Authors: Cynthia Sax
To my dear, wonderful hubby for giving me my own happy ever after, and to all of the Sinful Rewards readers who made this journey with Bee, Hawke and, yes, Nicolas.
May you have the happy ever after you desire also! (hugs)
sound wakes me. “You're breathing too loudly,” I mumble, my mouth feeling as though I swallowed a bag of cotton balls. Hawke doesn't answer and the droning continues. I sigh. This is a struggle. A weight bears down on my chest.
A furry, purring weight.
I open one eye and then the other. Gisele, our cat, is staring at me, her cute little face a whisker away from mine, her yellow cat eyes not blinking. “You're not supposed to be a morning cat.”
Is it morning? I turn my head toward the window. The sun is shining, rays of light coming from high in the sky. “Shit.” I frown. “How long did I sleep, Gisele?”
She jumps off my naked body onto the mattress and then leaps gracefully to the hardwood floor. A selection of cat toys surround the bed, the mess making my fingers twitch. A glass of water, two Tylenol capsules, and what appears to be the contents of a man's pockets are on the makeshift nightstand. Gratefully popping the Tylenol and swigging the water, I chase this combination with a mint I find in a small black tin.
I should wander to the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair. Judging by the makeup and glitter left on the pillowcase, I must look like hell. This effort is beyond my capabilities right now. A transport truck filled with pain is driving its way through my brain.
Hawke's presence soothes some of my agony. Although the door is closed, I know he's in the main room. I hear his deep voice. A smile curls my lips. He'd never leave without telling me. I touch the dog tags cradled between my breasts. He realizes how that freaks me out.
Waiting for my headache to dissipate and my man to return, I prop a pillow against the headboard and tuck the cotton top sheet around my body. The only regret I have about last night was the amount of alcohol I drank.
I remember arriving at the Road Gator, the bikers lining a green-tarp carpet, the boisterous and overwhelming welcome when we entered the bar. Hawke had to leave me, a situation demanding his attention. Ellen ordered whiskeys. We drank and after the second round, my memory of the evening grows blurry.
I tilt my head, searching my memories and not finding a hell of a lot. We had a good time and the happiness lingers, a warm fuzziness in the pit of my stomach. I belonged. I was accepted, one of them.
Gisele sits in front of the closed bedroom door and meows and meows and meows. Christ. My headache fading, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and clomp to the door, opening it.
The cat walks between my bare legs in a figure eight pattern, rubbing against my skin. Her feline massage is soothing yet confusing, her purpose undecipherable. She then flicks her tail and strides across the bedroom.
I stare at her. “You wanted out.”
Gisele doesn't look back at me, doesn't offer even a halfhearted cat apology. She parks her tail by the window and gazes out.
“You make no sense,” I tell her.
“You're up.” Hawke's voice rumbles behind me. “I thought you'd sleep all day.” He hooks his arms around my naked form, pulling me into his large body. My face heats. He has taken a shower, the scent of soap, leather, engine grease, and man engulfing me. I smell like sex and alcohol.
“Gisele makes no sense,” I repeat. “And I'm a mess.”
“You're a hot mess.” Hawke turns me to face him. My military man is dressed in his usual hideous black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, his big feet bare are braced apart as though he's safeguarding me from an attack. “And Gisele is a cat. They're mysterious creatures.” His blue eyes sparkle and stubble shadows his square chin. “As are certain brown-eyed brunettes.” He brushes his scarred knuckles over my cheeks and I tremble, my body ensnared by his gentle touch.
“Yet, you understand both of us.” I gaze up at him, willing him to kiss me, caress me, take me.
“I'm in intelligence.” Hawke flexes, the barbed wire tattoo on his right bicep rippling. “And I'm a marine. We know these things.” One corner of his lips hitches higher than the other.
“Do you?” I raise my eyebrows. “Then you must also know you're wearing too much clothing for this assignment, Marine.”
I run my hands down his cotton shirt, over his jeans' button fly, pulling at some of the frayed threads. He hardens, pressing against the denim. I press back, cupping him, and his eyes darken.
“Belinda.” Desire edges Hawke's voice. He dips his head and covers my lips with his. I open eagerly to him and he surges inside me, our tongues sliding seductively, tumbling in an intimate embrace. He tastes of coffee and mint, and I suck on him, drawing him deeper, swiveling my hips, seeking to be closer to him.
