Sweet Ache

“Oh God!” she groans, her hands fisting in their strapped position. I guess I don’t have to worry about if she likes it or not.

“Is there something you want?” I ask, grazing her clit with another flick from the pick.

She jerks her hips forward as I sit back on my heels, my dick more than begging to get in on this action. Her tits jiggle with the motion and I wonder just how long I can draw it out, bring her to the brink and then let her fall without crossing over the edge. I have no clue but it’s sure as fuck going to be fun trying to find out.

“Hey, Quin?”

She looks down to meet my gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her bottom lip is tugged between her teeth, and her eyes are hazy with desire.

“This studio is soundproof. Make sure you scream when you come.”

Chapter 23

QUINLAN

Stretching my legs out, the sheets slide over my bare skin that still carries Hawkin’s scent from the incredible sex we had last night. Incredible? That’s an understatement. How about the kind of sex that I’ll forever think of as the time that ruined me for anyone else?

The man is definitely creative with his instruments. Damn. He brought me to the brink and denied me so many times that when he finally granted me my orgasm, I willingly drowned in the wash of pleasure that felt like it lasted forever.

And if I didn’t know the answer before, I sure as hell know it now; Hawkin most definitely lives up to his last name and the rumor.

I let my mind wander over everything that happened between us last night. Watching their jam session was incredible but when Hawke started singing, it was almost like watching him purge the emotion he doesn’t think he has the right to feel or express otherwise. His lyrics were a confession, a trace of the tumult he feels on a daily basis. From the continuous glances shared between the guys when Hawke left his head hung low and eyes closed, I could tell that him baring his demons like that was unusual. And of course when he was finished with the song, I could tell he was just as surprised by his lyrical confession as the guys were.

So I did the only thing I could do. I let him gather himself for a moment before using humor to dispel the unease in those gray eyes of his. And then once I got him to laugh, I let him use my body to help him forget. Little did I know that Hawkin’s way of forgetting was by working me up into such a frenzy that I would have begged, pleaded, or borrowed for one more kiss, one more touch, one more look at him as he hovered over me before sinking into me.

I may not believe in the fairy-tale ending, but who cares? I’d challenge anyone to prove to me that Prince Charming can turn a woman out better than Hawkin Play did to me last night.

Bracing myself, I brave the bright light of the bedroom and open my eyes to find the bed empty beside me. I groan with disappointment but then notice the guitar pick placed on his pillow. My smile is automatic as is the ache stirring awake inside me at the little reminder he’s left me—although there’s no chance I’ll be forgetting last night anytime soon.

Lost in that thought, I roll back over to notice that it’s eleven o’clock. A cat ate the canary grin spreads on my lips because I’m an early riser, so the fact Hawke sexed me up so good I slept this late is a testament to just how fantastic last night really was.

And as much as I want to snuggle back under the covers, I want Hawkin more. I rise from the bed, muscles stiff from being oversexed, and I grab Hawke’s Pink Floyd shirt draped over a chair. It’s long on me and with my boy-short panties, I’m comfortable enough to cruise the house and look for him even with the other guys around.

After brushing my teeth and pulling up my hair in a messy ponytail, I open the bedroom door and pad down the hallway. Music plays near Gizmo’s room and Rocket’s distinctive laugh startles me from a room past the staircase. As I descend, I catch snippets of conversation floating up the stairs mixed with the clink of silverware against dishes from the kitchen below.

I must be crazy because I suddenly have butterflies over the idea of seeing Hawke. It’s ridiculous and silly but I love it because a man who gives you butterflies is definitely a man you can lose yourself in.

“Dude, sugar does not equal breakfast.” Vince’s comment has the smile spreading across my lips.

“To me it does. Now get back to what you were ragging on me about. Please. Nothing is better than a lecture after a great night of sex,” Hawkin says sarcastically.

“Look, I haven’t seen you like this about a chick in a long-ass time. If ever.” Vince’s words cause my feet to falter, the rational side of my brain and the curious side in an instantaneous war whether to announce my presence or eavesdrop.

Curiosity wins.

“What business is it of Quin’s? She’s my life, my responsibility.” My ears quirk up at the same time a sinking feeling clips the butterflies of their wings. “I still love her. Regardless of everything … I can’t not.” The resignation and pain in Hawke’s voice tug at my compassion while the actual words make my head spin with a slow, uneasy discord.

“Look, I like Quin a lot too. Think she brings out a side of you that I’ve never seen before … I just think she has a right to know that Helen comes first. And always will. That you’re going to leave at the drop of a dime when you get the call.”

Helen? Calm down. There has to be a reasonable explanation here.

“I know—it’s a fucked-up situation….” Hawke says and then the clatter of dishes drowns out the rest.

“That’s exactly the problem though, Hawke. If this plays out, Quin deserves to come first … and she won’t. Dude, I get the hold she has over you but fuck man, you gotta live your life and quit beating yourself up over what’s happened.” I can sense Vince’s aggravation, can hear it in his tone, and my mind wanders to what they can possibly be talking about. I try to fill in the missing pieces that the kitchen clatter drowns out. “If Quin sticks around like she looks like she will, she’s gonna find out sooner or later; it’s going to be best if you tell her about everything.”