Hawke

  Hawke leans his head down and runs his nose along my jaw. "Still sassy," he murmurs, his breath causing prickles to break out on my neck. "But you've forgotten the way it is between us."

  "And what's that," I gasp as his teeth scrape against my skin.

  "That I'm in charge, and we'll get to your bedroom when I'm good and ready."

  And just like that...I melt. Completely sag against him, letting the weight of the world roll right off my shoulders. I let my worries go and trust that my needs will be taken care of. I gladly and most willingly hand over the control to him.

  It's one of the things I loved most about him in the past...his self-awareness and confidence that he would always get the job done no matter what. Ironic, that when I needed that most from him, I refused to let him have the chance to prove himself.

  Hawke's mouth returns to mine and we kiss slowly but no less deeply than before. The passion is there, simmering below the surface, yet any sense of urgency is gone now. He knows I'm not going to call a halt to him this time. I know he can't walk away. His hands slide up my rib cage just under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up along the way. I almost let out a sob from that simple touch, because it's so electric it borders on painful. How had I forgotten what this felt like? How could I ever let anything like this go?

  With one hand resting on my ribs, he inches the other higher and turns inward, finally coming to rest over my breast. His fingers dip into the cup of my bra and pull the fabric down, scraping my nipple with his nails. My entire back arches and my pelvis knocks against him. I feel the briefest measure of his erection before I pull my hips back, shocked at my own brazen bodily response.

  Hawke merely responds by stepping in closer to me, pressing his own hips forward until his thickness is pushing into my belly. Liquid heat pulses between my legs and my hips move against him. He grunts in appreciation as his fingertips pluck at my nipple.

  Without ever breaking the kiss, Hawke drops his other hand from my rib cage and pulls at the button on my khaki pants. I'm still wearing my Cold Fury uniform, never having had the chance to change once I got home this afternoon. Or rather, yesterday afternoon, as the clock has long since struck midnight.

  Hawke's not moving fast enough for my needs, so I let go of my hold on his hair and squeeze my hands in between our bodies. I knock his out of the way, deftly undoing the button. He, in turn, bats my hands away and yanks at the zipper with a muttered curse against my lips when it catches briefly before sliding down.

  Then his hand is down the front of my pants, skillfully dipping into my panties and his fingers are against me...in me...rubbing me.

  My head falls back in ecstasy, and even though my mouth mourns the loss of his, the feelings he's evoking between my legs more than makes up for it. I'm wet, almost embarrassingly so, and the only way I know this is a turn-on to Hawke is by the low moan of appreciation in his throat as his fingers get drenched from their ministrations.

  My blood is racing so fast I feel dizzy, and all I can do is clutch on to his biceps while he works me. I'm so turned on right now I'm on the verge of blowing. My hips rock against him...almost there...just about--

  Suddenly his hand is gone and I cry out in frustration over being denied. He just smirks as he lifts me up in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Time to get to the bedroom."

  Now? He wants to go right this very second?

  I almost think to argue with him, but that plan goes out the window when his head tilts and kisses my neck to soothe some of the sting of a lost orgasm. He chuckles when I try to grind my hips down on him for some friction, and his hands squeeze my ass cheeks as he walks down the hall.

  "Which one?" he asks.

  "On the left," I mutter, grinding down on him again.

  Always and ever efficient, Hawke pushes my door open and dumps me on my bed unceremoniously. He leaves me to walk back to the door where he hits the light switch, flooding the room in brightness.

  And my heart gives a knock of quiet recognition. Hawke always did that. Always wanted the light on so he could see exactly what he was doing to me. So he could see every nuance of pleasure written on my face. So he could experience firsthand every dirty and filthy thing we did to each other without anything standing between us, including the dark.

  He stalks back to me, his eyes pinning me in place as I lay there. I know that look on his face as I've seen it a hundred times before. It's animalistic need and it turns me on.