Hawke curves his coarse palms under my ass and lifts me higher, aligning my mons with his bulge. My feet dangle, my toes inches away from the floor. Not breaking our mind-numbing kiss, I wrap my legs around my former marine's waist and link my ankles behind him, trusting him to hold me, to never let me fall.
He squeezes and releases my curves, squeezes and releases, setting off ripples of sexual awareness, the waves of pleasure traveling from my ass to my pussy. I grip his shoulders and rub my taut nipples against his T-shirt. The garment looks hideous but feels divine, more decadent than the finest silk. Our tongues swirl and slope playfully, my lips humming, the skin on my chin and cheeks teased by his stubble.
“You might make me a morning person,” I murmur against his mouth.
“If it was still morning, I might.” Hawke nips my bottom lip, the sharp pain exciting me. He strides across our bedroom, carrying me easily, his tread silent and smooth. My former marine passes our untidy bed, dips one of his hands in the plastic fishbowl filled with condoms, and heads toward the window.
The curtain-less window.
“It's daylight,” I squeak. All of my previous window sexual antics were performed at night. I couldn't view my audience, couldn't see the faces of the men watching me.
“Tell me you don't want this.” Hawke challenges me.
“I don't want this.” I meet his gaze, unable to back down, trusting him to read me as he always does, to know that I do want this.
He chuckles. “You're such a terrible liar.” He skims his lips over mine. “You crave this. I feel how wet, how hot you are.”
I wiggle, unable to argue, my pussy moist and my nipples hard. “They'll think I'm a bad girl.” My ass touches cool glass. Anyone looking up at our condo will see my bare bottom flattened against the window.
“They'll think you're a very good girl.” Hawke lowers my feet to the floor, sliding my body over his. “You're obeying your very bad man.” He extends my arms, pressing my hands against the window, and widens my stance, forming an X with my body. “You're so damn beautiful, sweetheart.”
He steps backward, his gaze sweeping me from my head to my toes, all of me exposed to him, my small breasts, flat stomach, brown private curls, pale legs. I glow, feeling beautiful, wanted, worthy.
“You remain overdressed, Marine.” My voice is husky with need.
“Yes, ma'am.” Hawke pulls his T-shirt over his head, drops it on the floor. I glance down at it, unable to suppress my frown.
“Passion is messy.” He laughs, the muscles in his chest moving with his joy. The wings tattooed over his collarbone flutter, the finely etched feathers tempting me to touch them, lick them.
I don't dare move. My palms flatten against the glass. Hawke has posed me, silently requesting I remain still, and I will obey my dominant man. I tilt my chin upward. I'm powerful, worthy of his love, his forever. He's shown me this.
“Your thighs are moist.” Hawke's smile holds a primitive smugness. “Everyone watching you sees how eager you are for my big cock.”
I quiver. He knows the words I want to hear.
“I'll give you what you want, soon.” He drifts his hands over my shoulders and along my sides, his calloused fingertips grazing the curve of my breasts. “But not yet.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek, suppressing my moans as he explores the dip at my navel, the sensitive skin over my ribs, learning every inch of me. My nipples ache for his touch yet he ignores them, lavishing his attention on less wanton regions, discovering erogenous zones I didn't know I had.
Unable to reciprocate, to move, I'm focused on him, on his fingers, his hot breath wafting against my breasts, every caress amplified. Hawke's slow seduction drives me mad, absolutely crazy. I can't wait, can't be as patient as he is. My body demands release.
“Hawke.” I arch my back, offering myself to him, wishing to speed, to guide his efforts. “I needâ”
“I know what you need, love.” He leisurely circles my breasts, his sensuous orbits narrowing, narrowing, narrowing until I shake with desire, my bare skin vibrating against the window.
“I know you.” Hawke skims his knuckles over my nipples and I whimper, requiring more than this tenderness.
His eyes gleam. The damn man realizes what he's doing to me. He drags his skin across mine again and again, spiraling my arousal higher, the tension inside me nearing the breaking point.
