Wreck: Hawke

by Heather C. Leigh

  Only… “I have no idea what I was going to say.”

  Hawke laughs, his lips pulling back to reveal two perfect rows of teeth. “Good to know. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what to say to you either.”

  “Oh my god. I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I admit, then immediately groan at my repeated foot-in-mouth behavior. I drop my head into my hands, my face blazing hot.

  “Hey.” Hawke’s warm, tattooed hand lands on my knee, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating back to his side of the car. Desire flares and I shiver from his touch, praying he didn’t feel my response before pulling away. How can I still feel this way?

  “What?” I ask warily.

  “We were friends once, right?” Hawke worries his lip ring between his teeth again, a sure sign he’s nervous.

  “We were,” I respond, my voice husky. I clear my throat, hoping to hide the lust with a cough.

  “I’m game for a do-over if you are.” His eyes dart to mine briefly before returning to the road.

  A hint of insecurity flashes across his beautiful face and everything that didn’t work between us—all the butting heads and snapping at each other—falls to the wayside. If he can put it behind him, surely I can too?

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  Hawke’s hand moves back across the center console, hesitant, hovering over my leg. Are his fingers trembling? I suck in a breath and hold it, waiting to see what he does next.

  “You have reached your destination.”

  Hawke jerks his hand back to his side to yank the keys out of the ignition. I blink, looking at our surroundings for the first time since we got in the car. We’re in a parking space in a rundown strip mall. In front of us is a red and green neon sign that proclaims Gino’s has the best pizza in all of northern New Jersey.

  Knowing how many first and second generation Italians live around here, I’d suspect Gino is being a tad optimistic.

  Hawke holds the door for me as we enter the restaurant. The shy smile he gives me has my heart aching to reach out to the sad, tortured man I remember. I forgot how fragile he really is underneath all those shields—the tattoos, the glasses, the piercings in his lip, tongue, ears, and eyebrow.

  I hope I’m not making a mistake by letting him in again. I can’t save him. I can’t fix him. I learned those lessons the hard way seven years ago.

  Only… I don’t have to let him in. We’re just friends. This time, I can keep my feelings out of it. My gaze flicks up in time to see Hawke give me a playful wink and my pulse skitters.

  No. I can’t keep my feelings out and I shouldn’t be friends with him. But without a doubt I know despite all that, I will do both, and when it comes back to bite me in the ass, the pain will be spectacular.

  * * *

  “Well, this fat lady is going to bed.” Kate stands up and stretches, her enormous belly protruding comically as she bends back. “Ugh! I can’t wait until she arrives.”

  I giggle at her frown. “Then you’re going to lose all of that precious sleep you love so much.”

  The guys laugh at my joke. By the time Hawke and I returned to the house, overloaded with bags of Italian food, Dax had lit the fire pit in the sprawling backyard. We sat outside and ate as we reminisced and the guys entertained everyone with stories from their last tour, including some scary ones about the stalker who’d been threatening the only bandmate missing from the fun tonight, Gavin Walker.

  Kate snorts. “I hardly sleep now as it is. There isn’t a single comfortable position when you’re as big as a beached whale.”

  “You’re gorgeous, angel. Don’t say such horrible things.” Dax caresses her belly with his big hand. “Besides, your loud snoring is like music to my ears every night.” A mischievous grin splits his face in two.

  “Wanker!” Kate playfully jabs her husband in the stomach with her elbow. “I’m off. See you tomorrow.”

  “Right. Me too. I’m knackered. Too much slaving away for my lovely wife.” Dax cracks his neck and follows Kate into the house. “Hey, make sure the fire is out before you go to bed,” he tosses out over his shoulder.

  “No worries,” Adam calls back.

  Hawke is in the middle of telling me about Gavin’s boyfriend, Mitch, when we both notice Adam twitching as he falls asleep, repeatedly jerking his drooping head back up.

  We exchange looks, grinning. Hawke lifts a foot and uses it to shove Adam’s knee. “Hey. You’re exhausted. Why don’t you go inside. I’ll kill the fire,” he offers.

