Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
His gaze sweeps over me, takes in the three triangles at the front, one more at the back. It’s black, just a simple black bikini. And it’s like he’s just realized how naked I am.
He pushes my hair behind my ear, then slides his hand down my back and two tugs later, I feel the top of the bikini fall away, just a wisp, and the only thing between us is the tiny bit of fabric between my legs.
My skin is warm and sticky from the sunscreen, but I don’t think he cares.
Hawk looks down at my breasts, pale against my slightly burnt skin. He touches one, cups it, weighs it, takes the nipple in his fingers and manipulates it so it hardens, sending sensation down to my belly, my core.
“Wait,” I say, putting my hands against him as he pushes me backward into the wall.
He undoes his belt, his pants. “Wait for what?” he asks, smashing his mouth over mine.
The sweet coconut of the sunscreen mixes with his aftershave and I think about the physical differences between us, him big and hard, all muscle, and I think how much I like it. How safe I feel when he holds me.
I feel his cock at my belly and one hand moves to grip my hip as his other cups my jaw.
“Wait for what?” he repeats before lifting me a little, positioning me, his fingers pushing the slip of fabric between my legs aside so he can thrust into me. Hurrying. Like he’s desperate.
It’s hard and it forces the breath from me. I’m not yet ready, but I like it. I always like the first thrusts. The hurt.
I can come from that hurt alone.
“Look at me, Melissa.”
My eyes zero in on his and he’s watching me. His pupils are dilated so all I see are the rings of green and blue, that gray banished now as he fucks me, and I wonder how I’m not split in two. How someone so big doesn’t just tear me in two.
I dip my head into his shoulder.
With his chest against mine, he keeps me trapped at the wall as he takes my face in both hands.
“I said look at me.” He squeezes.
“Hawk?”
His thumbs press into my cheeks. I notice he’s not blinking. Something’s wrong. I know it.
“What’s happened?” I ask.
He shakes his head, shifts his grip to cup my ass, pulling me open. I feel his finger press against my tight hole. He licks my mouth, my lips, then kisses me the way he does when he’s going to come and we’re so close. Connected.
“You don’t know how much I need this,” he says.
I never thought I’d like sex. I never thought it was possible for someone like me to like it. Take pleasure from it. But with him, I come. With him inside me, I come.
And when he comes, it’s abrupt and almost punishing, that last thrust. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and I feel his breath on me as his cock throbs inside me, releasing, releasing. Filling me up.
I’m panting for breath and when he finally pulls out of me, cum slides down my thighs. Then he’s far away again. Silent but holding me close, holding my face, his fingers pressing into my skin.
He’s distant again. In that other world. It’s as if an ocean divides us and I’m left cold.
He steps backward, looks away from me.
I touch his face.
“What’s going on?”
When he finally returns his gaze to mine, it’s like he has to drag it.
“Hawk?”
“My father was buried yesterday.”
23
Melissa
We’re packed, flight booked and at the airport in record time.
All he’s said about his father is that he was buried yesterday. After that, he took a call which I assume was a secretary telling him she’d confirmed our flights and told me I had twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes to shower and pack and leave for Scotland.
And somehow, here I am, wet hair in a clip on top of my head, wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and the only sweater I have.
Hawk went into my tote to get my passport earlier, which makes me wonder how he knew it was in there at all, but I don’t ask him. He’s too distracted. Shocked maybe by the news.
He’s wearing jeans and a thin, charcoal, V-neck sweater with a sport coat. It’s probably the most casual I’ve seen him.
“Flight leaves in fifteen minutes. They’re holding it for you,” Axel says as soon as we pull up along the curb at the airport.
Hawk is out and walking to my side with a leather duffel slung over his shoulder. There’s a long line at the counter, but we bypass economy and head to the first-class check in counter.
Hawk hands over our passports and tells the woman his name. She’s obviously expecting us.
She looks at him a moment too long before doing her job and we’re soon escorted through security and to our gate where we’re the last to board.