Sinful Rewards 10

by Cynthia Sax

  My position must arouse Hawke also as his eyes deepen to a brilliant blue. “You’re not working at the moment.” His voice is low.

  I smile up at him, sitting with my feet tucked under my ass and my back slightly arched, the pose lifting my breasts, a silent offering to the man I desire. “I’m not wearing a sundress at the moment either.”

  “No, you’re not.” Hawke stands on one foot and then the other, allowing me to remove his big black boots.

  “I’m not wearing anything.” I roll down his socks and place them neatly beside his boots. “I’m naked for you.”

  “I noticed.” He plants his feet solidly on the floor. “I see your pretty pink nipples, your white skin.” He leans over my body, his form big and broad and powerful. “The red stripe on your ass.” From his vantage point, he can survey my entire form.

  I rub my fingers up his denim-covered legs, savoring the muscles under the frayed fabric. “Are you watching me?” I stroke the ridge in his jeans, up and down, up and down. This man is mine, his arousal belonging to me.

  “I’m always watching you.” Hawke pushes his hips toward me, shamelessly demanding more. “And I plan to wash every inch of you, with my hands, my lips, my tongue.”

  “I’m a very dirty girl.” I pop the buttons of his fly one at a time, freeing him. “It might take a while.”

  I tug down on his jeans, and the denim falls to the floor, revealing his proudly erect cock. My tattooed bad boy isn’t shy, his take-me-as-I-am stance moistening my mouth. I want to wrap my lips around him and suck him dry.

  “I’ll take my time, sweetheart,” he drawls, his dark gaze fixed on my face. “Clean you right.”

  “And if I don’t want you to take your time?” I trace his shaft with my fingertip, from his base to his tip, and he bobs, gratifyingly responsive to my touch. “If I want it hard and fast?”

  “I’ll give you hard and fast.” Hawke bends, picks me up, hefting me over his shoulder. I gasp as my stomach connects with solid muscle and he slaps my ass, heating my skin.

  We enter the shower stall in two strides. Hawke turns the water on and cold spray soaks my hair, plastering the tendrils against my skin.

  “It’s freezing.” I smack his back with my palms.

  “You wanted fast.” He chuckles, lowering me until my feet touch the floor. “The water takes time to warm up.”

  He looms over me, my mountain of a man forming a protective overhang, his massive form shielding my body from the shower. Drops glisten on his closely cropped brown hair. Rivulets run down his chest, darkening the ink on the tattooed wings stretched across his collarbone.

  “I warm up instantly.” My voice is husky. “When I’m with you.”

  “Only when you’re with me.” He draws me closer to him, flattening my bare breasts against his chest, his skin warm, his muscles firm. “You chose me.” My eyelashes flutter as I delight in his proximity, his hardness prodding my stomach, his feet bracketing mine. “I’m the only person who makes you lose control.”

  “You are.” The scent of engine grease and leather fades, leaving only his natural fragrance, a musk I drag into my nostrils with every breath. I splay my fingers over his pecs, his heart beating under my palm.

  “I’ll wash you first and then we can play.” Hawke pours apple-scented shampoo into one of his hands and massages my scalp, his fingertips moving in soothing circles. I stand still, allowing him to care for me, treasuring this pampering.

  “Your hair reminds me of the dirt path between the apple orchard and Rock’s land.” Hawke carefully wipes away the trickle of lather sliding down my forehead.

  “I see.” I twist my lips. My hair reminds him of dirt.

  “You don’t see.” Laughter lightens his voice. “I’d race down that long, unbending path every morning.” He threads his fingers through my hair, straightening the twisted tendrils. “I was eager to see my best friend, to spend the day climbing trees and jumping into creeks and doing what boys do.”

  I hear the happiness in his words, feel his delight in these memories, and my chest warms. His days at his family’s orchard seem like a magical time for me, a girl who grew up in the suburbs.

  “And then when the day was done, I’d hike home,” Hawke continues, tilting me into the stream of warm water, rinsing the shampoo from my hair. “The setting sun would pick up the reds and browns in the dirt, and I knew at the end of that path, my mom and dad were waiting for me.”

