Sinful Rewards 9
Page 8
He’s been reconsidering whether or not he should take assignments. Hope unfurls within me. “Good.” I press my face into his big palms. “Because you’re more valuable out of the field.” I echo Dawg’s words.
Hawke skims his fingertips over my lips. “Out of the field,” he repeats, his caresses slowing, his expression pensive.
Shit. My military man knows I’d never use that phrase. I suck Hawke’s right thumb into my mouth and his body immediately stiffens.
He isn’t thinking about my careless comment now. I smile around him, tonguing the grooves in his skin, tasting salt and man. We’ll talk about assignments and danger and death tomorrow. Tonight, we’ll forget ourselves in our passion. I lick his thumb leisurely, thoroughly, as I yearn to lick his cock.
“Belinda.” Hawke’s eyes darken with arousal, the ridge in his jeans pressing against my stomach. “I need you now.” He backs me against the door, replacing his thumb with his lips, swallowing my response.
Trapped between firm muscle and hard wood, I open to him, welcoming him into me. His tongue fills my mouth. His heat and scent engulf me.
God, I want him.
I slide my hands up his chest, over his neck, linking my fingers behind his nape. He cups my ass, lifting me higher against the door. My mons connects with his denim-covered bulge, and we both groan.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my skirt hiking upward, and I undulate, caressing him with my entire form. This bliss alone was worth staying for.
Hawke strokes his tongue between my parted lips and pins my ass against the door with his hips, securing me. He’s strong and fierce and mine . . . for as long as his luck holds. I tug on his T-shirt, seeking bare flesh.
He rumbles words I can’t decipher, our mouths fused together, one, and he pulls the black cotton over his head, tosses it onto the hardwood floor. The neat freak in me cringes but I’m appeased by warmth, rippling muscle, black ink and silver scars decorating golden skin. Passion is messy, Hawke always tells me. He kneads my thighs, his grip tight enough to leave pink handprints on my legs.
I place my hands on his pecs. His heart beats under my palms. The tattooed wings stretching across his collarbone flutter near my fingertips. This contact isn’t enough. I yank on my strapless sundress, freeing my breasts, the dog tags bouncing against my curves. My taut nipples rub against his chest, and I squirm with delight, the sensation decadent, perfect.
“You’re priceless, love,” Hawke mouths down my neck, his stubble blazing a trail, branding me, a visual declaration of ownership. “Hot.” He twists his fingers in my panties, snapping the delicate lace, removing this barrier between us. “Wet.” He grinds into my moist pussy lips. “Mine.”
“I’m yours,” I agree, arching my back, trusting him to hold me, to catch me should I fall. Swiveling my hips, I coat his jeans with my scent, putting my mark on him, the primitive act pleasing my inner freak, the friction thrilling me.
We move together, fucking without penetration, teasing, taunting each other. He nips the swell of my left breast, licks the love bite, nips and licks, alternating pleasure and pain, the dual attack making me crazed. I pluck at his belt, yearning for him to fill my empty pussy, to strengthen the connection between us.
Hawke dips his fingers into his pocket, extracts a condom package, and hands it to me. “I knew we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.” His voice is a low rumble, deepened by desire.
He thought about taking me, anticipating this moment. I wiggle, his need compounding mine. Hawke jostles me as he pops his button fly, and I hold on to his shoulders, the condom package sandwiched between my palm and his muscle.
His jeans drop to his ankles, his cock brushes against my feminine folds, and I tremble, my arousal reaching a fever pitch. I hold out the condom package. He leans forward, grips it between his teeth, and rips it open, spitting the plastic onto the floor.
We’re creating a mess. I force myself to focus on him, to remove the condom. Hawke looks pointedly at the package and lifts his eyebrows.
“I can do this,” I proclaim with more cockiness than I feel. Before I rethink my actions, I flick the garbage over his shoulder, deliberately adding to the chaos.
He chuckles. “You can do anything.” Pride fills his voice. My rough, tough former marine believes I’m worthy, competent, priceless.
“I can do anything.” I tilt my chin upward, embracing this truth. Since I’ve met Hawke, I’ve handled situations, conquered experiences I never thought I could. I will overcome my fear of losing him, will figure out a solution to my mounting financial problems, will take the extreme actions I need to take to make everything right.
Boldened by this confidence, I roll the latex along his hard cock. My fingers linger over him as I savor his length and width. Hawke allows me to play for three heartbeats, standing still, his booted feet braced apart.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” His eyes blaze. “I can’t take any more teasing.” He brushes my fingers away from him.
I tremble with anticipation as Hawke positions himself at my entrance. Our gazes meet, hold, promise of passion reflecting in his eyes.
He thrusts deep, burying himself completely in my tight, hot pussy. I scream and claw at his arms with my fingernails, the fullness divine, the link between us solidifying. There’s no one like him, never has been and never will be, the rightness of our joining validating my decision, sealing my destiny. Hawke is my present and my future.