  “Huh?” Adam blinks tiredly. “Right. Yeah. Good idea.” He stands and claps a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, then bends to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Be good.”

  I’m thankful for the dark night and the orange glow of the fire; otherwise, Hawke would see the prickly blush spreading up my neck over Adam’s warning. When Adam leaves, I glance over at Hawke. He’s scowling, his hands balled up into fists, glaring at Adam’s retreating form as he closes the glass door leading into the house.

  What happened? Is he mad at Adam?

  Confused, I curl up in my chair and replay the last few minutes. With my degree and my ability to read people’s emotions, I quickly pick out the reason for Hawke’s sudden hostility. Before he can catch it, I drop my eyes and hide my smile behind my hand.

  He’s jealous that Adam kissed me. On the cheek.

  While that makes me irrationally happy, I wonder if I can go there again with Hawke. We’re like oil and water at the best of times, codependent at the worst. Him being jealous means I’m not the only one with lingering feelings—feelings that will get us into trouble. But it’s been seven years; surely we’ve both matured enough to either remain friends or work out any problems between us like adults.

  When I glance back up, my eyes meet Hawke’s hungry stare, and any chance of staying “just friends” vanishes in an instant. Desire mixed with nervous excitement sizzles through my veins. The sparks crackling between us are almost as loud as the real ones crackling in the fire pit a few feet away.

  “Abby,” Hawke whispers, reaching out to grab my hand. With a sharp tug, he pulls me out of my chair and onto his lap to straddle his narrow hips.

  Calloused hands sift through my hair. He uses his fingertips to tilt my head to the side. My eyes flutter closed as Hawke brings me in to touch his lips to mine, and in that moment, I do what I did so many years ago. I let go, allowing myself the pleasure of his touch without the analytical overthinking my brain tends to do.

  He tastes so good, I part my mouth on a groan. Hawke takes advantage of the opening, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with a deep growl. His hands grip tighter in my hair. When the stud in his tongue brushes across the roof of my mouth, memories of long nights spent making out with Hawke, gaining intimate knowledge of exactly what that piercing can do, flood my mind and I know, I’m already right back where I was as if the last seven years apart never happened.

  I’m still in love with Hawke Evans, a man incapable of ever truly loving me back.

  Hawke

  Abby’s body is rigid under my hands, her muscles tense when my mouth first lands on hers. The familiar scent and taste of her flood my system, tearing a groan from deep in my chest. The assault of memories mixed with primal need has me diving deeper into her mouth with my tongue.

  She moans, and I sense the exact second Abby lets go and sinks into the kiss. Every curve, every dip of her body melts into mine, becoming soft and pliable. Taking advantage of the moment, I slide my hands around to her face and tilt her head further so I can deepen the kiss. Abby responds by running her tongue along mine and grinding her hips down in my lap.

  “Jesus, Abby,” I murmur against her wet lips. We stare at each other as my heart beats an erratic rhythm. Memories of hours spent kissing those same lips has me both excited to have her in my arms again, yet scared shitless of revisiting all the reasons we didn’t work out.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispers, sliding her hands around my back and under the
hem of my shirt.

  “God. You feel so good.” A ripple of pleasure shudders down my spine at her touch on my bare skin. I haven’t been touched like this since Abby, and I didn’t know how much I need it. I need her contact, her affection, her love. My fears vanish, replaced by the need to connect with someone, someone who knows me—the real me, not the one they see on TV or in magazines. Abby knows me. Better than most, and the thought is both terrifying and comforting at the same time.

  Our mouths crash together once more, tasting, exploring, remembering… Abby groans and shifts on my lap, and I tear my mouth away. The friction on my cock is nearly too much to bear, especially with the near painful restriction of my jeans.

  I’m so turned on, I’m gasping for air. “I need to put out the fire.”

  Abby leans back, practically panting as she shifts on top of me, dragging a low moan from my throat. Her eyes dart around and land on a large glass of water. She grabs the glass and tosses the liquid on the fire. The flames hiss and crack, and thankfully, die out almost immediately.

