Consuming me.
Owning me.
I blamed those sensations on why my hand slid down the flat plane of my stomach and dipped between my thighs.
Why I touched myself to the thought of eyes like thunderclouds.
Why I heard nothing but my own breathy moans before a new voice spoke, deep and rumbling.
“If you were so needy, Jasmine,” Hawk growled, “you should’ve come to me like I told you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten, hoping my imagination had taken a dive into hallucination territory. But when I opened them again, I could sense him there without even turning around.
Just like that, I knew I was screwed.
And damn to hell the part of my brain that supplied, Maybe in a good way for a change.
Chapter Four
Jasmine
I turned the shower off, yanked my towel from the hanger, and tied it around me in one smooth motion before facing him.
Thank God for the partitions between the shower stalls. I hadn't mooned him completely, but you’d never know it by the heat swimming in those gray eyes as they slid over my face, across my bare shoulders, and down to the tops of my breasts hidden beneath the towel.
I pulled in a steadying breath while he observed me, doing my best to ignore the unfavorable position I'd found myself in. It would be hard enough to feel comfortable around Hawk Mason with a fortified door between us and my own personal army waiting on the other side of it.
So, safe to say the flimsy piece of cotton wasn't doing the trick.
“I think you're lost,” I told him, voice even as I could make it. “This is the women's shower.”
He took a step closer, then another, and another, until he could lean against the barrier between us, ink-stained hands draped over each side.
“I'm never lost,” he said. “Sometimes, it just takes me longer to reach my destination.”
“Said every man on a road trip ever. What is with y'all and refusing to follow instructions that are right there on the map?”
His cheek twitched. “I could ask you the same thing, Jazzy. I didn't give you a difficult task. All you had to do was show your face. Instead, you stood me up.”
“That’s rich.” I folded my arms. “Especially seeing as how I didn't agree to meet you anywhere, Hawk. Besides, you don't get to give me orders.”
“Is that so?” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous purr. “You never had a problem before.”
He pushed the partition aside and closed in on me. I retreated into the farthest corner of the shower, but there was nowhere to go. My back hit the cool tile. My hand came up, landing on the solid warmth of his chest as if I had a chance in hell of stopping his advance.
I'd have more luck stopping the sun from shining.
I knew it.
He knew it.
The heat coiling low in my belly knew it, no matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise.
His hands bracketed me on either side, making sure I had nowhere else to go. He shifted his head slightly from side to side like a snake trying to catch my eyes before striking. I had no defenses against this man, but I refused to give him that. My stare stayed locked on the hollow of his throat even while I drowned in the sensation of him being this close.
Three long years without his touch.
Without his husky laughter in my ear the rare times I pulled it from him.
Without the security I'd somehow found wrapped in the arms of the city's most dangerous man.
“Wasn't that long ago,” he drawled, “you'd be ready to drop to your knees for me if I said one, little word.”
His smirk told me what was coming, and my legs trembled. My fingers flexed on his chest and I swallowed the lump in my throat while slickness coated my thighs.
Damn him for having this hold over me.
Damn me for ruining what we'd had.
“Hawk...” My tone didn't make sense to my own ears. Was I warning him? Begging him? Lord knows which, and if He ever decided to speak to humanity again, I was fairly certain it wouldn't be to inform me which direction the man before me was pulling my twisted heart in.
That same man dipped his head, nose trailing over the water running down my neck.
“Is that what you want?” he asked, breath floating over my skin in a warm kiss. “Should I put you on your knees here and now and show you what you've been missing.”
“I—”
He gripped the back of my neck without warning, bringing our faces closer together. I had no choice but to look into stormy, gray eyes because closing mine wasn't an option. Whatever he had planned, I’d face it with my eyes wide open. Even if it was my certain, inevitable doom.
“Because I can tell you what I missed.” He let go of my neck, and I didn't move away when I knew I should have. His thumb lightly traced my bottom lip, giving it a tug. “I missed soft lips wrapped around my dick. I missed fistfuls of silky hair. I missed spread thighs and a warm, inviting cunt.”
I gasped, desperately sucking in air to recover from the cataclysm that was his words soaking into me.
Hawk pressed his hips closer, and I felt the hard outline of him through his jeans.
It'd be so easy to unzip him and take his thick length in my mouth or lift my towel and let him fill the void he'd left behind.
Then something about his words penetrated the fog of my brain. I played them back again, mood souring, chest burning as it sank in. All those things he so desperately missed...he could get from any woman with a beating pulse.
He hadn't said a damn thing about missing me. Just my body. Just my easy obedience. And I knew better than to think he'd stick around if those cards weren't on the table.
Worse? For a fractured moment, I wanted to give him all of it still.
A vein throbbed in my neck. Using both hands, I shoved as hard as I could at his chest. He barely moved, lifting his brows in question, and it pissed me off more.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Hawk.”
I shoved him again. And again.
