Sinful Rewards 6

by Cynthia Sax

  “I’m ready.” Cyndi emerges from her bedroom, wearing a curve-clinging black leather minidress, six-inch heels, and bright red lipstick. It’s her Super Slut outfit, signaling that she’s serious about finding a man tonight and forgetting Cole. This plan saddens me for some strange reason.

  “Have fun tonight.” I wait until they slink out the door and then I refill my glass with wine. The space is spookily quiet. Before Hawke, before Nicolas, the silence wouldn’t have bothered me. I would have cleaned the main room again, watched TV, gone to bed early.

  My phone buzzes. I look down and my heart skips a beat.

  Friendly: Play with your toy. Leave your curtains open. Good girls earn rewards.

  I’m still 99 percent certain that Friendly is Nicolas. Has no one shared the gossip with him?

  Or has he forgiven me?

  No. I shake my head, dismissing that thought. I know my billionaire. He has his choice of women. He wouldn’t associate with someone who might put his business at risk. He doesn’t yet know about my damaged reputation.

  I sip my wine, considering the impact of accepting this last challenge. Men could be watching me, watching the condo, but what would they see? I’d play with the glass dildo on my bed, away from the windows. The men would need fancy camera equipment or infrared sensors to watch me. My pussy moistens. And if they have this equipment, no area in my home is private.

  The wine warms me, lowering my inhibitions. My reputation is ruined. I’m not the whore everyone in Chicago thinks I am, but I am a sexual pervert, wishing to watch and be watched. Friendly’s challenge excites me, and the release might ease the tension in my body, allowing me to sleep.

  I wander into my bedroom, remove the box with the dildo from its hiding place in my closet, and place it on the bed. The dildo is beautiful, a work of functional art, the pink-and-white glass finely crafted, the smoothness alleviated by interesting ridges.

  Although the wine has made me loose, it isn’t enough to erase the lingering misgivings. The presence of something else, someone else, is needed to put me in the mood. I remove Hawke’s hideous T-shirt from my closet and spread it over my pillow, the scent of engine grease, leather, and man wafting upward. It’s almost as though he’s here with me.

  He could be here with me. My relationship with Nicolas won’t survive the rumors. I’m risking nothing by contacting Hawke. His voice will give me the push I need.

  I scroll through my phone’s database and press his number. It rings three times.

  “How did it go, love?” Hawke asks. Alarms pulse in the background, the noise rising and falling. He must be reviewing another surveillance video, utilizing every spare moment of his day to protect others.

  “Cyndi thinks my notoriety is a big joke. Her dad won’t be as understanding.” I stroll toward the window. The curtains are parted and a light illuminates Hawke’s condo. He’s home. Concern flares inside me. He should be guarding Cyndi. “She’s gone clubbing tonight. Will she be safe?”

  “She’ll be safe,” Hawke assures me. “Some of my best people are following her. Wherever she goes, they’ll go.”

  “Good.” I relax, returning to the bed and to Friendly’s challenge. “Do you have your infrared equipment activated? Are you watching me?” My words slur.

  “I’m always watching you, sweetheart.” Hawke chuckles, the throaty sound arousing me. I tug my blouse over my head, fold it into a neat square, the cool air caressing my skin. “Two glasses of wine and you’re tipsy.”

  “I’m a lightweight.” I wiggle out of my pants, set them neatly on top of the blouse. “I shouldn’t be talking to you, to anyone, in this state. My mouth has no filters when I’m drunk.” I unhook my bra, place the fragile silk with my other clothing.

  “What would you tell me?” he prompts.

  “I’ll tell you how much I need you.” I raise my right shoulder, pinning my phone against my ear. “How I wish you were here, touching me with your rough hands.” I cup my breasts, roll my taut nipples between my fingers, the contact exquisite. “Sucking on me with your hot mouth.” I recline on the mattress, layering my body over his T-shirt, surrounding me with his scent. “Marking me, making me yours.” I shimmy out of my G-string panties, wearing only the dog tags he gave me to wear.

  “You are mine.” Hawke’s voice lowers. “Spread your legs for me.” I eagerly comply, thrilled to have instructions. “Let me look at all of you, your brown curls, your pink perfect pussy, your tight little hole.” His dirty words make me hot.

