by Cynthia Sax
“Never?” Hawke tilts his head to the side.
“Never.” I place my left hand on his thigh and his body stiffens, his response gratifyingly instant. “When I touch you, I lose control, and that scares the shit out of me.” The cuss word slips out before I can stop it.
“You can lose control with me, love.” Hawke’s voice is soft. “You’re safe.”
I feel safe with him. My fingers slide up his leg. “I appreciate all that you did for me tonight, the red velvet cupcakes, inviting Cole Travers, everything.” A sexy warmth fills me. “When we reach the condo, I’ll show you how thankful I am.” I touch hardness, Hawke jerks, and the vehicle accelerates.
“If we ever reach the condo,” he mutters. “Did you apply for any jobs today?”
My bottom lip curls, this dose of reality cooling my ardor. “Yeah.” I pull my hand away. “I applied for one hundred and fifty-two jobs.”
“Tell me about them.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t really want to know.” He’s my one-night stand. Even the guys I considered my boyfriends weren’t interested in my work misadventures.
“I want to know about each and every job you applied for,” Hawke says through gritted teeth.
“Fine.” I shrug. “I warned you.” I chatter about the different jobs, rattling off the requirements and my creative answers. He listens as though he’s truly interested, as though he cares, and a dozen jobs later, I start to believe him, my nervousness dissipating. I pretend he’s my boyfriend for the evening and not a casual lay. I’m aware that this will have ramifications for my heart tomorrow, but I’m concentrating on getting through today.
Hawke pulls the Hummer into the south building’s underground parking, waves his passcard at the sensor. The security arm rises, and so do my eyebrows. “You have access to my building?”
“Yeah.” Hawke enters the first parking level, the level I remember Cyndi bellyaching about Nicolas reserving for himself. The space resembles an automobile museum, the assortment of cars impressing even vehicle-impaired me. The three spots nearest the elevator are free. Hawke parks the Hummer in two of them.
Although this will piss Nicolas off, I don’t say anything as Hawke strides toward the passenger side. I don’t know a lot about men or about one-night stands, but I do know my tattooed biker gets huffy whenever I mention the billionaire’s name.
Hawke opens my door for me. I unbuckle my seat belt and hold out my arms, unable to exit the Hummer without landing flat on my face. He grips my waist and lowers me to the floor, all of me sliding along all of him. He’s hard, the ridge in his jeans providing thrilling proof of his arousal. I lean against him, savoring the length and width of him.
“Can you walk, love?” His voice reaches down deep inside me.
“I’m not that drunk,” I lie, the walls spinning merrily around me.
Hawke releases me. I sway, the floor rolling under my shoes.
“Shit. I’m going to fall.” I extend my arms and bend my knees, trying to balance myself. Damn Nicolas and his crazy building designs.
“I’ll never let you fall.” Hawke chuckles. His hands return to my waist, steadying me, his warmth surrounding my body. “If I hadn’t been at the Road Gator, how would you have gotten home?” He lifts me, holding me against him, as he walks.
What kind of idiotic question is that? I cling to his neck, his short hairs at his nape tickling my fingers. “Why the hell would I go to the Road Gator if you weren’t there?”
Hawke booms with laughter, the sound echoing through the parking level. “When you’re drunk, you cuss more than Dawg.” He steps with me into the elevator. I hadn’t noticed that he’d pressed the button. “You’re adorable.” The doors close.
“I’m a good girl,” I sniff, lifting my chin. “And good girls don’t cuss.” Out loud. I cuss constantly in my head.
“You have a strange concept of what good girls do and don’t do, sweetheart.” Hawke runs his right hand over my hair, and I soften against him, enjoying his petting.
I gaze at the image of us reflected in the mirrored walls. He’s massive, with broad shoulders, a long jagged scar parting his hair in the back. I appear small and delicate in his arms, my face pale, my brown eyes wide and slightly bloodshot. I squint. My entire head is moving, nodding back and forth like a bobblehead doll.
God. Why won’t the world stand still? I burrow my nose against Hawke’s neck, concentrating on his scent, his warmth, his fingers threading through my long straight hair. He has me. I’m safe.