  Hawke works swiftly, the slow seduction phase of this mating now complete. Shoes, socks, my khakis...all pulled clear of my body by Hawke and thrown to the floor forgotten. He kneels on the bed, in between my legs, and pulls my shirt off quickly. His gaze drops to my chest, my one bra cup still pulled down and tucked under the globe of flesh. His hand comes to the middle, and with a slight flick he pops it open. With a subtle graze of his hand back and forth, he peels the material away and just stares at me.

  There once was a time he stared at me only in reverence. Now, I'm not sure what I'm seeing. Definitely lust, of that I have no doubt. But I also see something flicker through his eyes...I'm thinking it might be sadness.

  Without a word, Hawke backs off the bed, his fingers hooking my panties at my hips and dragging them down. His eyes travel the length of my body, which should make me feel pretty and wanted, but I have a thump of pain in my chest when I note that he specifically refuses to look at my right leg that bears the rose tattoo with his name skillfully hidden.

  For a moment, as he stands up straight, I think he might leave me there, because his eyes come up to mine and I see a moment of condemnation in them. I'm not sure for what, but it could be a number of things.

  For hurting him all those years ago.

  For calling on him tonight when I had no business doing so.

  Maybe even for tempting him to come back to the very vessel he was denied with no explanation.

  But he merely strips away his clothes with the same efficiency that he used on me.

  Unlike Hawke, there is no doubt in my gaze. My eyes roam over inch after inch of exposed, tanned skin and lean muscle. My eyes follow the V from his lower abdomen, all the way to his cock, which is revealed to me when he pushes his jeans and underwear to the floor. And when he's as naked as I am--more so if you consider my bra straps are still hooked to my shoulders--he crawls right back onto the bed, right in between my legs, and stretches out over my body, where he holds himself up with elbows pressed into the mattress next to my ribs.

  He stares at me, those eyes reminiscent of the way sunlight dances on the blue sea. Such intensity...such need and desire. Such wariness I also see, but also a tiny bit of care. Such emotions that I can't even begin to guess what he could be thinking.

  But it becomes clear to me when he lowers himself so his pelvis meets mine, his cock coming to rest hot and heavy right at the juncture of my thighs. His face descends slowly and his lips touch mine...softly at first, but only momentary in their slight graze, to then be deepened into a full-out kiss full of lust and passion.

  It's on.

  Our hands both journey against the other's body. Mine roam from muscled shoulders to his chest, down his ribs to his ass, where I dig into him in invitation to press against me. Hawke leans to one elbow, moving the other hand down my stomach, back in between my legs. He knows my body so well, even after all these years, that his finger slides inside me like a homing beacon.

  God, that feels good.

  Another finger in.

  Shit...feels really, really good.

  I slip my own hand in between us, pushing and grappling for space until I find his cock. So thick, satiny. I always loved the feel of it in my mouth...in my hand, inside of me. I squeeze it, give it a few rough pumps while he fingers me.

  Our kissing becomes more desperate. For every moan that gurgles out of me, he lets out a grunt or a growl of his own, more particularly pronounced when I pull my hand up his cock and graze the underside of the tip that's silky, wet.

&nbs
p; His fingers move against me faster, causing me to suck in air desperately. My hips pump against him. My hand works him roughly.

  "Fuck," Hawke groans as he rears up, kicking his legs out to spread mine further. Tiny ripples of anticipation race up my spine as I watch him take his cock in hand, give it a rough stroke, which is sexy as hell, and then place the tip right at my entrance. It's a beautiful moment, only to be ruined slightly when his gaze flicks to the left to look at the rose tattoo. He doesn't give more than the briefest of looks before he's grabbing that leg and hooking it around his waist, moving the offensive tattoo out of his line of sight.

  Hawke's hands then go to the mattress, and with a sharp punch of his hips, he drives into me.

  "Oh, God...Hawke," I moan as he fills me up in one powerful move. A long gust of air whispers out of his lips and he drops his forehead to mine. He holds still for a moment--maybe to get his bearings, who knows--then he starts moving.