  Abby’s heels dig in behind my back and her arms wind around my neck. When she pushes down on my lap again, torturing my cock with a long, slow rub, I lose my mind. My mind is wiped of everything except the need to get inside her as soon as possible. I grip Abby’s ass and stand with her wrapped around my body. She gives me a wicked grin and I laugh. This is exactly what she wanted, to drive me crazy until I lost control.

  Playing with my insane need to claim her, pushing my limits—she always did know how to wrap me right around her little finger.

  Pushing away any negative thoughts of waking up tomorrow with regrets, I lower my mouth to hers and carry her inside the house while exchanging wet, sloppy kisses.

  When I lie her down on the guest bed, Abby whispers into the crook of my neck, her hot breath gusting over my skin. “Henry.” Hearing my name come from her lips sends intense tremors zapping through every nerve in my body. Abby is the only person in my life who ever uses my given name, and she only used to say it when we were making love.

  Is that what we’re doing? Making love?

  Before I can get wrapped up in my thoughts, Abby traces her short fingernails around either side of my face, sliding them up into my scalp. She digs them into the hair at my temples, scratching those tempting fingers down to the back of my head, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

  I lie on top of Abby, pushing her down to settle my body between her legs on the bed. “You smell so fucking good.” I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply, reveling in the familiar scent. “Like the beach. Always like the beach.”

  Her wicked hands skate down my back, where Abby grips the hem of my shirt. I sit back on my knees and strip the fabric off. “Now you.” I reach out, tugging the tight Sphere of Irony T-shirt she borrowed from Kate over her head.

  I suck in a breath, gently tracing the scalloped edge of her satiny bra. “Blue. My favorite color,” I murmur.

  Abby flicks her gaze up to meet mine. Her tongue darts out to wet her red, swollen lips. “I know.”

  My heart stutters, then restarts, pounding hard against my ribcage. Did she wear blue on purpose? Was she planning for me to see the lacy undergarments?

  “Henry, stop thinking and get down here.” Abby reaches up and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me back on top of her. She looks just as good as she did in college, tall, tan, toned… her wavy blonde hair still long and currently spread out like a halo on the dark pillowcase. A deep rosy color stains her high cheekbones and the soft curve of her throat.

  “Gorgeous,” I moan, touching every available inch of exposed skin. When I lick a path down to her collarbone, her back arches up off the bed.

  Beneath my mouth, I feel Abby’s pulse pick up speed as I nip along her neck to her ear. Remembering a sensitive spot of hers, I plunge my tongue in her ear and she goes wild.

  “Get undressed,” she demands, her breath fast and shallow as her hands attempt to work my belt loose from between us. I slide off the bed and watch Abby strip. She removes her skintight pants, tossing them to the floor.

  When she sheds her remaining clothes, I’m so desperate for friction, I palm my hard cock through my jeans. “Fuck.”

  “Now you.” Her voice is husky, laced with desire, her pupils so wide the blue of her eyes is barely visible. She sounds as if she spent the night screaming herself hoarse, something I hope I can say is true by tomorrow.

  Abby’s eyes lock onto my hands as I undress. First, I remove my glasses, still able to see clearly since they aren’t a prescription but a part of my armor. I rub my palms down my naked chest and abs, fingering the waistband of my pants as she watches, entranced.

  “Hurry. I need you.”

  I clench my jaw and mutter a string of curses, but somehow manage to stay in control. Slowly, I pull my belt out of the loops and let the strip of leather and metal buckle clatter to the floor. I flip open the button on my jeans and lower the zipper. The sound of each tooth releasing is magnified, seemingly as loud as my heavy breathing.

  “You have new tattoos.” Abby’s hand glides down her body, stopping between her thighs. She moans and pushes a finger into her slick channel, then pulls it out to draw damp circles on her clit.

  “Holy fuck.” My mouth falls open and my own hand finds my rock-hard dick, wrapping around it to begin fisting the length.

  Abby pushes two fingers in and groans, writhing on the bed wantonly. That, and the fact that my balls are already tightening, pleasure quickly growing to a crescendo, snaps me out of my daze. I let go of my dick and grab a condom from my wallet, quickly rolling it on, praying I don’t shoot in my own hand before I even get inside Abby’s tight heat.