“Fuck, you feel like home,” he murmurs, putting into words what I can’t express. Hawke is the safe place I’ve never had. Our surroundings aren’t important, as long as he’s with me. He presses his stubble-covered cheek against my face, his hot breath wafting on my earlobe.
I wiggle. He sinks farther into me, and I moan, my pussy stuffed with hard cock. Hawke doesn’t allow me time to relish this contact. He pulls back slowly, sliding his tip along my inner walls, and I clench around his shaft, trying to keep him inside me.
He growls, the animalistic sound stimulating me. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He drives into me hard, smacking my ass against the door, punishing my wickedness.
“Yes.” I cling to his broad shoulders as Hawke retreats and attacks, retreats and attacks, his ardent assault stripping my restraint. Beads of sweat form on his forehead. The cords on his neck lift. His eyes gleam with an exciting wildness.
I push for more, digging my heels into his clenched ass as he rides me. We’re equals, he told me earlier today, partners, and I meet him halfway, lifting into his thrusts. My wetness speckles my thighs. His balls bounce against my skin. The wood at my back creaks, cheering us on, an inanimate audience of one.
I don’t need spectators, not tonight. My military man is enough for me. I splay my fingers over him, Hawke’s muscles moving under my palms. Tonight is enough. His chest slaps against my nipples, the sting driving my arousal higher. I’ll forgo forever for this, walk away from my dreams, from everything, losing myself in him completely.
Hawke surges forward, captures my bottom lip between his teeth, and pulls. I gasp, this tug causing my pussy to clench around him.
He releases my lip, his eyes gleaming with a very male satisfaction. “Who’s inside you, Belinda?”
“You,” I pant, emotion constricting my chest.
“Tell them my name.” Hawke drives into me with a mind-melting savagery.
Tell them? I shudder with erotic rapture. He knows how to feed my inner freak, is intimate with my deepest, darkest secrets. “Hawke,” I cry, throwing myself into the fantasy. “Hawke is inside me.”
“Other men can look, watch, want you.” He increases his rhythm, his thrusts fierce. “Only I can touch you.” His possessive words electrify me, sending currents of delight through my veins. “Only I can give you what you need.”
“Only you can,” I agree, banging my heels against him, urging him to fuck me faster, harder. “I want your cock in my pussy, your hands on my body.” I shake, dangling on the edge of satisfaction.
“Yes.” Hawke propels himself forward, taking me deep, his base kissing my pussy lips. “You’re my girl.” He rolls his hips, severing my hold on my sanity.
“Hawke,” I scream, squeezing my inner walls around his shaft, digging my fingertips into his shoulders, my world exploding with color and light. Passion is messy, all of me splintering into a thousand jagged pieces.
Hawke roars my name and pushes against me, the door groaning under the impact. He thrusts once, twice, maybe three times more. I’m not certain, as my mind is shattered, unable to grasp anything other than the pleasure coursing within me, the waves of euphoria cresting, then slowly leveling.
“Hawke?” I run my hands over his back, overwhelmed by my need to touch him, to reassure myself he’s here, safe, with me. My limbs are liquid. My brain is buzzed.
“Give me a moment, love.” My big, strong man leans against me, shuddering with the aftershocks of his release.
I stroke his scarred skin, thread my fingers through his short-cropped hair, petting him, seeking to soothe my tough former marine, to give him my strength as he grants me his. Hawke’s chest rises and falls against my breasts, the tempo reassuringly steady. He’s healthy, whole, mine.
I trace the barbed wired tattoo encircling his right bicep, a reminder that life is precious, that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. Hawke believes I’m strong like my mom, and like my mom, I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect the people I care about.
Even sacrifice my dreams.
Want to know what happens next for Bee, Nicolas, and Hawke?
SINFUL REWARDS 10 is available April 14.
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 and sign up for her release day newsletter at http://cynthiasax.com/.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Cynthia Sax
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
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at six brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from HarperCollins.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
WHEN GOOD EARLS GO BAD
A VICTORIAN VALENTINE’S DAY NOVELLA
By Megan Frampton
THE WEDDING BAND
A SAVE THE DATE NOVEL
By Cara Connelly
RIOT
By Jamie Shaw
ONLY IN MY DREAMS
RIBBON RIDGE BOOK ONE
By Darcy Burke
SINFUL REWARDS 1
A BILLIONAIRES AND BIKERS NOVELLA
By Cynthia Sax
TEMPT THE NIGHT
A TRUST NO ONE NOVEL
By Dixie Lee Brown
An Excerpt from
WHEN GOOD EARLS GO BAD
A Victorian Valentine’s Day Novella
by Megan Frampton
Megan Frampton’s Dukes Behaving Badly series continues, but this time it’s an earl who’s meeting his match in a delightfully fun and sexy novella!
“While it’s not precisely true that nobody is here, because I am, in fact, here, the truth is that there is no one here who can accommodate the request.”
The man standing in the main area of the Quality Employment Agency didn’t leave. She’d have to keep on, then.