  I switch the phone to speaker mode and set it on my pillow. “Do you see how wet I am?” I fan my feminine folds with my fingertips, drawing more moisture from my core. “I’m slick for you, Hawke, ready to take your big cock.”

  “I’ll give it to you soon,” he promises. “Are you playing with your pretty clit?”

  “I’m rubbing it.” I circle the bundle of nerves with my thumbs. My skin is too smooth, my touch too light. I increase the pressure, but my body knows the difference and wants Hawke. “Are you watching me?”

  “I’m watching you.” He gives me the words I need. “And I’m hard for you, painfully hard. My cock is pressing against the fly of my jeans, dampening the denim.” My passion spirals upward, my skin flushing with excitement. “I want to push my tip inside you, stretching you open.”

  “I want that so badly, but you’re not here.” I reach for the dildo, the glass cool against my fingertips. “I’ll have to use my new toy.” I rub the gift over my chin, between my breasts, jiggling the ball chain and the dog tags. “It’s large but not as large as you are.” The glass warms, reflecting my rising body temperature.

  “I see it.” Hawke breathes heavily. He must be touching himself, stroking his long thick cock, his need matching mine. “Wet your toy with your sweet juices, cover it with your scent,” he instructs.

  I slide the dildo along my pussy lips up and down, up and down, the friction easing with each pass. The glass glistens, the colors deepening, the bumps on the imitation shaft stimulating my clit. I moan, my sound of pleasure drawing a corresponding noise from Hawke.

  “Talk to me, love,” he urges. “Tell me everything you’re thinking, experiencing. Does your new toy feel like me?”

  “No.” I arch, gliding the glass over me. “Nothing will ever replace you.” As I say this, I realize it is the truth. Hawke has ruined me as Cole has ruined Cyndi. Every toy, every man, will be compared with him. A tear trickles down my cheek as I maneuver the dildo. When I leave Chicago and leave Hawke, a part of me will remain with him.

  “I’ll miss you,” I confess, teasing my entrance with the tip. My arms and legs quiver, a band of emotion strapping around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.

  “I’ll be there soon.” Hawke is focused on now, not tomorrow, and I should do the same. “When my work is done, I’ll let myself into your condo, hold you, touch you.” I writhe on the mattress, needing his rough embrace in this moment, wishing he was here. “But I want you to fuck yourself with your toy now. Push it inside you,” he commands.

  I obey my military man, unable to refuse him anything, trusting him with my desire. The dildo invades my body, the glass hard and unrelenting. No lube is necessary, the toy slicked by my natural wetness, my moisture easing the erotic slide. “Tight,” I whimper, pushing it deeper and deeper, a tinge of pain coloring my pleasure.

  “Yes, you’re tight, too tight to take me without preparation.” Hawke’s voice deepens with male satisfaction.

  My eyelashes flutter, a sliver of guilt breaching my arousal, temporarily dispersing the haze. Nicolas sent me the dildo. He’s prepping me for his cock, not Hawke’s. I stop moving, the toy fully inside me. “I took all of it,” I declare proudly.

  “You took all of me,” Hawke corrects, giving me the fantasy I need. He’s inside me, his hips pressing down on my mine, his chest flattening my breasts, rubbing against my aching nipples. “Tap your clit with your fingers.”

  I do as he orders, and my inner walls clench
around the glass cock. “I’m squeezing you.” I wiggle, needing more movement. “Fuck me, Hawke.”

  “Show me how you want to be fucked.”

  I pull the dildo out to its tip and slam it back inside me, pull it out, slam it back, the thrusts hard, ruthless, savage. Moisture splatters my thighs, and my musk fills the air. I ravish my pussy with a ferocity no man could ever equal, knowing my own limits, my tolerance for pain.

  “You like it rough, love,” his voice rumbles with approval. “You loved it when I bit you, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” I squeeze my right breast, the teeth marks around my nipple faint, a hint of color on my pale skin. “You tattooed me, branded me with your mouth,” I pant, the gap between my words lengthening. “So everyone knows I’m yours.”

  “They’re watching you right now.” Hawke feeds my fantasy. “Wanting you, hard for you, but they can’t have you. You belong to me. You’re wearing the dog tags I gave you.”

  “I always wear them.” They’re a part of me, as he is. I lift my hips into each thrust of the dildo, my legs shaking, my desire building. “Are you close?” I want to come with him, to reach fulfillment as one, separated only by distance.

