by Cynthia Sax
I pull away from him, certain I’ve heard him incorrectly. “You founded the Organization?” I gaze at his lips, needing to see the words.
“I founded the Organization.” He confirms this incredible news.
“The Organization is your company.” I grip the edge of the kitchen counter, the floor tilting beneath my feet. “You don’t work there. You own it.”
He nods.
I force myself to breathe in, breathe out. He started a company. Not all founders of companies are wealthy. “The Organization owns the Road Gator.”
Hawke dips his head again.
“And it owns this condo.” I glance around me. This condo is worth over a million dollars. “You have dozens of employees.”
“We have thousands of employees,” Hawke corrects, hooking one of his arms around me. “They’re stationed all over the world. And it turns out, all of them are willing to fight for the opportunity to lead the high-profile assignments.”
“They want to impress you.” I pat his chest, light-headed from his revelation. Hawke captures my hands, pressing my palms against him, grounding me. “Because you’re the boss.”
“The men assume I report to someone else.” Hawke watches me as though he worries I’ll faint.
He might be right. My world is spinning. “They don’t know you own the Organization,” I state.
He inclines his head.
“They don’t know you’re rich.” My tattooed badass biker is rich. My legs collapse.
Hawke doesn’t allow me to fall. He swings me into his arms, lifting me easily.
“You’re rich,” I mumble, unable to believe these words. “You didn’t tell me.” I wince at the betrayal in my voice.
“I thought you knew.” Hawke carries me into our bedroom, a space that he owns. “I’m living in this building.” He sets me carefully on the bed, handling me as though I’m delicate, precious to him.
“I’m living in this building too.” I cling to his neck, not wanting to let him go. “And I’m broke. You’re not. You’re wealthy.” I say this again, expecting him to correct me, to tell me I misunderstood his words, or that this is all one big joke.
“We’re wealthy.” Hawke denies exclusive ownership of the fortune but not the fortune itself. “We’re partners.” He lowers his body next to mine.
No, we’re not. “I’m not your partner.” I can’t meet his gaze, not having anything to offer him. “You don’t need me.” He doesn’t require my help with the finances. He can buy meals at restaurants, hire a maid to clean his condo.
“I need you.” Hawke places my hand on his groin, the ridge in his jeans hard. “And not only physically. Look around you.”
I gaze at the nearly empty bedroom. He’s filthy wealthy and he doesn’t yet have furniture, the sparseness appalling.
“I need you to make this place a home and to give me a reason to return,” he expands. “I need you to tell me when my intentions are misunderstood by our team, to see what I can’t.”
“To see what you can’t? I didn’t realize you were wealthy.” I’m a fool. “Did everyone else know?”
“You’re the only one who knows.” Hawke pushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Nicolas suspects. I’m living in his building. My parents realize I’m comfortable.” He shrugs and the mattress moves under us. “I don’t know what other people assume.”
“They assume you’re broke.” I pluck at his ugly T-shirt, needing to touch him, to ensure myself he’s still here. “And that’s what you want them to think.”
“Our wealth makes us a target.” He doesn’t refute this. “It puts everyone we care about in danger.”
“I can’t tell anyone you’re successful.” I have to keep this a secret from my mom, Cyndi, Chicago society. “I’m not a good liar, Hawke.” I snuggle closer to him and he draws me into his big body. “You know that.”
“You won’t have to lie, love.” He nuzzles against my neck, the stubble on his chin warming my skin. “No one will ask. They’ll assume that we’re comfortable, that the Organization is paying for everything.”
He’s right. They won’t ask.
I curve my palms over Hawke’s scalp, tracing the ridges of his scars with my fingertips, relishing the buzz of his closely cropped hair. Questions bubble in my brain. Will he help my mom, Cyndi? Is my broke-ass financial status one of the reasons he feels obliged to stay? I wiggle. How does this alter our relationship? “Hawke?”
“What is it, sweetheart?” He lifts his head, his expression concerned. “What do you need?”
“I need you inside me.” Everything is changing and I’m floating, lost and scared. I want his naked body on top of mine, his cock in my pussy, his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight.
“Give me a second.” Hawke rolls away from me, stands, pulls his T-shirt over his head. As he’s stripping, I also undress, folding my sundress neatly, setting it at the foot of the bed, placing my phone and passcard on top of the yellow fabric.
I lie back, wearing only the ball chain and dog tags, and watch my former marine roll a condom over his hard cock. The inked wings on his collarbone ripple, the feathers fluttering. He’s big and broad and I don’t know if he’s mine.
“Hawke?”
“I’m here, Belinda.” He moves between my spread legs. “Talk to me.” He places one of my hands on his latex-covered cock, this familiar action comforting me.
I squeeze his base and release him. “I don’t know where I fit.” I bend my legs, cradling his weight between my thighs. “I had a plan.”
“You had a new plan.” Hawke positions himself at my entrance. “And it included me.” He pushes inside me, his cock head stretching me open. I’m wet for him still, always, forever, this never changing.