It was stupid. It was the equivalent of putting your head in a gator's mouth and hoping it wouldn't bite down. But logic had left the building right around the time the structural supports around my heart groaned their protest. I needed distance, and I needed to hurt him like he was hurting me. Not necessarily in that order.
He grunted something under his breath but backed out of the shower, giving me room to walk around him and into the locker room.
I wasn't surprised that he followed me. I was surprised by the impulsive decision I made to let my towel fall to the floor as I rifled through my locker for my clothes.
Hawk hissed through his teeth and I hid my vicious smile beneath the camisole I pulled over my head. I'd never been any guy's ideal woman—too tall, too thin, too...me—and that wasn't likely to change. He'd forget this soon enough. But right then? As I shimmied into a pair of panties before pulling my sweatpants up my legs?
I felt like a fucking goddess.
That's right, asshole. Take a good, long look. You'll never get another one.
Once I was dressed—a baggy hoodie covering the rest of me—I slipped on some sandals, grabbed a baseball hat, and pulled it over my damp hair before facing him. I blamed the lingering lust in his eyes on my earlier nakedness. No one knew better than me how tomboy-ish I looked in my athletic wear.
But the two of us no longer existed inside that rift in space and time where I'd been the woman who warmed his bed most nights before sneaking out early in the morning. I no longer needed to doll myself up with make-up and heels and dresses that let me pretend I belonged somewhere in the stratosphere of Hawk Mason.
The fairy tale had ended three years ago, and it was my fault that I'd gotten my heart confused on that front. It was my fault that he'd gone to jail. But it wasn't my fault that he never responded to the apology letters I'd sent for nearly two years straight.
So, he hated me. Fantastic.
I didn’t believe in obs
essing over outcomes I couldn’t change.
I'd either survive or I wouldn't. And if I didn't, I'd at least know I'd faced my own demise as no one other than myself. That meant not letting him use my body as entertainment when he was out to destroy me.
I lifted my chin and put steel in my voice, staring him down as if it were really so easy to make my heart forget him. “I know why you hate me.”
Something passed over his face that I didn't bother analyzing.
“I'm not even surprised that you do,” I continued. “But do you want to know what I learned after three years of worrying what would happen when you got released?” My shoulders lifted and fell in a casual shrug when I felt anything but casual. “Life goes on. It doesn't give a shit about our worries and fears. The sun keeps on rising and you have to either deal with it or give up. Do whatever you need to do, but make a decision. I'm not playing this game with you.”
He glared. “And if I say otherwise?”
“Then you know where to find me. For now, I've got things to do.”
“We're not done—”
I walked away without bothering to listen. When he didn't chase me down and throw me against a wall, a mixture of victory and defeat washed through me. The first from being proud of myself for standing my ground. The second because I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that winning the battle didn't mean winning the war.
He'd turned my world upside down once before. And that was when he'd liked me, or at least liked to fuck me.
I had no doubt he could do the same thing again if he chose to. But this time, it'd be a miracle if he didn't smash everything to pieces on his way out.
Chapter Five
Hawk
I followed her.
How could I fucking not?
The brief glimpse I'd gotten when she dropped her towel was burned into my retinas. Didn't she know I'd been stuck in the middle of a goddamn sausage fest for the last three years? Being close to her in the precinct, and again in the shower, had been bad enough.
But bare? Miles of tanned, firm legs, supple hips, and that damn toned stomach combined with the sight of her small, perky breasts? I'd gotten so hard so fast it was a wonder I didn't pass out and hit my head against a locker. That would've been a tale for the people I was supposed to be meeting while I discreetly followed her around the grocery store instead.
Followed.
Stalked.
The line between the two was so thin.
It was cute how she turned around every now and again, letting those piercing eyes swing this way and that. She knew something was off. That I wouldn't be dissuaded by her admittedly impressive speech. But there was a very key difference between myself and Jasmine Gates that had nothing to do with the anatomy between our legs.
She was good.
I wouldn't call her innocent. I couldn't after that mind-blowing, earth-shaking month I'd spent lost in the comfort she provided. A comfort that turned into a distraction that became a vice I remained unable to shake. Except I was getting ahead of myself.
I'd known innocent women once. Before the ink and the blood and the life.
They didn't wear sinfully short dresses and own even bolder lingerie.
They didn't know how to sneak out of a man's bed without making a sound.
They didn't do things to and for said man that made him believe there might really be a God to have made someone so perfect.
No, Jasmine wasn't innocent. Neither was she a hardened criminal. Which meant that try as she might, she couldn't locate me in the crowd. Meanwhile, I had no problem finding her again and again.
Her ass was like a homing beacon for my eyes. I'd never given much thought to women in sweatpants. Never even considered that the Jasmine I thought I knew owned a pair. Then again, I was questioning how much I knew her at all after that display on the basketball court.
She'd fucking killed it, and I wasn't just saying that because I was borderline obsessed with her. Alright, there was a fair chance I was completely obsessed when you took the stalking into account. Still, that'd been genuine talent on display. The other girls on the court may as well have been standing still compared to her.