  “I’m close,” Hawke rumbles. “Can you feel me inside you?” I close my eyes, pretending he’s with me, his body moving over mine, his cock in my pussy. “When you call my name, I’ll pull out and come all over your stomach.”

  “Hawke.” I drive the dildo into me again and again, fucking myself with abandonment, yet something is missing, something more is needed. “Hawke?”

  “With the next thrust, slap your clit.” He knows. He always knows.

  I plunge the dildo into my pussy and smack the heel of my hand over my clit. My world shatters and I scream his name, propelling my body off the mattress, reaching for my tattooed biker.

  He isn’t here, his roar communicated through the phone on my pillow, and I fall, my arms and legs thrashing, lights and color exploding against the black backdrop of my closed eyelids.

  I bounce, naked, the glass cock remaining inside me, and my tremors ease, my passion sated, the restless energy tormenting me evaporated, leaving a bone-deep calmness, a sleep-inducing serenity.

  Cyndi will return, enter my bedroom as she often does after a night of partying. I should clean the toy, put it away somewhere she won’t find it, and dress. My body resembles Jell-O, the effort to complete these tasks too great to tackle.

  “Hawke,” I whisper, unable to open my eyes. He’ll fix it. He fixes everything.

  “Sleep, love.” My man sounds as exhausted as I feel. “I’ll be there soon.”

  Trusting him to protect me, even from myself, I relax and allow the darkness to claim me. His unique scent fills my nostrils and his shirt covers my pillow. Tomorrow I’ll leave him, leave Chicago. Tonight, I’ll welcome him into my bed one last time.

  Chapter Six

  “YOU’RE A HOT mess, sweetheart.” Hawke’s voice invades my dreamless sleep. I frown, refusing to open my eyes, holding tightly to the night.

  He chuckles and rough fingers glide over my thighs, spreading them wider. “You’re not meant to sleep with this inside you.” He tugs on the dildo.

  My body clings to the glass and I whimper. “Hurts.”

  “Your new toy is stuck.” Calloused fingertips touch my clit and I jerk, surprised by the contact. “Relax, love,” he murmurs. “I have to touch you to loosen it.” He circles my sensitive nerves, drawing moisture from deep inside me, and I writhe, moaning, his touch knowing, right, perfect. “You like having something inside you, don’t you?” Stubble grazes my shoulder, the burn delightful. Hot lips press against my skin.

  “Not alone,” I mumble. I don’t feel alone. There’s a connection to something, someone.

  “Yes, you’re not alone,” Hawke mouths against me. “Soon, you’ll sleep with me inside you.” He slips the dildo out of my pussy and I frown, missing the fullness.

  “Come inside me now.” I raise my hips, offering him all of me.

  “I’ll come inside you when you’re awake and sober.” He kisses my closed eyelids. His enticing warmth disappears and I grumble under my breath, the cool air increasing my discontentment. Water runs.

  The damn man isn’t bringing his body heat back. I open my eyes and then immediately close them, the room blindingly bright. Fumbling for his T-shirt, I struggle to don it, the garment not cooperating.

  “Let me help you with my shirt.” Hawke’s voice lilts with amusement.

  “It’s ugly.” I scowl, my inner bitch needing her rest.

  He finally tugs it over my head. “I’m a man.” Hawke pulls my arms through the holes. “My clothes are supposed to be ugly.” He runs his hands over my sides, his touch tightening my nipples. “Though my shirt looks pretty on you.”

  He lies down, the mattress dipping beside me, and he draws me into his massive form, pressing me against his bare chest. His cock is hard, brushing against my thigh. He’s naked and I’m too sleepy to take advantage of his state. My discontentment deepens. I can’t please him. Perhaps I can never please him.

  “I’m never having anal sex,” I blurt as I spread my fingers over smooth skin, flexed muscle, the ridges of my military man’s old battle scars, my caresses taking some of the bite out of my grumpy tone. “If you expect that, you’ll be disappointed.”

  “If I expect that, I don’t know you very well.” Hawke straps his arms around me, his secure hold reassuring me. He’s here and he’s not going anywhere. “I don’t share your abhorrence of messes, love, but having spent years in the desert, humping sand, I now prefer wetter, more hospitable terrain. Your ass is safe with me.”