“You're strong.” Hawke lowers his rugged countenance. “You won't come until I give you permission.” He mouths my sensitive flesh and my fingers curl, the urge to grip his head, to pull his face into my breasts, tremendous.
But I will please him. I force myself to stay in position. I'll show him I deserve his love.
“You're my good girl.” His lips brush my nipple, his eyes glinting with admiration. “You can take more than this.” Hawke palms one breast with his massive left hand while he teases the other with his lips, the dual assault shredding my control. “You can take everything I give you.”
I grit my teeth as he toys with me, driving me to the brink of insanity and then ruthlessly hauling me back. He licks and withdraws, presses down my nipple and releases, bombarding my hapless form with a flurry of sensations. Sweat beads on my skin, every assault more difficult to counter.
“You can do this.” Hawke's deep voice rolls over me.
He's wrong. I tremble. I can't do this. A tear trickles down my right cheek. Oh God. My pussy muscles tighten. I'll come, and he'll be disappointed. He'll think I'm not worthy of his love, that I won't ever be worthy, and I am. Damn it, I am.
“You only have to last a little longer, love.” Hawke pops the buttons on his jeans and pulls down the faded denim, revealing his long, hard shaft. A dab of precum already glistens on his tip, and I lick my lips, hungry for his taste.
“You're so fuckin' perfect for me.” His eyes glitter as he strokes himself once, twice, three times, more ruthless with his body than I dare to be. “I'll take your pussy now, your sweet mouth later.”
Hawke rips open the condom package and rolls the latex over his cock. He guides my right hand to his base, giving me the confirmation I need. Birth control pills aren't 100 percent effective. Having the condom as a backup ensures I won't repeat my mom's life, won't conceive an unplanned baby.
I squeeze him and he jerks. “Turn around.” His tone is brusque. “Put your hands on the glass and stick that perky ass in the air.”
I obey him, pivoting on my heels and bending over. My breasts, hips, mons are displayed, bared to our audience, my exposed state exciting me. I stare through the window at the park Nicolas visits every morning. The billionaire isn't there, his bench unoccupied, and I exhale, relieved, not wanting to upset my friend, to make him feel even more undeserving of love.
“You'll come when I'm inside you.” Hawke glides his hands over my hair, my back, my ass, and I writhe under his caresses. “I want everyone to know who has you, who's pounding into your tight little pussy, whose name you're screaming against the glass.”
“Yes.” I'm unable to give a longer response, my thoughts decimated by need.
Hawke strokes his condom-covered cock over my feminine folds, wetting his shaft with my juices. I move with him, chasing the decadent pressure, my orgasm within reach. The windowpane fogs with my breath, each gulp of air harder to take.
I spread my legs wider, tilting my ass upward, silently begging for more, and Hawke complies, pushing his broad tip into me, the stretch divine. He sinks deeper and deeper and deeper, giving me a fullness I've grown to crave.
“Priceless,” he murmurs into my hair, his chest covering my back, his base snug against my pussy lips. “You're made for me, Belinda.”
I smile, warmed by the ferocity of Hawke's voice. He believes in his words, believes we're meant for each other. That isn't love, isn't a vow of forever, but it's gratifyingly close. I wiggle and he groans. Soon, he'll fall in love with me and truly mean the endearments he casually uses.
Hawke straightens, sliding his cock head along my inner walls, pulling out to his rim. His fingers curl around my hips. I wait, anticipation building. He thrusts and I cry out, rocked by his surge forward.
He doesn't allow me time to gather my composure, withdrawing and surging forward, withdrawing and surging forward, smacking his hips against my ass, heat radiating over my curves.
I cling to the window, splaying my fingers over the cool glass, envisioning how we must look, Hawke's tanned, hard physique behind my small pale form, my breasts swaying with the impact of his thrusts, my lips parted.
God. I jut my jaw, fighting to delay my release, wishing to prolong Hawke's pleasure and my torment, to dwell longer in this space I inhabit only when he's inside me. My military man rides me relentlessly, destroying the last of my control, his grunts echoing in the quiet room. A thin layer of moisture covers us, binding the two of us together, strengthening our connection.
“Hawke,” I plead, unable to last much longer.
“Hold on.” He wraps one of his arms around my waist, threads his fingers through my private hair, finds my clit, and I tremble, anticipating his touch.