’m not as little as everyone thinks I am.” I summon a smile.
“Liar.” Hawke laughs, his mirth shaking my form. “You’re tiny.” I open my mouth to protest. “But you’re a good soldier, loyal and brave, rising to any challenge.”
“Like this?” Using all of the power in my smaller form, I propel my hips upward.
I’m unable to move him, my former marine too large, too in charge, but his laughter stops, the cords on his neck lifting. “Yeah, like that.” He presses back, sinking farther into me, touching virgin flesh. “Are you okay, love?” He meets my gaze, my need mirrored in his eyes. His cock pulses inside me. A rivulet of sweat trickles down his left cheek.
“I’m okay,” I confirm. He’ll fuck me hard now, lose all control, and I’m ready for this ravishment, my pussy having loosened around his shaft, adjusting to his size.
“Thank God,” Hawke mutters, pulling out to his tip. I press my fingertips into his shoulders, missing the divine fullness, wanting to keep him inside me.
He thrusts hard, driving balls-deep into me, and I gasp his name, my eyes widening as desire rushes over me. I don’t know what the hell my previous boyfriends had been doing, but it wasn’t this. This is fucking, animalistic and raw.
My military man repeats the motion, pulling out, thrusting deep, pulling out, thrusting deep, moving the bed with the force of his advances. All I can do is wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and hang on, calling his name.
Hawke grunts his replies, laboring over me, using me roughly, knowing I can take it. I’m not a good girl, a fragile doll requiring coddling, a woman to be placed in a display case and admired. I’m his dirty little pervert, and he rides me hard, slamming his hips against mine and smacking my breasts with his chest, making my pussy hum and my nipples sting.
We’re equals and I meet him halfway, rising into each drive forward, our bodies slick with perspiration. The dog tags between my breasts jingle, the wooden headboard thumps into the wall, and I pant, adding my sounds to the erotic mix.
I knew Hawke would destroy me, and he has. No other man will equal him. He’s rough yet gentle, primitive yet considerate, dominant yet yielding, and he’s large, so very, very large, owning every inch of me, demanding my full attention. My arms and legs tremble. My juices splatter over my thighs. My musk scents the air, my release fast approaching.
As is his. Hawke’s rhythm becomes faster, more erratic, almost desperate. “Fuck, love.” My former marine chants this coarse mantra over and over as though his brain won’t hold any more words, perspiration streaking between the dips in his muscles.
“Yes, fuck.” I suck on the wings tattooed across his collarbone, tasting his passion, and a tremor rocks his big form, pushing both of us closer to the edge. “Hawke, please.” I don’t know what I’m begging for, only that he can supply it.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urges, mouthing my neck with his lips, teasing my skin with his teeth, the combination exciting my already
overexcited body. “Come now.” He drives into me and bites down, the dual assault breaking me.
I scream, bucking upward, clenching his shaft with my pussy muscles. Hawke throws his head back and roars his claim to the ceiling, propelling his hips forward and pinning my ass to the mattress.
I writhe and wiggle under him, smacking his shoulders with my palms, unable to dislodge him, his archaic display of strength pleasing the primal part of me. He’s strong and male and mine. He’s not going anywhere, pushing even deeper into me, demanding my complete submission.
The fight drains from me and I become still, my arms and legs limp. “Hawke,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“Fuck, Belinda.” He blinks, appearing dazed, a silly lopsided smile on his rugged face. “That was . . . ” Hawke shakes his head. “Fuck.”
He rolls off me and takes care of the condom. Our clothing is strewn across the room, and I should tidy up, fold the fabric, perhaps sweep the floor, and I will.
As soon as I can move.
“Are you okay, love?” Hawke peers down at me, his eyes bright with concern. “This was our first time. I lost control and you’re very small.” His gaze lowers to my pussy.
I leave my legs spread wantonly open. “I’m average-sized, not small.” My retort is softened by my blissful stupor.
“You’re priceless.” Hawke kisses the bite mark he left on my neck. “And you’re mine. I left another tattoo on you, in a more visible spot this time.” He appears proud of himself.
“I’ll have to wear scarves for weeks,” I grumble. And now I can’t wear the beautiful Hermes scarf because I have to sell it, needing the funds for the new business. My bottom lip curls, my mood darkening.
“You’ll survive, sweetheart.” Hawke chuckles, lying down beside me.
I cast him a hard glance, blaming him for my current financial situation. If I hadn’t met him, I would have been perfectly happy with Nicolas, a handsome, intelligent, sometimes kind billionaire, and I wouldn’t need to sell anything.