As I watched her shoot the shit with the butcher behind the counter, I wondered why she'd never done more with it. Jasmine didn't play like a weekend warrior. She played like someone who could've gone into the sport competitively.
Why the police force instead?
A loud bark of laughter interrupted my consideration.
“Sure that's all the meat you need today, girlie?” the butcher was saying. He clapped a hand over his belly like he was the funniest dude in the land. Fat ass homeless Santa looking motherfucker. “We've got plenty to choose from, promise you that.”
My pulse throbbed behind my eyelids. Was it too early in the morning to plan someone's murder? Surely, no one would miss him.
“No thanks, Ace.” Jasmine smiled and I wanted to kill the butcher, resurrect him, and then kill him all over again. Possibly with knives the second time around. Bullets were always too quick.
Why did he get to see her smile when I didn’t?
Because you’re pissed at her, remember? Stop thinking with your dick for a minute. She betrayed you.
His eyes traveled up and down her body. “Well, you know where to come if you find yourself in need of some nice, hearty meat!”
I hadn’t planned on making him a headstone, but now I’d have to. Just to include that he’d died because he couldn’t stop talking about his fucking meat.
Stay out of it.
He's harmless.
You're supposed to be doing a hundred other things.
“She's got everything she needs,” I said, coming to a stop beside her.
I thought Jasmine said something that sounded like, “I knew it,” but I was busy painting a vivid picture of all the ways I'd kill this man and letting it translate through my glare. It must’ve come through, a living, full-page tabloid of hate and violence, because he paled and shrunk away to grab the items she’d asked for.
It didn’t help my anger in the least. There’d been a time where most of this city knew me if not by name then by reputation. Jasmine had been the odd one out in that regard, but not anymore. Funny how things changed after a few years.
“What’s your problem?” my unwanted addiction muttered.
I couldn’t help the glare I was holding onto as I focused on her. “Why are you entertaining this waste of oxygen?”
She blinked. Looked around. Blinked again.
She didn’t say anything.
“What?” I growled.
“I was looking for the supervillain that’s mind-controlling you,” she said with a straight face. “I understand you’ve been away for a while, but you’ve got no chill whatsoever and it’s kind of a turn-off.”
Stepping closer, I loomed over her. My brow raised. “Only kind of?”
Jasmine lifted a hand, tilting it back and forth. “There’s something to be said for a guy doing the possessive, angry thing, and it mostly comes off as fucking creepy. As I’ve said before, you’re hot, so a lot of women probably let you get away with it.” She pointed at herself. “I’m not one of them. If you want to talk, normally, we can talk. Otherwise, you can ditch the attitude and get the fuck out of my face. Again.”
The butcher returned, passing a plastic-wrapped package across the counter toward her. My mind was busy processing her blatant disregard for the threat I posed, but I couldn’t miss the mauled slice of meat she tucked beneath her arm.
Ignoring her earlier comment completely, I reached out and took it from her. “I don’t fucking think so,” I said, tossing the offending product back over the counter. The butcher fumbled with it in the air for a moment, but he’d already lost my focus.
Jasmine was pinching the bridge of her nose. One of those damn twitches in my cheek struck again. I knew that look. She only gave it to me when I was being absolutely insufferable. In the past, I would’ve used it as a great opp
ortunity to pull her into my arms, tear her clothes off, and make her scream until she forgot why she was upset with me.
Attempting that in a grocery store with a woman who had already stabbed me in the back once seemed like a great way to end up back in prison.
“What now?” she asked, arms flailing. “Are you going to tell me I need your permission to eat, too? Because if so, I’m going to find the biggest pair of boots I own and shove them so far up your ass you’ll be tasting leather for the rest—”
“Truce.”
Her mouth snapped closed. Hazel eyes narrowed. Pink lips thinned as she considered what I’d said.
“At least until you get some real food in you,” I continued. “Not whatever that fucking roadkill was he just tried to hand you.”
“Steak.” She mouthed the words slowly. “S-t-e-a-k. That’s what it was.”
“The marbling was shit.”
“Who cares about marbling?”
“You should. It says everything about the quality of the meat.”
Jasmine swallowed the beginning of a low screech. “Are you seriously about to go full food snob on me? I. Don’t Care. Steak is steak, and some of us don’t have bank accounts full of blood money to pull from.”
“Not my fault you went into the wrong line of work.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re impossible,” she said before turning on her heel and walking away.
“What about the truce?” I asked, catching up with her in a few quick strides.
Did she really think walking away was going to change something? It would take some industrial-grade concoction for her to peel me away at this point.
She peered up at me. “Is a fancy steak part of the deal?”
“If that’s what it’ll take to keep you from putting that garbage in your body.”
“At this point, I’d be fine with a food truck.”
My nose curled at the mere mention and she almost smiled before she caught herself. Watching her smooth her expression did something to my chest I couldn’t explain. Seeing the glint in her eyes as she glanced at me again told me I wasn’t about to like whatever idea had occurred to her.
Kingpin's Promise Page 3