Sweet Ache

Hawkin’s body stills momentarily before he throws his head back in a loud, hearty laugh. I’m not sure what is so funny but I’m glad whatever I said was the catalyst to disperse the somberness I’d created with my quest for more knowledge about him. When he lifts his face back up, he’s got a wide smile and his eyes appear much lighter than moments before.

“What?” I laugh.

“You’re sitting here, cold again,” he says, lowering his eyes down to my chest before glancing back up at me to meet my eyes. But this time his gaze reflects his salacious thoughts front and center. “In perfect position and fuck if I want to think about anything else but how incredible you felt last night.”

“Care to feel it again?” I lean forward and murmur against his lips, my body already ten steps ahead of him.

His fingers dance up my bare hips and under his shirt to grab the back of it. He fists his hand in it, pulling it tight, covering my breasts like a second skin. And this time the moan he admits is more of a swear from the sight of my nipples behind the veil of fabric.

“Goddamn, Quin,” he mutters as he dips his head down, and I savor the warmth of his mouth closing on my pebbled peak over the T-shirt. The muted feeling only causes me to grind my hips over the top of him. He looks up, eyes already darkening with need, dick pulsing, begging me to grant him entrance to my heat, and says, “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

I murmur incoherently as he twists the shirt tighter, the dual sensations an unexpected turn-on. My hands sift through his hair on my way to grab on to the top of his shoulders as he begins to drug me once again with his adept skill.

Damn. I never imagined that addiction could feel so good.

My head falls back on the armrest of the couch when Hawkin’s thumbs firmly rub the instep of my foot. I’m still in his shirt and he’s shirtless in his jeans, top two buttons undone, and I have to remind myself every few minutes to take my eyes off him because he’s just visual porn for a one-handed spank bank.

“Talk about orgasmic,” I murmur, meaning more than just the foot rub, but however he takes it, the comment earns me a soft chuckle.

“No. I gave that to you earlier,” he says, aiming my way the lopsided, arrogant smirk that unravels me as he trails his fingers up and down my shin. And he sure as hell did. My thoughts flicker to the look on his face as I sank down onto him. “This is because I know I need to go, get shit done, but I don’t really feel like leaving yet and going back to the real world.”

“This isn’t real?” The comment is off my tongue before I can help it. And hell yes, cocooned in this little bubble of my house this feels real but what about the minute he steps foot outside? Will this all be a memory? I hate the insecurity popping up suddenly when he’s given me no indication that he’s ready to end whatever this is between us.

My stupid comment leaves an awkward silence. I’m just about to apologize when the doorbell rings.

“Shit.” I scramble up, unwilling to answer in just his shirt and my lacy boy-short panties.

“No, stay. I’ll get it,” Hawke offers as he rises to his feet and pushes my shoulders back down.

“Are you sure?” I’m racing to try to figure out who it can be at two in the afternoon. Whoever it is, they are going to be more than surprised at my butler and exactly how he’s dressed.

“Yeah. You got any candy?” he calls over his shoulder, making me laugh. Him and his damn sweet tooth.

“Let me think.”

But my thinking about candy gets derailed as I watch him walk toward the front door, loving the way his jeans hang low on his hips, the knowledge that he’s not wearing any underwear beneath them making him seem even sexier. Like that’s even needed. When he leaves my line of sight, I smile at the sound of his feet padding down the hall. It’s an oddly comforting sound and I’m glad for the interruption because it just saved me from a monumental screwup with the question I asked.

Realization hits me several seconds before I hear the slide of the dead bolt. I’m on my feet and scurrying down the hall, my first thought that it might be Colton and how ugly it might get if a random man opens my front door without a shirt on. I don’t care how old I am, Colton will always see me as the little girl that no guy should touch.

Unfortunately for my last date that ended up staying the night, his face met Colton’s fist when he told him to butt out. And I didn’t talk to my brother for a week because he needed to grow up.

I turn the corner just in time to see light framing Hawkin’s body and a rather rough-looking Luke looking at him with an expression of surprised displeasure, mouth lax, eyes glaring, shoulders square.

“Hey,” Hawke says with a shrug of his shoulders, hands jammed deep in his pockets. “Sorry, man.” He drops his head, awkwardness rising between them. And a part of me loses a tiny piece of my heart to Hawkin in the moment. He could be a royal asshole to Luke right now, be arrogant and gloat that he got the girl, but he doesn’t do any of it. Instead he is contrite and humble.

A disbelieving laugh falls from Luke’s mouth as he shakes his head when he looks over and sees me walking up behind Hawkin. His eyes take in my attire, the shirt Hawke had on last night not going unnoticed. Guilt pushes the contentment I’d felt this morning away because Luke is a good guy, and he definitely didn’t deserve to find out this way.

Hawke takes note of Luke’s change in focus and shifts sideways to spot me. I glance his way, tell him in the visual exchange that it’s okay. Hawke turns back and nods his head to Luke before walking past me with a quick brush of his hand against mine in reassurance before disappearing into the house.