Chapter Seven
ONE MOMENT, HAWKE is holding me in the elevator car. The next moment, he’s laying me on my bed. I don’t know how we got here, how he accessed the condo, or found my room, and I don’t care.
His rugged face hovers above mine. I curl my fingers over his shoulders and lift myself upward, capturing his mouth. My big man doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, allowing me to explore the outline of his lips, learning every swell, every indent. I push into his wet heat, claiming him as I wish he’d claim me.
Hawke hesitates for a heartbeat longer and then crushes me to him, his tongue twirling around mine, his teeth grinding against my lips. He’s ravenous for me, devouring my desire, filling my mouth. Only a fraction of his weight is supported by his arms. His chest, hips, ridge in his jeans press downward, pinning me to the mattress, trapping me underneath him.
This is what I want. I drag my fingernails over his scalp, his short hair offering him no protection from my sweet assault. I want Hawke to hold me and never let me go. I dig red crescents into his skin, marking him, as he sucks on my bottom lip, the tug exciting me.
“Not now,” he mutters as though reminding himself.
“Yes, now.” I gaze up at him, no doubts in my heart, in my soul. “I’m aching for you, Hawke.” I bend my knees, hiking my skirt up. “Feel how wet, how slick I am.” I push my hips upward and shamelessly grind my scent into his hardness. “You make me this way. I want this. I want you.”
His eyes blaze, lightning bolts streaking across a blue sky. “You’re torturing me, Belinda.” Hawke shudders, his broad shoulders shaking. “Testing my control.” He unfastens my corset’s front hooks, loosening my confines, freeing me. “I need you so badly.” He spreads the fabric.
“Then take me.” I cradle his hips between my bare legs, holding him to me. “Fill me with your big cock. Ride me hard.” I rub along him, savoring his length and girth. “Make me yours.” In the back of my mind, I know this is wrong, yet it feels so right. He feels right.
“Not tonight.” Hawke’s voice is firm. He brushes the credit card, limo chit, passcard off my skin, his scarred knuckles skimming across me, the friction between us lighting fires in my soul.
“But soon.” My badass biker drags his mouth between my breasts, leaving a stubble-stimulated trail, and I squirm under him, needing more.
“Soon, I’ll take you.” He squeezes my curves together, deepening the valley he’s exploring, his rough grip titillating me.
“I’ll fill that slick, wet pussy of yours.” Hawke gives me the dirty words I require, pleasing the pervert in me.
“Fuck you hard until you come, until you scream my name.” He nips the curve of my left breast and my body jerks, the twinge of pain unexpected and arousing.
“You’ll make me come.” I run my hands down his cotton-covered sides, relishing how his muscles ripple under my fingertips, his torso finely honed, as solid as rock. “You’ll give me what I yearn for.” My previous lovers had been boys, concerned only with their own releases. Hawke is a man, able to satisfy me, to meet needs I can’t even verbally express. I pull on his T-shirt, seeking bare skin.
“Not now, love.” Hawke grabs my wrists and pulls my arms above my head, stretching my body tightly under him. “I’ll give you what you yearn for, but for this round, my clothes stay on.”
“But—”
“No.” He looms over me, holding my gaze. Gone is the laughing biker. In his place is a sexy unbending marine,
intent on driving me crazy. “I’ll please you first.” He lowers his head and licks my reddened skin, his wet, warm tongue dissolving my resistance. “Then you can touch me.” He nuzzles my breast.
“Yes, please me.” I inhale sharply as he gives me another love bite, the combination of gentle caresses and sharp stings scattering my thoughts, feeding the flames within me. My back arches, my body moving under his.
“You’re hot,” Hawke groans, pushing his denim-covered cock against my panty-clad pussy. I am hot, burning up with desire, moist and so very, very needy.
“Gorgeous.” He turns his head and lavishes the same erotic attention on my right breast, mouthing around the swell, his sensual circles becoming smaller and smaller, making me lose my ever-loving mind. My nipples tighten to the point of agony, begging for his attention, and I twist, needing to be free, to touch him, to guide him toward my sensitive flesh.
“Wild.” Hawke meets my gaze, his eyes darkening to a brilliant blue. I struggle, crazed with passion, and he subdues me easily, my slight curves his to torment, to own. He lowers his head over my right nipple, extends his tongue, and I freeze, stiffening with anticipation, waiting for his touch.
