he’s struggling to wait and see if I’m okay.
I lift up, sink back down on him—and that’s obviously the signal he’s been waiting for, because he rocks his hips up and starts pounding into me in fast, rhythmic thrusts that begin to unravel me.
No roses. No flogger. Just him and his cock, his beautiful body and that vulnerable, oddly naked expression on his face.
“Hawk!” I try for more, but my belly is clenched so tight I can’t speak, and then my core spasms around him, hurtling me into pleasure.
His thrusts stutter, and faintly I hear him cry out as heat floods my pussy, making me clench again.
“Hell, babe.” He lets his head thunk back, on the edge of the tub, eyes closed, pale lashes fanning on his cheekbones. “It’s like… it gets better every goddamn time.”
I shake my head, because it feels that way to me, too, but I can’t. Can’t let myself think, or ask any more stupid, embarrassing questions.
We’ve covered that topic already.
Then he reaches for my hands, eyes fluttering open.
“Hold me,” he says, and I suck in a sharp breath.
This isn’t part of sex. Of sex-buddying. Neither was the bracelet. What’s going on?
“Hawk… I can’t,” I whisper, vaguely aware I’m repeating to him what he said to me earlier tonight.
“Damn.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Of course not.” He rubs both hands over his face. “It’s just… it’s the fucking anniversary of my grandpa’s death. I shouldn’t have called you tonight.” He starts to get up, sloshing water as his words sink in. “I’d better go find something to drink.”
Sounds like his grandfather was important to him. I have so many questions—when did he die? Who was he? It’s the first time Hawk lets a glimpse of his real self peek through, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Except…
“Wait.” I slide my arms around his neck and rest my cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t move a muscle, perfectly still in my hold, his heart hammering wildly against my boobs. “Me too, Gorgeous. For everything.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. I just hug him, and gradually he lifts his arms and hugs me back.
Chapter Six
“So when are you going to tell me about your boyfriend?” Mom asks, sitting at my kitchen table and sipping black coffee.
“Boyfriend?” I frown, cradling my own mug of milk-with-coffee and leaning against the counter. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Well then, no idea how you call it these days.” She waves a manicured hand and smiles at me. It’s kind of creepy how much she looks like me. And kind of nice, too. “That young man who’s holding your hand in the picture.”
“The” picture is the only photo of me and Hawk the tabloids have managed to score so far. It made quite the splash last month. We’re walking into a restaurant, and he’s holding my hand, glancing over his shoulders as the paparazzi flashes went off.
Needless to say we fled the restaurant and had dessert in bed instead.
“Don’t you know who that guy is, Mom?”
“Some rich guy or other. The Fleming heir.” She sighs. “Don’t tell me you’re just friends.”
Trust Mom not to know who Hawk really is. It’s a miracle she saw the picture. I bet one of her friends showed it to her.
“Yeah, he’s rich. And we’re not really together. We only went out for a while.”
That’s not a lie.
I mean, he’s vanished again. No phone calls, no texts.
I can’t take this anymore. This constant vanishing act that has me wondering if something happened to him, or if he just decided he got bored with me.
It’s easier to put things into perspective when I haven’t seen his face in a while. When I haven’t heard his sexy voice.
This has to stop.
“Honey…” Mom beckons for me to approach and I do,
I lift up, sink back down on him—and that’s obviously the signal he’s been waiting for, because he rocks his hips up and starts pounding into me in fast, rhythmic thrusts that begin to unravel me.
No roses. No flogger. Just him and his cock, his beautiful body and that vulnerable, oddly naked expression on his face.
“Hawk!” I try for more, but my belly is clenched so tight I can’t speak, and then my core spasms around him, hurtling me into pleasure.
His thrusts stutter, and faintly I hear him cry out as heat floods my pussy, making me clench again.
“Hell, babe.” He lets his head thunk back, on the edge of the tub, eyes closed, pale lashes fanning on his cheekbones. “It’s like… it gets better every goddamn time.”
I shake my head, because it feels that way to me, too, but I can’t. Can’t let myself think, or ask any more stupid, embarrassing questions.
We’ve covered that topic already.
Then he reaches for my hands, eyes fluttering open.
“Hold me,” he says, and I suck in a sharp breath.
This isn’t part of sex. Of sex-buddying. Neither was the bracelet. What’s going on?
“Hawk… I can’t,” I whisper, vaguely aware I’m repeating to him what he said to me earlier tonight.
“Damn.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Of course not.” He rubs both hands over his face. “It’s just… it’s the fucking anniversary of my grandpa’s death. I shouldn’t have called you tonight.” He starts to get up, sloshing water as his words sink in. “I’d better go find something to drink.”
Sounds like his grandfather was important to him. I have so many questions—when did he die? Who was he? It’s the first time Hawk lets a glimpse of his real self peek through, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Except…
“Wait.” I slide my arms around his neck and rest my cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t move a muscle, perfectly still in my hold, his heart hammering wildly against my boobs. “Me too, Gorgeous. For everything.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. I just hug him, and gradually he lifts his arms and hugs me back.
Chapter Six
“So when are you going to tell me about your boyfriend?” Mom asks, sitting at my kitchen table and sipping black coffee.
“Boyfriend?” I frown, cradling my own mug of milk-with-coffee and leaning against the counter. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Well then, no idea how you call it these days.” She waves a manicured hand and smiles at me. It’s kind of creepy how much she looks like me. And kind of nice, too. “That young man who’s holding your hand in the picture.”
“The” picture is the only photo of me and Hawk the tabloids have managed to score so far. It made quite the splash last month. We’re walking into a restaurant, and he’s holding my hand, glancing over his shoulders as the paparazzi flashes went off.
Needless to say we fled the restaurant and had dessert in bed instead.
“Don’t you know who that guy is, Mom?”
“Some rich guy or other. The Fleming heir.” She sighs. “Don’t tell me you’re just friends.”
Trust Mom not to know who Hawk really is. It’s a miracle she saw the picture. I bet one of her friends showed it to her.
“Yeah, he’s rich. And we’re not really together. We only went out for a while.”
That’s not a lie.
I mean, he’s vanished again. No phone calls, no texts.
I can’t take this anymore. This constant vanishing act that has me wondering if something happened to him, or if he just decided he got bored with me.
It’s easier to put things into perspective when I haven’t seen his face in a while. When I haven’t heard his sexy voice.
This has to stop.
“Honey…” Mom beckons for me to approach and I do,
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