Sweet Ache

“Wow!” he exclaims in jest, eyebrows raised and fingers finding the ticklish spots on my rib cage. And at first it’s innocent in nature when I writhe beneath him but as my breasts rub against the firmness of his chest and the condom he hasn’t removed yet that’s still slick with my arousal slides over my thigh, desire fires anew. My breath hitches when his hands find my hair and fist in it before his mouth meets mine in a kiss that surges with hunger. “Guess I better show you again how much of a man I can be then.”

He pushes up off me, leaving me cold and wanting as he saunters over to grab another condom from my drawer-o-protection, his ass a sight I could stare at all day long, and all I can think is Pretty please.

“I thought you were going to edge me out. What happened to that?” I throw the taunt at him as I hear the telltale tear of foil, my body already stirring back awake with the anticipation of getting more of him.

He turns back and looks at me, the moonlight soft on his skin and confidence reflected in his posture. “Hmm. If I’m not mistaken, it was you just screaming my name, right?”

“It was a moment of weakness,” I lie, savoring the smile he graces me with because we both know damn well it was more than that.

“I think it was a whole lot of skill,” he says as he walks slowly toward me, erection bobbing with each step as I scrape my eyes over his shadow in the night. He crawls on the bed and hovers over me, our bodies void of any contact. “Skill … and this weakness I seem to have when it comes to you.”

My heart swells at his words and the only thought that passes through my mind is, rocker trumps racer, without a doubt.

Chapter 16

QUINLAN

Through dreamy eyes and a sleep-fogged brain with the warmth of his body beside mine, I take in everything. The dark stubble shadowing his jaw that begs me to reach out and rub my fingers over its coarseness. A tangible reminder that this is real, last night was real … the sudden onslaught of feelings I have for him is real. The sheet is somewhere on the floor, both of us bathed only in the sunlight streaming in through the half-open blinds that were forgotten last night in our pleasured exertion.

He shifts some, turning on his back and moving his arm opposite me behind his head. I watch his biceps flex and trace the line of his body to where I can see the symbol inked into his skin on the inside of his wrist. I don’t want to move too much and disrupt his sleep—this is my chance to memorize specifics about him—but I angle my head some to catch the tattoo.

The music note is clear as day sitting on the inside of his wrist but another symbol placed toward his elbow isn’t easy to decipher. I stare a bit longer and as much as I want to slide a little farther away so that I can see the markings on his upper bicep, I decide this feeling is way too heavenly to leave. I can look later, ask later.

I snuggle into him, nestling my face into the crook of his arm and torso, and return my hand to his abdomen so I can feel it rising and falling softly beneath my palm. I think of last night. Of the murmured words and how Hawke completely owned my body and every reaction he coaxed from me. How we lay spent and exhausted but riding that first-time high in comforting silence as I wondered what happens next. Was he going to call Axe to come get him or spend the night and awaken to that awkward silence?

And the best answer was neither.

After a few minutes where we let the sweat cool from our bodies and our labored breaths settle into a normal rhythm, the bed shifted some and the next thing I knew his hands were pulling me into the heat of his body.

“Hmm,” he murmured into the crown of my head, followed by a kiss. “I’m exhausted.”

My soul content and body satisfied, I trailed a finger over his chest and thought about how he had most definitely given me the toe-curling sex that I had been without. “Can’t imagine why … a show, drinking with the band, a pissing match with Luke, a—”

“Rocker trumps racer every time, sweetness,” he said and the smile returned, my heart swelling despite my conscience telling it not to at the endearment. “Besides, it wasn’t any of those things that made me sleepy. No,” he said, the pull of sleep thickening his voice, “it was you and the incredible sex we just had. And then again.”

“And then again,” I responded, happiness tingeing my tone and my ego preening with his compliment.

My mind drifts fleetingly to Luke and a surge of guilt riles my peace. I’m not sure what else I could have done last night. He was hell-bent on attending the after party and then the shot fest that followed was indirectly my doing but I have no claim on him and can’t control his actions. Still, whatever way I try to spin it, I feel like shit that he’s going to wake up sometime today nursing a wicked hangover while I’m waking up sexed and satisfied.

Hawkin stirs again beside me, mumbles softly, and I can feel the minute awareness jolts his body awake. He squeezes me tightly against him and says, “Good morning,” against the crown of my head. And I used to think there was nothing sexier than a man’s voice in the morning, sleepy and gravelly, but I was wrong. Way wrong.

Because Hawke’s voice in particular is sex personified in every way possible.

I close my eyes and enjoy the comfort between us as he wakes up and I realize I’m screwed here. Because if I thought I was going to be able to step back, then I was sadly mistaken. This—him—me—us—is just too damn good for me not to get wrapped up in it.

“I gotta pee like a racehorse,” he says with a soft chuckle as he releases me, then the sound of his feet shuffling over the floor fills the room. I scurry up and out of the bed when he shuts the door to my guest bathroom and scrub the alcohol from last night from my teeth and throw some water on my face. I meet my eyes in the mirror and even though it’s been hours since we fell asleep, my cheeks are still flushed and eyes still alive with desire.