“And mine.” He flicks the taut peak and I cry out, my spine bowing, the pleasure exquisite, dragging me under. Hawke allows me no time to recover, to resurface. He fastens his lips around my nipple and inhales, the unrelenting pull felt down to my pussy, my legs, my toes. I thrash, drowning with pleasure, my lungs bursting.
Hawke bares his teeth, his expression feral, and I increase my efforts to escape, reading his intentions in his face yet unable to form the words to deny him. The freak inside me wants this, needs this, craves this.
Hawke bites down, marking me, his action primitive and possessive and thrilling, the pressure escalating my madness. I pull on my arms and push my hips upward, testing his control and his worth, seeking relief, the bliss too intense to tolerate.
Hawke maintains his hold on my breast, easily restraining me, his strength far exceeding mine. He doesn’t break my skin. There’s no need to. I’m pale and the bruise will last for days, declaring his ownership of my body to all rivals. He’s dominant, powerful, and he’s claimed me as I’ve never been claimed before.
“You’re wearing my tattoo.” Hawke laves the flat of his tongue over my abused flesh, soothing me, calming me, and I purr, stretching sensuously along the mattress, basking in his admiration.
“You belong to me now,” he declares smugly. Our gazes meet and lock, the satisfaction in his pale blue eyes taking my breath away. My mind says this is temporary, that he will leave me tomorrow. My body wishes to be his. Forever.
“Let me look at all of you.” Hawke frees my wrists, drifts his calloused fingers along my arms, slides his palms under my ass. A zipper rasps. He tugs my skirt lower, revealing the curve of my hips, my skimpy panties, my bare thighs.
“Hmmm. . .” His lips vibrate against my skin. “Black silk today.” Hawke presses a kiss to my fluttering stomach, his mouth firm and hot. “I dream of your panties.” He swirls his tongue around my navel, and I dig my fingertips into the bed, my arousal building once more.
“Tonight, you’ll dream of me.” Hawke twists his fingers in the ribbons over my hips, winding the delicate strips of silk tighter and tighter, the tension building around me, inside me.
“Only me.” He snaps the ribbons, the fabric leaving a blaze of heat across my skin, and he removes this last remaining piece of clothing. I’m now bare, completely naked, and he’s fully dressed, in control of me, of this encounter.
“Spread your legs, love,” Hawke commands. “I want to see everything.” The mattress dips as he rolls to the side, allowing me to move.
I obey, showing him, a man I met mere days ago, all of me, my neatly trimmed curls, my pink pussy lips, the entrance to my inner self. My arms and legs tremble. My heart pounds. I’ve never felt this exposed, this vulnerable, this anxious for approval.
“You’re beautiful.” Hawke’s voice is gruff with passion. I glow, reveling in his heartfelt words, in his heated perusal. He’s looking at me, wanting me, his body hard and his face dark. “Wet and ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready for you since we met, Hawke.” I lift my hips, boldly offering myself to him, needing his cock, yearning to be filled. “Take me.” I ignore my lingering doubts and concentrate on my desire, the wanting inside me undeniable.
He groans, the sound rolling up his big chest. “You’ll be taken tonight but not with my cock.” My damn former marine is as unrelenting as the mountain he resembles. “How do you pleasure yourself?”
My face heats. “With my fingers,” I mumble, having never had this discussion with anyone, not even Cyndi. “You said you would please me.”
Hawke’s lips twitch.
“You’re mocking me.” I close my legs, skin slapping against skin. “And I don’t like it.”
“I’m not mocking you.” His lips flatten. “Open your thighs, Belinda,” Hawke orders, his military tone causing a surge of anticipation to sweep over my body. I gulp air and comply.
“Wider.” He remains dissatisfied with my pose, his eyebrows lowered, sparks lighting his blue eyes. I rest my legs flat on the bed, giving him access to everything.
“Good girl.” Hawke leans over me and cups my mons with one of his big hands, his fingertips dipping into my wetness. I gasp, my nipples tightening even more. “Your body is mine, and I will please you.”