  It's just like old times, and yet...it's different. We're frenzied in our need as we continue to touch each other. His hand to my breast, mine to his ass to help keep his strokes steady and deep. Yet, there's also a reservation on his part...maybe a lack of fully committing and losing himself in the moment.

  My sad and sore heart knows this is because he's afraid of giving me anything other than his body and an orgasm. This is purely physical for Hawke, him needing the release apparently as badly as I do.

  "Kiss me," I say softly as I bring my hands to his cheeks. He raises his forehead from mine, looks at me with troubled eyes, but ultimately he gives me his mouth.

  I roll my hips against his, my tongue against his, and he responds in kind. Steady, deep thrusts of tongue and cock, almost like a choreographed symphony. His breathing becomes labored so I know he's getting close. I know this so well about him. He slips a hand in between our bodies, presses and then rubs against my clit, and an unforeseen and previously dormant orgasm springs to life within me. I cry into his mouth as it explodes and consumes. My hips buck up, causing him to ram deeper. He tears his lips from mine, buries his face in my throat, and lets out a long groan as he grinds his pelvis against me, trapping his hand against my pulsing clit.

  I feel him unload, remembering the first time we disposed of condoms and made the move to just relying on my birth control. The unbelievable closeness I felt to him in that moment, actually replicated here, and I can't find it within me to even question the haste by which we just had sex with no protection.

  With a long huff of breath against my neck, Hawke pushes up and rolls off me. For a brief moment, I feel utterly alone, then his arm is circling my waist and dragging me into the side of his body. He lifts my torso with little effort, pulling me half onto his chest. His other hand comes up, and he silently brings it to my head where he pushes it down.

  I lay there with my ear against his sternum, listening to his heartbeat start to slow while warm fluid leaks out of me. I'm completely spent, entirely boneless. I couldn't move if I wanted to, and I don't want to.

  We don't speak, but then again, we didn't say much while we were just fucking. While there were so many things that were as familiar as my mom's old quilt that still graces the back of our couch in the living room, there was one thing that was glaringly different about the way in which we just had sex.

  And it was the silence in which we did it. All those years ago, Hawke and I were so consumed by each other in our passion that we held nothing back in the way of touches or words. Just as he wanted the bright light of a room to bathe us in transparency, he was vocally passionate to me as well. He used words, filthy and sweet, to drive me higher and higher. His words and the way in which he always spoke them to me were as much an aphrodisiac as his skilled fingers and lips.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight Hawke never said a word, further proof to me that he held a great part of himself back. And God, does that hurt. It hurts because that's on me and what I did to him. It makes me feel empty instead of fulfilled as I should be.

  But not even the hollowness in my chest can eradicate my exhaustion, so I close my eyes with my cheek to his chest and I fall asleep.

  Chapter 15

  Hawke

  I'm not prepared to see Vale in the team workout room.

  I'm not prepared to see her at all because I'm not sure I can behave myself around her. I want her and yet I don't want to want her.

  And I mean I want her viciously.

  After last night, how could I not? Every single emotion and feeling I ever had for her that was positive flooded me as I moved inside her sweet body. My words were jammed tight in my throat, which was good. I certainly didn't want to blurt out an endearment mid-fucking and confuse things even further.

  I woke early in her bed, our naked bodies spooning, just like we used to. Twin torrents of pleasure and anger coursed through me as I realized that even in sleep, I wanted her. I let anger win out, for once, or otherwise I'd be rolling her over and fucking her again. I stealthily slid from the bed and quietly put on my clothes. I did it while watching her sleep, chastising that part of me that was grateful she'd get a few extra hours today.

  Not my fucking problem, I remind myself.

  With my shoelaces almost tied, I thought I'd make a clean escape when I heard her bed creak and looked up to see Vale perched up on her elbows, the sheet hanging just low enough on her breasts I got a peek of cleavage. My cock twitched in clear interest and I wanted to strangle the monster.

  "Are you leaving?" she asked, her voice rough and craggy with sleep.

  "Yeah, going to head home for a shower, then to the arena for practice."