“If I weren’t here, then it would be even more in question, since you wouldn’t know the answer to the question one way or the other, would you? So I am here, but I am not the proper person for what you need.”
The man fidgeted with the hat he held in his hand. But still did not take her hint. She would have to persevere.
“I suggest you leave the information, and we will endeavor to fill the position when there is someone here who is not me.” Annabelle gave a short nod of her head as she finished speaking, knowing she had been absolutely clear in what she’d said. If repetitive. So it was a surprise that the man to whom she was speaking was staring back at her, his mouth slightly opened, his eyes blinking behind his owlish spectacles. His hat now held very tightly in his hand.
Perhaps she should speak more slowly.
“We do not have a housekeeper for hire,” she said, pausing between each word. “I am the owner, not one of the employees for hire.”
Now the man’s mouth had closed, but it still seemed as though he did not understand.
“I do not understand,” he said, confirming her very suspicion. “This is an employment agency, and I have an employer who wishes to find an employee. And if I do not find a suitable person within . . .” and at this he withdrew a pocket watch from his waistcoat and frowned at it, as though it was its fault it was already past tea time, and goodness, wasn’t she hungry and had Caroline left any milk in the jug? Because if not, well, “twenty-four hours, my employer, the Earl of Selkirk, will be most displeased, and we will ensure your agency will no longer receive our patronage.”
That last part drew her attention away from the issue of the milk and whether or not there was any.
“The Earl of . . . ?” she said, feeling that flutter in her stomach that signaled there was nobility present or being mentioned—or she wished there were, at least. Rather like the milk, actually.
“Selkirk,” the man replied in a firm tone. He had no comment on the milk. And why would he? He didn’t even know it was a possibility that they didn’t have any, and if she did have to serve him tea, what would she say? Besides which, she had no clue to the man’s name; he had just come in and been all brusque and demanded a housekeeper when there was none.
“Selkirk,” Annabelle repeated, her mind rifling through all the nobles she’d ever heard mentioned.
“A Scottish earl,” the man said.
Annabelle beamed and clapped her hands. “Oh, Scottish! Small wonder I did not recognize the title, I’ve only ever been in London and once to the seaside when I was five years old, but I wouldn’t have known if that was Scotland, but I am fairly certain it was not because it would have been cold and it was quite warm in the water. Unless the weather was unseasonable, I can safely say I have never been to Scotland, nor do I know of any Scottish earls.”
An Excerpt from
THE WEDDING BAND
A Save the Date Novel
by Cara Connelly
In the latest Save the Date novel from Cara Connelly, journalist Christina Case crashes a celebrity wedding, and sparks fly when she comes face-to-face with A-list movie star Dakota Rain . . .
Dakota Rain took a good hard look in the bathroom mirror and inventoried the assets.
Piercing blue eyes? Check.
Sexy stubble? Check.
Sun-streaked blond hair? Check.
Movie-star smile?
Uh-oh.
In the doorway, his assistant rolled her eyes and hit speed dial. “Emily Fazzone here,” she said. “Mr. Rain needs to see Dr. Spade this morning. Another cap.” She listened a moment, then snorted a laugh. “You’re telling me. Might as well cap them all and be done with it.”
In the mirror Dakota gave her his hit man squint. “No extra caps.”
“Weenie,” she said, pocketin
g her phone. “You don’t have time today, anyway. Spade’s squeezing you in, as usual. Then you’re due at the studio at eleven for the voice-over. It’ll be tight, so step on it.”
Deliberately, Dakota turned to his reflection again. Tilted his head. Pulled at his cheeks like he was contemplating a shave.
Emily did another eye roll. Muttering something that might have been either “Get to work” or “What a jerk,” she disappeared into his closet, emerging a minute later with jeans, T-shirt, and boxer briefs. She stacked them on the granite vanity, then pulled out her phone again and scrolled through the calendar.
“You’ve got a twelve o’clock with Peter at his office about the Levi’s endorsement, then a one-thirty fitting for your tux. Mercer’s coming here at two-thirty to talk about security for the wedding . . .”
Dakota tuned her out. His schedule didn’t worry him. Emily would get him where he needed to be. If he ran a little late and a few people had to cool their heels, well, they were used to dealing with movie stars. Hell, they’d be disappointed if he behaved like regular folk.
Taking his sweet time, he shucked yesterday’s briefs and meandered naked to the shower without thinking twice. He knew Emily wouldn’t bat an eye. After ten years nursing him through injuries and illness, puking and pain, she’d seen all there was to see. Broad shoulders? Tight buns? She was immune.
And besides, she was gay.
Jacking the water temp to scalding, he stuck his head under the spray, wincing when it found the goose egg on the back of his skull. He measured it with his fingers, two inches around.
The same right hook that had chipped his tooth had bounced his head off a concrete wall.
Emily rapped on the glass. He rubbed a clear spot in the steam and gave her the hard eye for pestering him in the shower.