He claims my mouth, punishing me with his lips, whipping me with his tongue. I suck on his flesh, savoring his taste, acutely aware that the heel of his hand is pressing down on my clit. For several aggravating minutes, he doesn’t move his fingers, concentrating on the kiss, making my lips hum and my heart beat faster.
Then Hawke strokes, pushing his tongue into my mouth and his fingers over my feminine folds. The dual stimulation draws moisture from my core and waves of bliss from my soul. Unable to remain still, I undulate against him, riding his palm.
Hawke pulls his head back and watches me, his gaze fixed on my face, his eyes feverishly bright. “That’s it, Belinda.”
He matches my rhythm, moving with me, anticipating my needs. “Show me what you like.”
He brushes one of his thumbs over my clit, and I quiver, pleasure coiling around me. This is how I knew it would be with him, my tattooed biker playing my form with a mind-numbing expertise, his touch rough and sure.
“Tell me how you want to be touched.” He licks my neck, and the strap of emotion binding my chest tightens.
“Teach me how to please you.” Hawke rubs the calloused pad of his thumb once more into the sensitive bundle of nerve endings, and I squirm. I’m so close, my breathing ragged, my legs shaking. I need. . .
He pushes one thick finger inside me, and I scream, my spine bowing, the tautness inside me snapping. My inner walls clench down on him, holding him in place as I buck, pumping the air with my hips, clutching his shoulders with my fingers, tremors of ecstasy rocking me.
Hawke watches me as I come, my former marine silent and strong, in control of his body and mine, his finger lodged deep inside me, the fullness divine. I sag against the mattress, trembling, his intense perusal prolonging my release.
“Hawke,” I whisper.
“I’ve never seen anything as glorious as you, Belinda.” Hawke’s big body shakes, the barbed wire tattoo over his right bicep rippling. “Never felt anything so right.” He sweeps his finger along my inner walls, the skim of calloused skin against my soft flesh intimate, sexy, perfect, reigniting passions I thought he’d sated.
“You’ll come for me again,” Hawke murmurs against my neck as he pushes deeper. “And when you do, you’ll imagine my cock pushing into your heat, into your wetness.” He pumps into me faster and faster. “It’ll be my shaft you hug and squeeze, my shaft filling you as you’ve never been filled before.”
“Yes, your cock.” I lift into his hand, my body willing, my brain fuzzy.
“My cock and
only mine.” Hawke nips my neck, the sharp twinge exciting me. “Your curtains are open and the room is brightly lit. Everyone is watching me plunge my finger into your hot tight pussy. They see how you cling to me, how your juices drip down my hand.”
“Yes.” I quake, my need escalating with each word, the pervert inside me riveted by his words.
“They’re looking at your naked body.” Hawke adds a second finger, stretching me open, forcing my body to accommodate the added girth, to take him. “At the mark on your breast.” He kisses my nipple. “At your pink pussy lips hugging my calloused skin.” Hawke’s gaze remains focused on my face as I frantically fuck his fingers, brazenly seeking my satisfaction. “And they know you belong to me.”
“I’m yours,” I pant. My body is his. I’m at his mercy.
“You’re mine.” Hawke’s lips tease my skin, his breath as ragged, as strained as mine, his chest rapidly rising and falling. “No one will ever satisfy you like I can.”
A third finger joins the first two, and I cry out, the addition dangling me over the edge of fulfillment, pain mixing with my pleasure. My wetness flows over his palm. My musk scents the air.
“Whose fingers are inside you, love?” Hawke asks, his voice low and deep.
“Yours.” My tempo becomes frenzied, savage, crazed. The room rotates around me, the lights flashing, the temperature swinging wildly from hot to cold.
“Say my name,” he orders. “Tell everyone who’s pleasuring you.”
“Hawke,” I plead. He knows what I desire, damn him. “Hawke, I need—”
“Me. You need only me.” Hawke rubs his thumb over my clit, and the friction shatters me. I scream his name, throwing my body upward, squeezing his fingers with my inner walls, capturing him, keeping him with me. The room spins faster, exploding with color and light.
Bombarded by bliss, I reach for Hawke. He pulls me into his big body, providing shelter from the barrage of emotion. He’s warm and strong, a protector I can rely on.
“Don’t leave me,” I murmur, knowing he has to. We’ve had our one-night stand, and leaving is what happens next.
