Sweet Ache

My heart is pounding, and I gasp out when he roughly yanks down the neckline of my tank so that the lace of my bra is exposed. The possessive growl in the back of his throat is seductive and arousing and hotter than hell in so many ways. His eyes meet mine, then he lowers his head, fingers pulling the lace down farther before his mouth dips to the top part of my breast. I open my mouth again, the soft mewl of need falling from my lips as the warmth of his mouth glides over my skin.

His mouth sucks gently at first and then a little harder. I lean my head back against the door, my body zinging with so many different definitions of need that I can’t focus on any one part at once. I’m losing myself under the haze of desire when all of a sudden he releases me, all contact lost so that a gasp escapes from my lips at the sudden loss of his warmth.

The electricity remains though.

I stare at him, his jaw tight in physical restraint, biceps tense as his fists clench, and I see so many things that contradict one another I’m not sure what to think.

But thinking is overrated when desire can be in control.

“That’s so he knows that you’re mine,” he says, glancing down to my chest, intensity etched in his eyes. “And so you don’t forget it.” He takes another step back and turns to place his hand on the doorknob. “Wait a minute before you head back,” he says with his head down, “and don’t look so surprised. You knew this was coming.” He opens the door.

“Hawke.” His name tumbles brokenly from my mouth, a sound of desperation.

He looks at me, that devil-may-care smirk lighting up his face in triumph. “That just proved me right,” he says with a shake of his head, and then leaves me behind with my mouth lax, cheeks flushed, and the knowledge that I just showed him I want him as much as he wants me.

I startle when the door shuts and the sound echoes around the tiled bathroom. But nothing rivals the pounding of my heart in my ears—or the juncture of my thighs—because the man just lit my fuse with his words and walked out without helping it catch flame.

I brace my hands on the counter next to me, needing a minute to catch my breath and collect myself. My mind whirls while my body still burns from his touch. I lift my head up and catch sight of myself in the mirror and can’t tear my eyes away from what I see.

My tank is still pulled down below my boob, a dark red mark at the edge of my bra’s lace from his mouth, but it’s the look on my face that holds my attention. My cheeks are flush, my lips are swollen, and my eyes are more alive than I’ve ever seen them. I stare at my reflection for a moment, feeling like I’m looking at a stranger. Hawkin is the reason I look like this. The attraction between us is irresistible and combustible.

I force myself to look away, to straighten myself up—my shirt, my smeared lipstick, my disheveled hair—before taking a deep breath to steady the parts of me that feel alive for the first time in way too long.

And as I make my way back to Luke, I know. I know that I won’t be able to resist Hawkin’s pull on me any longer, that it’s stupid to deny myself. To not take the chance to see where this may lead us because when all is said and done, we regret only the chances we didn’t take, not the ones we did and failed at.

Make it count. My motto runs through my head and makes me question my morality between what is right and what I want.

I reenter the meet and greet with that resolve in the forefront of my mind and smile softly at Luke, suddenly cognizant of the length of time I’ve been gone.

“You okay?” Concern blankets Luke’s face as guilt lances through me. Can he tell that I’ve been kissed senseless? I don’t think so but I swear to God I feel like my hidden hickey is as visible as a scarlet letter.

“Yeah. Sorry. Got lost,” I ramble and force myself to stop so that my lie isn’t over-the-top obvious. I keep my eyes focused on him although I swear I can feel the weight of Hawkin’s stare as Luke puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. My immediate reaction is to wriggle from his touch but I know I can’t do it.

“It’s okay. Perfect timing,” he says. “We’re next.”

If he only knew.

I make a noncommittal sound and give him a forced smile. I feel his body vibrate with excitement even before I hear the voice over my shoulder.

“Hey, man, how are you doing tonight? Thanks for coming out!”

“Great show, Hawkin. You guys were incredible. That new song was killer.” Luke falls all over himself as he tries to connect with Hawkin, and I wonder if I’m the only one who notices the tightness in his smile and arrogant lift of his eyebrows as he assesses Luke.

“Thanks. And you are?” Hawkin asks, reaching his left hand out to Luke. And it hits me. Hawkin’s trying to get his arm off my waist.

“Sorry.” Luke releases me to shake Hawke’s hand eagerly. I watch that smirk return to Hawke’s face as he gets the reaction he wanted from him. “Luke Mason, and this here is—”

“Luke Mason?” Hawke says, head tilting, eyes narrowing as Luke nods his head. “As in Indy Luke Mason?”

What the …? He told me he didn’t follow racing and yet he knows Luke’s name?

In my periphery I can see Luke’s smile widen to epic proportions at the notion that Hawkin knows who he is but I’m watching Hawke and not sure I like the predatory look he has in his eyes. “Yeah man, you follow racing?” The hope in Luke’s voice is endearing.

“Not much,” Hawke says with a shake of his head, “but I was just recently checking it out. Met someone that loves it … so Google was my friend.”