Sinful Rewards 11

by Cynthia Sax

  “Behave,” he rumbles, his voice dark and dominant.

  “Make me.” I defiantly wiggle, taunting him. A gentle encounter won’t dissipate the tension inside me. I need the forceful handling only he can give me.

  A coarse, calloused palm lands hard on my ass and I yelp, shocked, surprised, turned on. My pussy clenches around nothing. Heat radiates from the point of contact, warming me all over.

  I look over my left shoulder. He’s naked. Tanned skin pulls over rippling muscle, the surface decorated by black ink and silver scars. He’s erect. His cock juts proudly from a base of thick brown hair. And he’s smiling, the damn man’s lips hitched into that lopsided grin I can’t resist.

  “You’re a good girl,” Hawke says loudly, playing to our audience. “But even good girls act out.” He rubs the red mark he left on my skin, spreading the delightful pain over my body, and I moan, melting under his fingertips. He chuckles. “You like it rough.”

  I push my curves into his big hands, unable to deny his claim because I do like it rough . . . within limits. Whips and chains don’t turn me on. I prefer skin on skin, a sensual bruising, the occasional love bite, the ache of a body well used by a lover.

  By Hawke.

  He cups, squeezes, explores, peeling my ass cheeks apart, giving our spectators a clear view of my puckered hole. “If I wanted to take you here, you’d allow me.” His voice holds no doubt.

  He’s an arrogant man. I narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t take me there.” He knows how I feel about anal sex.

  “I wouldn’t,” Hawke confirms, releasing my curves, once more concealing that forbidden part of me. “But if I asked to fuck your ass, you’d say yes.”

  “I’d say ‘Hell no,’” I lie. He’s right. Unable to deny him anything, I’d say yes.

  Hawke laughs, his abs undulating, his cock bobbing. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart.” He palms my mons and I inhale sharply. “You’d agree because you trust me.” He increases the pressure on my clit and I see stars, the pleasure exquisite. “And because you love me.”

  Hawke pulls his hands away from my needy body and I press my lips together, stifling my howl of frustration. His blue eyes sparkle. He knows what he’s doing to me emotionally and physically, making me wait for my release, earn my sexual satisfaction.

  “Tilt your hips.” Hawke presses down on my lower back, forcing me to comply. “Show our audience how wet your pussy is, how much you need my big cock.”

  “Yes.” I lift my chin and arch my back, wantonly on display for the men in the room. “I need you inside me.”

  “I’ll take you soon.” Hawke strokes his big palms over the crown of my head, skims his fingers along the hair comb, pets the long strands of hair draped over my shoulders, down my back.

  I purr like a kitten, bliss washing over me in heavy waves. He follows the lines of my form, drifting his hands over my ass, thighs, calves, ankles, and then retraces his erotic trail, pausing at the juncture of my legs.

  “You’re dripping for me.” Hawke brushes his fingertips over my feminine folds and I quiver. “My fingers are drenched with your juices.” There’s wonder in his voice.

  I close my eyes, savoring his rough touch.

  “Look at me, Belinda,” he demands.

  I glance over my shoulder and meet his gaze. His irises are dark with desire, his skin flushed. He’s as excited as I am.

  “Watch me as I taste you.” Hawke raises his glistening fingers to his lips and slowly, leisurely licks his scarred skin, his tongue flicking around his knuckles, his eyelashes lowering, his expression euphoric. “You’re delicious.”

  “Hawke.” I need those lips on my skin, badly.

  “Other men can watch us.” He looms over my smaller form, large and broad and muscular. “But no one touches or tastes you.” The jagged edge of jealousy sharpens his warning. He’s referring to tonight, to my date with Nicolas. “This pussy is mine.” He covers me once more, rubbing his fingertips over my sensitive flesh, loving me as only he can.

  “I’m yours,” I readily agree, not wanting anyone else.

  “Good girl.” Hawke pushes a thick finger inside me and I whimper with joy, swaying into his hand, taking him deeper and deeper.

  “That’s it,” he murmurs his approval. “Fuck my finger, loosen that tight little pussy, because when I take you, I’m taking you hard, pounding into you with everything I have.”

  Oh God. I rock back and forth, shamelessly smacking against his hand. He knows how to arouse me. Hawke skims his fingertip along my inner walls and brushes his thumb against my clit, the combination setting off tremors within me.

  I can’t see our audience, the spotlight blinding me, but I know they’re watching me impale myself on his finger over and over, my pussy lips clinging to his tanned skin, not wanting to let him go.

  I need more. My gaze locks with Hawke’s and his eyes glow with understanding. He adds a second finger, stretching me wider, preparing my pussy for his girth, and I ravish his hand, controlling the movement, using him for my own satisfaction.

  Hawke is patient, allowing me to escalate my passions at my own pace. He stands still, an unmoving mountain of muscle and man by my side. I pant, grinding against his palm, my arms and legs trembling.

  “Close,” I huff, squeezing his fingers, teetering on the brink. “So—”

  “No.” Hawke pulls his fingers out of me, and I grit my teeth. “Don’t come until I give you permission.” He swats my ass again, the slap of hard palm against bare skin ringing in the silence.

  My unbending military man stalks to the table, gloriously naked, rips a condom package open, and rolls the latex over his rigid shaft. His barbed wire tattoo bends around his right bicep, his big form flexed, prepared for action.

  I squirm, anxious to have him inside me. Hawke glances at me and his lips twitch. “Wait for me, love,” he cautions. “This is for you.” He brushes his tip against my fingers.