  He knew he had a home, that they would always be there, loving him, wishing for him to return. I stare at the shower tiles, fighting to control my emotions.

  “That’s what I feel when I look at you.” He brushes the stray strands away from my face. “That joy.”

  He’s my home also, my warm, safe place to return to at the end of the day, a man I could possibly love . . . in the future, not now.

  I lean into Hawke, unable to form any words, knowing I don’t have to. He understands me. He always does.

  Hawke transfers some lemon-scented body wash onto a giant bath sponge and gently washes my forehead, nose, cheeks, the bubbles tickling my nostrils.

  “You don’t have apple-scented body wash?” I lift my chin, giving him access to more of me. “What would your parents say?”

  “They’d want me to make you happy.” He follows the lines of my neck, sweeps over my shoulders, my arms. The sponge blackens, this is how filthy I am, and he rinses it, adds more suds. “I bought this body wash for you.”

  I smile as he scrubs my fingers, lingering over every knuckle, every cuticle. He noticed my scent. “I smell like lemons due to my cleaning supplies.”

  “It’s sexy as hell.” Hawke places my now-clean hands on his rigid cock. “I take one whiff and I’m hard.”

  “I like that I make you hard.” I stroke him as he washes my breasts, jostling the dog tags, teasing my nipples with his calloused thumbs, decimating my worries with waves of pleasure, leaving want and need in his wake. That naughty sponge lowers, skimming over my stomach, my mons, and I spread my legs, needing his touch on my pussy.

  The damn man skips this sensitive skin, his hands dancing over my thighs. I growl my unhappiness, tightening my grip on his shaft, and he chuckles.

  “You’re a bad man.” I swat his chest with my right hand.

  “I’m the worst.” My unrepentant bad boy kneels before me, removing his cock from my grasp, and I grit my teeth, frustrated as hell.

  He cleans my knees, calves, lifts one foot and then the other, washing the soles of my feet, dabbing the tip of the sponge around toes, caring for me as one might care for a child.

  He’d make a good father.

  As soon as this thought enters my brain, I smother it with reasons I won’t ever see this side of him, reasons we won’t last. Financially, we’re a disaster, barely able to cover our own expenses. He hasn’t said he wouldn’t take risky assignments. He could get himself blown up tomorrow. My legs quiver.

  “Control yourself for a couple more minutes, love.” Hawke, concentrating on washing my heels, mistakes my fear for arousal. He straightens, turns me until I face away from him, and glides the sponge up the back of my legs. I feel no pain as he traces the scratch on my ass, the sting erased with time.

  “I’ll put ointment on this later,” he promises, kissing that wound better also.

  “You didn’t put ointment on my breast when you bit me,” I point out, bemused by his concern.

  “That mark was mine.” He swirls the sponge over my lower back. “I didn’t want it to fade.”

  He wanted everyone to know I belong to him. My military man is a primitive, possessive bastard, and this should horrify me. Instead, it curls my fingers and moistens my pussy.

  Hawke slides the soft sponge between my clenched ass cheeks and I stiffen. “You don’t have to wash all of me,” I declare.

  He laughs, his chest shaking against my back. “Your ass is safe with me, sweetheart.” He rinses the sponge thoroughly and places it on the ledge. “The rest of y
ou I’ll hand wash.” Hawke curves his palms over my mons, claiming this part of me, and I tremble. “I wouldn’t trust the delicate parts of you with anything other than my fingers.” He dips his fingertips into my moist heat.

  “Yes, wash me.” I press against him, yearning for more, needing him inside me. Hawke nuzzles along my face, his stubble burning my skin, and he pushes deeper, stretching me open with two of his thick fingers.

  I rock back into Hawke as he licks and sucks my neck, grazes his thumbs over my clit, pumps my pussy, the combination frying my mind, scattering my thoughts. He’s all I know and all I want. His knuckles press on my inner walls, the fullness divine. His breath wafts on my earlobe. The water streams over us, merging, meshing our bodies together.

  I clutch his thighs, needing to hold on to something, the passion inside me rising quickly, primed by his touch. Hawke’s cock rests against my lower back, and every swivel of my hips pulls a groan from his lips.