  My shoulders lower a smidgeon. I’m safe with him. He doesn’t require anal sex, something I will never give him. “It doesn’t matter what you prefer because I’m leaving tomorrow. You’ll never see me again.”

  “I’ll see you again. You can leave Chicago.” Hawke nuzzles against my hair. “You can never leave me. I’ll track you down, find you wherever you decide to hide, because you have something of mine I can’t live without.”

  “I have Rock’s dog tags.” I touch the pieces of oval metal belonging to his best friend, the possession Hawke cherishes most.

  “You have much more than that.” He rests his square chin on top of my head. “What happened to your plan?”

  My plan of earning Nicolas’s love, of marrying the billionaire, of securing a stable, lasting forever ended when I was called a whore. I know this. I’ve accepted this. “The gossip won’t ever go away.”

  “And you think he cares more about the gossip than he cares about you.” Hawke slides his hands underneath the T-shirt and rubs my back, the skin-on-skin contact soothing me. “That’s why you chose me.”

  “I didn’t choose either of you,” I lie, my body having chosen Hawke the first time he touched me. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Wednesday is a better day to leave,” he advises, acting not at all concerned that I’m leaving him. “I need your help with some surveillance video tomorrow.”

  “The woman with the closed-toe shoes is your suspect.” I yawn. The woman appeared on two of his surveillance videos, and that can’t be a coincidence.

  “If you leave tomorrow, you’ll never know if you’re right.” Hawke sounds amused.

  I could leave on Wednesday. One more day won’t make a difference, and he needs my help. I sink deeper into his big body, savoring his scent, his breath on my hair, the rise and fall of his chest.

  “Fine. I’ll wait until Wednesday,” I concede. My decision to stay has nothing to do with Hawke’s promise, that I’ll fall asleep soon with his cock inside me.

  “But I do have to leave,” I emphasize. “Everyone is talking about me, Hawke, and the stories they’re telling are horrible.” I bury my face in his chest, trying to hide from reality. “When you hear them, you won’t look at me the same way.” And I don’t want to be here to see the disgust reflecting in his pale blue eyes.

&n
bsp; Hawke tightens his hold on me. “I’ve heard all of the rumors, Belinda, and my feelings for you haven’t changed. You’re my girl.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “You’ll always be my girl.”

  “You say that now.” I yawn again, sleep tugging at me.

  He curves his body around mine, as though seeking to protect me against the cruel world. “I’ll say that forever.”

  He said “forever.” I smile, allowing the blackness to claim me.

  “OH MY GOD, Bee.” Heels clatter across hardwood floor, the tap, tap, tap puncturing my sensual Hawke-filled dream. I groan and place a pillow over my head, blocking the noise, in no rush to face my dismal future.

  Wood slams against metal. “Bee, I need your help,” Cyndi moans.

  “What? How?” I sit upright, the agony in her words sharpening my thinking. She’s hurt, in pain, needs me. I pat the mattress beside me, touch nothing but cotton sheets. The bed is empty, devoid of big, strong, capable former marines.

  “What’s the matter?” I blink, forcing my eyes to focus, the lights bright.

  Cyndi, my beautiful best friend, wobbles on her high heels, black rivers of mascara coursing down her cheeks. “He’s broken me.”

  Someone broke her. My body temperature drops, a wave of dizziness sweeping over me. Someone touched her, hurt her.

  “What is it?” I bound out of bed, my heart pounding. “Were you attacked?” Did one of my stalkers get through Hawke’s bodyguards and assault her?

  I pat her shoulders, back, waist, legs, my hands trembling. She appears to be unharmed, but appearances could be deceiving. The injuries might be internal.

  “I’ll call an ambulance.” Or I’ll call Hawke, wherever he may be. He’ll know what to do. I pivot on my bare heels.

  “No ambulance.” Cyndi grabs one of my wrists, preventing me from retrieving my phone, her grip painfully tight. “No one attacked me. It’s Cole, Bee.” She sobs lustily, her large chest heaving, straining the confines of her black leather dress. “Cole’s wrecked me for other men.”

  I stare at her. She’s in emotional pain, not physically hurt. She won’t die. No one dies from heartbreak. My breathing slows. She wasn’t damaged by the gossip surrounding me. I didn’t cause this agony. “Did Cole show up at the club?”