  I climb back on the bed, positioning my cock at her entrance. Our eyes lock as I sink in, and mine nearly roll back in my head at the feel of her body gripping mine.

  “Jesus Christ, Bee.” The pet name I used to call her slips out of my mouth without thinking. My brain has officially detached from my mouth. Impatient, Abby raises her hips, forcing my entire length all the way in. “Ohmygod… holy…” I drop my head into the crook of her neck and squeeze my eyes shut.

  Don’t come, don’t come.

  “Henry, please. Move.” Abby’s hands run up and down my back, settling on my ass, where she digs her fingernails into the hard muscles.

  Still struggling to keep my orgasm under control, I find her lips and devour her sweet mouth to keep her from saying anything else. I can’t take it. It’s too much. If she continues begging, I’ll fucking explode before this begins.

  Abby releases my ass, bringing her legs around my waist. Without breaking our kiss, I grab her hands and shove them over her head, pinning them to the mattress. She moans, encouraging me to take her faster, harder, but I can’t. Not tonight. It’s been too long since I’ve been with her. If I don’t keep this slow, I’ll lose control. And losing control with Abby isn’t something I’m willing to risk.

  Instead, I begin to fuck her with long, slow thrusts. My hips move evenly, slamming in hard, our skin slapping together, then pulling nearly all the way out before doing it again. Quickly, much too quickly, I feel my release building again. My entire body is on fire, hot licks of flame engulfing every inch of my skin. I move faster, and Abby writhes and moans with each hard jab of my cock as I drive us toward climax.

  When Abby stiffens beneath me and her hands tighten around mine, I rotate my hips, grinding my pelvis down. Abby screams, and I swallow the sound with my lips. The viselike grip of her body spasms around my cock, and I plummet over the edge. My thoughts shatter to pieces and my breath hitches as I thrust in one final time, emptying all of my pleasure, all of my emotion, every bit of my remaining soul into the condom.

  Sweaty and dragging in deep lungfuls of air, I collapse on top of Abby, knowing she won’t mind. If anything, staying close to her will prolong her pleasure.

  After a few minutes, my muscles begin to complain and the scorching heat between us becomes unbearabl
e. I roll over, pulling off the condom to ball it up in a tissue from the nightstand.

  Silence pervades the dark room, neither of us having anything to say. And what would we say? That was one of the top three fucks of my life. The other two also belong to Abby. We can work out everything in the morning. For now, I’m content to let my mind rest, and drift away into a deep sleep.

  Fuck!

  I wake up in a pool of sweat, my pulse racing, my heart working so hard it’s painful. Sitting up, I grab the sides of my head and run my fingers through my damp hair.

  Fucking nightmares!

  It’s difficult to expand and contract my lungs as I try to calm my breathing before I hyperventilate. Gulping down air, I roll out of bed in a panic, scrambling to find my clothes in the dark. Lightheaded and on the verge of flat-out losing my shit, I pull on my jeans and shirt and stuff my feet into my shoes. As quietly as possible, which seems fucking loud as hell in the silent room, I slide open the closet door and grope around until my fingers find my duffel bag.

  When I open the bedroom door, a shaft of light from the hall casts a faint glow across Abby’s sleeping form.

  She’ll fucking hate me when she wakes up, but I can’t stay here. I can’t think. All I know is I have to get away. The pictures in my head are suffocating, slithering around my neck and pulling tight like a noose.

  I allow myself one last mournful glance at her beautiful face and what we could have had before I close the door and leave.

  7

  Abby

  Three months later

  I can see Dax’s head above the sea of photographers as the pack makes their way through baggage claim at LAX. Actually, it’s the forceful way he’s speaking that first gets my attention in the crowded airport.

  “Move! Now. Or I’ll pound you into the ground.”

  The paparazzi buzz loudly, eager to snap photos and film Dax’s red, scowling face. I bounce on my toes, hoping to catch a glimpse of my best friend somewhere in the mass. The chaos makes my stomach cramp with nerves for her and the baby.