  He ravishes me harder, faster, drawing more wetness from my core, tightening the emotion binding my chest. I move with him, panting, reaching for a satisfaction only Hawke can give me. He knows my form, knows me. He can grant me what I desire.

  Or I will take it from him. I clench around his hand, increasing the delectable friction, the sucking sound of fingers in moist pussy echoing in the small room. His scent engulfs me, filling my nostrils, my lungs, all of me.

  There’s nothing delicate about the storm building within me. It is savage and dark, lightning and thunder, a torrential downpour, a flood of desire. My nipples ache for his attention. My ass slaps against him, heat radiating from the points of contact. Energy snaps in the air, lifting the fine hairs on my arms, an electrical charge I feel when I’m with him.

  I want more.

  “Hawke.” I bend over, flattening my hands against the tiled wall. Water sprays over my back, a thousand fingers caressing my body. “I need your cock inside me.” I widen my stance, offering him everything, wanting the same in return.

  Hawke rubs his rough hands over my ass, and a strangled sound originates from deep in his throat. “No condom.” His words are choked, as though he’s almost as lost as I am.

  If we don’t use a condom, there’s a slim chance I could become pregnant, have a baby neither of us want. The rational part of my brain shrieks that fucking bareback is a bad idea. My heart, however, wants, needs, craves this connection with him.

  “I don’t care about the condom,” I decide. For the first time in my life, I don’t require this extra layer of protection. I trust Hawke. He’s the most honorable man I know.

  Hawke doesn’t move and some of my old anxieties return, building inside me. I wiggle my ass, seeking to entice my overresponsible former marine, to make him forget about his concerns before I remember mine.

  “You care about the condom.” He spins me around. I lose my balance and pitch forward. Before I hit the slick floor, he scoops me up and flings me across his right shoulder.

  “Stop acting like a caveman.” I slap his back, the sound shockingly loud.

  “You like it when I act like a caveman.” Hawke turns off the water and stomps out of the bathroom into our bedroom, not bothering to snatch a towel. I look down at the giant wet footprints my Neanderthal of a man is leaving behind us.

  And I don’t say anything because I do like it. “I’m wet.”

  “And hot.” He flings me onto our bed and I bounce. “Believe me, I know.” His eyes glitter with breathtaking lust. He grabs a condom, rips the package open with his teeth, and sheathes himself in less time than it takes me to stop moving.

  “Spread those white thighs, Belinda,” Hawke commands. “Show me your pretty pink pussy.”

  I shamelessly comply, beckoning him closer, secure in my womanly wiles, in my sexual prowess, knowing he’ll never reject me, never consider me unworthy. “It’s your pretty pink pussy.” I drift my fingertips over my feminine folds, my confidence making me bold. “All of this is for you.”

  Hawke tracks my fingers, his gaze intense. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect for me.” The mattress dips as he claims the space between my legs.

  “This perfection is yours, Hawke.” I lift my hips, presenting my body to him. “Take me. Make me scream your name so there is no doubt about who I belong to.”

  “You belong to me.” Hawke lowers, caging me between his muscular arms, capturing me completely. “Touch me.”

  I obey him, knowing the reason for his order. His hands are occupied, used to brace his body upward. He can’t guide my fingers to his cock, can’t reassure me that he’s wearing the condom he believes I require, and my responsible man won’t fuck me without this confirmation.

  I sweep my fingertips along Hawke’s length, squeeze his base, and he jerks. I grin, relishing my control over him. “Enough touching.” I place my hands on his shoulders. “I want you inside me.”

  “I’ll give you everything you want, everything you need.” Hawke bumps his cock head against my private lips as he seeks my entrance. I shift under him until he’s aligned.

  Our gazes meet and he thrusts, burying himself to the base. I scream, overcome by the fullness, by the exquisiteness of hard shaft in yielding pussy, the bliss of our joining.

  “Priceless,” he murmurs, his deep voice rolling over me. He pulls out to his tip, pauses for a heartbeat, and thrusts again. I arch, sweet sensation zinging through me.

  He increases his tempo, eliminating the pause, deepening his advances, and I cling to him, overcome with yearning, swept up in the moment. The bed rocks under us. Our wet skin sticks together, the tinges of pain exciting me, making me feel gloriously alive.