“Yes,” I moan, gripping his shoulders. Hawke sinks deeper and deeper, the erotic slide delectably slow. His base presses against my pussy lips and I tilt my hips to take all of him. I’m stuffed full of rigid shaft, the connection between us strong and familiar and right. This remains the same. “I knew where I belonged.”
Hawke braces himself above me with his arms. “This is where you belong, with me.” He brushes his lips over mine. “Nothing has changed.”
Does he truly believe that? I stare up at him. “Everything has changed. You have a home.”
“We have a home,” Hawke amends. “Somewhere permanent, a space we can’t be evicted from.” He repeats the words I once told him. “You were willing to give that up for me.”
I trace the letters etched on Hawke’s left pec, a reminder of his time in the Marines. “I was willing to give up everything for you.”
“Because you love me.” He rocks, his rhythm unhurried as though he has his entire life to fuck me.
I don’t say anything because I do love him. Hawke grins, reading this confirmation in my face, his smile enchantingly lopsided. I wish I had the guts to ask him if he loves me. Instead, I lean forward and suck on his right shoulder, tasting salt and man, my man, for now, maybe forever.
We undulate together, caressing each other with our entire physiques. This encounter isn’t like any of our previous sex fests. It’s more, intense undercurrents of emotion flowing between us, unspoken yet undeniable.
I scatter kisses over his chest, laving his tattooed feathers with my tongue, teasing the silver scar slashing across his right nipple. Hawke isn’t the minimum-wage-earning security specialist I thought he was, but his body hasn’t altered. The stories written across his big form remain the same. He continues to be the most honorable man I know, a man I’d trust to protect the people I love, a man I can’t live without.
He’s the missing part of me, emotionally and physically. Hawke increases his tempo and I rise up to meet him, lifting my hips. The dildos might be exciting and different, but nothing feels as good as his cock, as good as him.
I breathe deeply. A hint of cologne mixes with Hawke’s usual leather, engine grease, and natural scent, and my body tightens around his, memories of our earl
ier performance pushing me closer to release.
I’m his kinky little pervert and he likes me this way, encouraging my antics, bringing my fantasies to life. A trickle of sweat drips down his chest. I lick the trail and he shudders, thrusting harder, forcing me to take every delicious inch of his cock, slapping his balls against my skin.
God. I arch, rubbing my taut nipples against his straining muscle. He’s a brute, his face dark, his eyes brilliant blue with desire, a beacon of color enthralling me. I suck on the silver scar on his square chin, his stubble rough against my lips, my tongue.
Hawke growls, the low rumble exciting me, and increases his pace even more, driving into me with his considerable strength, pinning my ass to the mattress and then freeing me, pinning and freeing, controlling my smaller form.
I’m at his mercy, clinging to his shoulders as he rides me. My arms and legs shake. My inner walls constrict, adding more friction, more sensation.
“Hawke.” I writhe, everything inside me pulling unbearably tight, a rubber band stretched to the point of breaking. Only he makes me this crazy, causing me to lose my restraint.
“Not yet, love.” Hawke denies my plea for release, branding my body with vigorous strokes, stamping his ownership all over my soul. Beads of sweat glisten in his short brown hair, more precious than diamonds, proof of his quest to please me.
I grit my teeth and dig my fingernails into his skin, seeking to obey him, to delay my satisfaction. This should be easy to accomplish—I’ve come more today than I ever have in one day—but he knows how to torment me, hitting that special spot with each thrust.
And I’m weak, so very weak. A whimper escapes my lips, my pride long discarded. I can’t last. “Hawke.” I clench down on his shaft.
“Fuck,” he roars, the bed skittering along the hardwood floor as he drives forward. Our bodies collide and I break, screaming Hawke’s name, bucking wildly, trying to unseat the massive mountain of a man on top of me, unable to dislodge him.
Fireworks explode in my brain, a dazzling display of reds, whites, and blues, falling in a black sky. Hawke collapses on top of me, flattening my form against the mattress. The lights fade and the tremors sweeping over my arms, legs, hips, chest ease, leaving me in an erotic stupor, unable to move, to think.
“I love you,” I murmur. Hawke’s revelation will change our relationship, I know this, but I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, he’s here, watching over me, keeping me safe. Smiling with contentment, I allow the darkness to claim me.
Want to know what happens next for Bee, Nicolas, and Hawke?
SINFUL REWARDS 11 is available May 12.
About the Author
CYNTHIA SAX lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.
Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Please visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Cynthia Sax
Sinful Rewards 9
Sinful Rewards 8
Sinful Rewards 7
Sinful Rewards 6
Sinful Rewards 5
Sinful Rewards 4
Sinful Rewards 3
Sinful Rewards 2
Sinful Rewards 1
Breaking all the Rules
Flashes of Me
The Seen Trilogy
He Claims Me
He Touches Me
He Watches Me
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SINFUL REWARDS 10. Copyright © 2015 by Cynthia Sax. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition APRIL 2015 ISBN: 9780062354280
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062354297
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