  Vale's head turned to look at the clock on her bedside table. "Yeah, I better get up too and go to the hospital."

  "You should sleep some more," I blurted out, then smacked myself mentally.

  Not my fucking problem.

  Vale is not my problem. I helped her last night, gave her a good ride and an even better orgasm, but that's all there is to this. I can't go back there with her because she's too dangerous to my heart. I gave it to her once and she stomped on it. Can't let her do it again.

  She gave me a bright smile and shook her head. "Actually, I feel pretty good."

  There was no helping myself. I stared and stared some more when she swung her legs to the side of the bed and slipped free from the bedsheet. Watching her standing naked, stunningly gorgeous and probably sore between her legs, I had to physically restrain myself from launching myself at her. She ignored me, walked to a small, battered pressed-wood dresser, and pulled a pair of panties out that she slipped up her long legs. My nose wrinkled in distaste when I saw them glide over those roses. She then took out a T-shirt and slid it over her head before threading her arms through.

  When she pulled her long hair free, she said, "I'm going to make some coffee if you want some."

  "No, thanks," I returned woodenly. "I need to get going."

  Vale's eyes went soft...limpid pools of ferny green understanding. She got my reticence because she still knew me and my layers very well. She got my discomfort and then went the extra mile to try to ease the situation.

  "Well, okay," she murmured with a smile as she walked toward me. She stopped just before where I stood near the bedroom doorway and laid her hand on my forearm. "Thanks again for last night. You really helped me out of a rough patch."

  I coughed to clear my throat. "Yeah, sure...no problem."

  Vale nodded and slipped past me, padding down the short hall into the kitchen. I followed along and glanced to the left to see her at the coffeepot. She didn't turn back to me, and I had to wonder what the fuck was going on.

  I saw it on her face last night. The open acceptance of me back into her life...her body. Fuck, I'm pretty sure her heart was inviting me in. I saw the gratitude laced with desire and smothered in tenderness written all over her face as I fucked her. I wanted to fall prey to it as much as I wanted to fly out of this apartment and not look backward.

  "I'll try to get
to the hospital later today to see your dad," I told her as I reached for the door.

  She looked over her shoulder at me with another bright and thankful smile. "Thanks. He'd like that a lot."

  I stared at her, she stared at me...patiently.

  I should have gone, and yet I stayed, searching vainly for something to bridge those weird feelings simmering at a low boil deep in my gut. "Hey, need me to tell Bruce what's going on for you?"

  Her eyes crinkled with another smile, another radiant display of gratitude. "No, thanks. I also texted him last night and he told me to take all the time I need."

  "Oh, okay. Well, I'll just get going."

  She gave a wave of her hand. "Have a good practice today."

  As I stood outside her apartment door, I had to question what in the hell had been going on. Was she using me as a means of escape from a shitty situation? Or did she still truly care for me and gave me her body to show me that? Or did I misread everything and take advantage of her last night and now she's just too polite to be rude about it?

  Fuck. What a mess.

  And now I'm stunned to see her in the workout room with Max, as I figured she'd be at the hospital all day. It's barely two P.M.

  Max is on the treadmill running with a VO2 mask on to measure his volume of oxygen. Vale stands beside him, her back to me, a clipboard in hand and her other poised above the buttons on the treadmill to increase the speed and incline.

  I had intended to work with weights today, in particular my legs, but I cut across the room to the treadmills and take the one beside Max. My movement catches Vale's attention but Max keeps his eyes straight ahead, breathing hard at seven miles per hour and an incline of eight. When Vale's eyes meet mine I ask, "They let Dave out of the hospital?"

  She shakes her head and turns back to look at the numbers on the VO2 machine. "No, but he chased me out of there for a bit. I'm going to train a client at Xtreme Fit after I'm done with Max and then head back to the hospital after that."

  "How's he doing?" I ask as I start the treadmill and inch the speed up to a fast walk for warm-up.

  "Great," she says while not looking back at me, her attention on Max and his performance. "Said he can probably come home tomorrow."