  Hawke sucks on my chin, riding me hard and fast, and I pant, struggling for breath, my legs wrapped around his hips, my fingers splayed over his shoulders. As our bodies heat, a slick coating of sweat eases the slide, binding us, making us one.

  With Hawke, I belong. I’m accepted, needed, essential for his happiness. This feeling is addictive, each encounter intensifying my need.

  Tremors of wanting shake my body. My inner walls close around his shaft. My fingernails dig into his skin. Hawke grunts with effort, his rhythm becoming wild and erratic, the headboard banging against the wall. Strain makes his rugged countenance even harsher, his square jaw jutting, veins lifting on his forehead.

  “Come for me, love,” Hawke demands, his endearment making my heart swell. It’s a foolish reaction. He’s always called me love, since the day we met, yet today, I yearn for that word to have more meaning. “Come now.” He drives into me with everything he has, shattering my control.

  “Hawke,” I cry, flinging myself upward. My breasts smack against his hard male chest. Hawke bellows, pushing me into the mattress, capturing my writhing body. A rainbow of colors fills my vision, light refracting through a million drops of water. The wonder is too much, and I struggle to be free.

  Hawke doesn’t allow this, thrusting twice more, and then toppling on top of me, a warm, reassuring blanket of muscle and skin keeping me safe. The aftershocks subside and I become still, lying docilely under him.

  “Fuck.” He rolls onto his back, taking me with him. His softening cock remains inside me, our forms linked. “You’re mine, Belinda.” He presses his lips against my forehead. “Don’t ever doubt your choice.”

  I rest my cheek against his heaving chest, too dazed by his loving to worry about choices or the future or the dangers he faces on the job. For now, he’s safe and we’re together. This is what I concentrate on.

  Chapter Six

  HAWKE TAKES CARE of me—applying ointment to my ass cheeks and brushing my hair. He ignores his constantly ringing phone until the doorbell buzzes.

  While he begrudgingly answers it, muttering dire retribution for the person disturbing us, I don a happy yellow sundress and my now-polished ballerina flats, forgoing panties and a bra as he instructed.

  He doesn’t have to say anything when he returns. I know he has to leave, his face dark, his lips grimly set. There�
�s another dangerous situation he has to venture into, risking his life.

  I suck up my concern and prepare lunch for my big man. This is a surprisingly erotic experience. My sundress has a built-in bra, the hem of the full skirt skims my calves, and the fabric is thick enough to conceal my panty-less state. Yet standing in the kitchen, bare under my dress, feels delightfully naughty.

  Hawke knew this would thrill my inner pervert, the dreadful man. I hum a bit off-key, dancing in place.

  My military man wanders out of the bedroom, dressed in one of his hideous black T-shirts, ragged blue jeans, and big army boots. “We have to talk.”

  “Do we?” I stop moving, my mind spinning. That sounds ominous. “Is it my mom? Cyndi? Gisele?” I rattle off names.

  “They’re all fine.” Hawke eases my concerns. “Or as fine as they can be.”

  “What does that mean?” I squeak.

  “Mack took Gisele to the vet.” He stands in front of me. “They want to keep her overnight.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” My stomach churns. “Is she sick?” I gave Gisele my love, opened my heart to her. If she’s sick, really sick, and dies, leaving me forever, I’ll be devastated.

  My gaze slides to Hawke’s beloved face. This is why not taking that next step with my military man, not loving him, is prudent, safer. He could die also.

  “She isn’t sick.” Hawke rubs my arms. “Keeping her overnight is a precaution. The vet has already run the tests. Gisele is severely underweight, but that’s it. He’ll vaccinate her and give her the medical attention every cat needs.”

  “Are you sure?” I look up at him, seeking reassurance.

  “I’m sure.” Hawke presses his lips against my forehead. “She’ll come home tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow is a long time from now. I worry the inside of my cheek with my teeth. Gisele will be alone, think I abandoned her. “Can I see her?”

  “The paparazzi will track you there.” He shakes his head, and my shoulders slump. “I’ll drop in and check that she’s okay.”