  Needing both hands to brace myself, I can’t grasp his shaft. This fleeting touch serves as my confirmation that he’s wearing a condom. That, combined with my birth control pills, means there’s zero chance I’ll repeat history, conceiving a child while unmarried, unattached.

  I examine Hawke’s rugged countenance. Am I still unattached? I love him. He doesn’t love me, not yet, but he believes I’m worthy of a diamond-covered hair comb. That’s more than any other man has ever thought I warranted, more than my dad gave my mom.

  “I’d wait for you forever.” These words slip out of my mouth before I can dampen their fervor. Hawke’s eyes smolder, heated with sexual yearning, his reaction gratifyingly intense. “I’m your girl.”

  He sweeps a stray strand of hair away from my face, his knuckles skimming my cheek. “You’re my everything.” Hawke stares down at me, I stare up at him, neither of us hiding our emotions, our hearts and souls bared to each other. There’s lust and pride and something more in his expression.

  “Then take me, hard and fast.” My voice is husky. “Don’t hold anything back. Claim me as yours.”

  “You belong with me.” Hawke strides silently to the end of the bed, grasps my calves with his rough hands, and drags me backward until my ass hangs over the edge.

  Off balance, I sway, my knees warmed by friction, my chest tight with anticipation. I do belong with him today, always.

  “I’ll protect you,” he vows, nudging his tip against my entrance. “Never leave you.” Hawke holds my hips as he presses his cock forward, the fullness numbing my mind. “Always please you.” He thrusts, burying himself up to his base, and I cry out, a swell of bliss surging over me.

  Hawke doesn’t allow me any time to adjust to his size. He retreats and invades, retreats and invades, his tempo breathtakingly quick, an endless progressive house mix ratcheting my arousal higher and higher.

  I clutch the mattress as he rides me, madly, wildly, smacking his hips against my ass, plunging his cock into my pussy again and again. He’s driven by his demons, his concerns abou
t tonight, his fears that he can’t safeguard me from harm. I’m strong and I absorb all of this, panting with exhilaration, with glee.

  My rough, tough military man needs me, and I’m here for him, my wetness slicking his slides, my curves cushioning his muscle. The bed thumps across the stage, pushed by Hawke’s drives forward. Sweat trickles down my spine, seeping between my ass cheeks. The dog tags dangle between my breasts. My pussy pulses to his beat, constricting around his shaft.

  He won’t last long, his breathing growing harsh, his pace not maintainable, and that’s okay, because my body has been prepped and primed, my orgasm within my sight. I stare straight ahead, into the darkness. Men are watching us rut like primitive beasts, Hawke owning me with each savage stroke.

  Will they become as uninhibited? Unzip their pants and touch themselves to the same rhythm? In my fantasies, the men can’t help themselves, their gazes on us, on Hawke’s cock plunging into my pussy, his balls spanking my skin, his fingertips digging into my hips, securing me in place, not allowing me to escape.

  I strain to hear the slap of palms against shaft. Hawke’s grunts, my pants, the slapping of skin against skin, and thudding of wood against wood fills the room, muffling our quieter audience’s naughty behavior.

  The bed moves dangerously close to the edge of the stage. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. My pussy throbs with need, all of my control needed to stave off my release.

  “Hawke?” I promised to wait for him.

  He wraps one of his fists in my hair, and pinpricks of pain dance across my scalp, stripping my restraint strand by strand. “Come for me, love.” Hawke thrusts hard and I break, splintering into fragments of light and sound, a techno show without parallel.

  I scream his name and buck, trying to dislodge him, unable to. He’s my rock, my unmoving mountain, a symbol of constancy in an ever-changing, judgmental world. He drives into me once, twice, and collapses, flattening me to the mattress.

  The bed skitters forward and drops, a landslide of wood plunging off the shallow stage. The spotlight drops to the stage, plunging us into darkness. I shriek, holding on to the mattress. Hawke holds on to me, ensuring I don’t fall. The bed hits a pillar and we land, tilted downward in the blackness, our bodies joined.

  “Fuck,” my former marine mumbles into my hair. “Are you okay, love?” He pats me down, the sexiness of his perusal eclipsed by my terror.

  “Dark,” I squeak. Mice could be watching us in the blackness or, oh my God, clawing their way up the bedposts. I tuck my feet under me, freaking the hell out.

  “Hold on, sweetheart.”

  Hawke’s weight lifts from my back. His feet smack against the floor. Cloth rustles and curtains fall from the windows, the sun’s rays lighting the room, illuminating his naked physique.

  I glance around the floor. Relief sweeps over me. I don’t see any mice. My gaze drifts to the front of the room. I also don’t see any people. Every chair in the audience is empty. I raise my eyebrows.

  Hawke takes care of the condom. “I’d never allow a man to sit this close to your naked body.” He drags the bed back onto the stage, this display of brute strength impressing the hell out of me. “He’d want to touch you and then I’d have to kill him.” The mattress dips under his weight as he returns to me, drawing me into his arms. “You’re my girl.”

  “I’m a pervert,” I confess, my face heating.

  “You’re not as perverted as I am,” Hawke declares proudly. “You haven’t yet joined me on our balcony, greeting the morning with a smile and nothing else, letting the sun’s rays dance over your bare skin.”

  I glance up at him. He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief, no judgment in his expression. “You’ve yet to look through the telescope,” I counter.

  “The only woman I want to see is lying right here.” Hawke brushes his lips against mine. I open to him and he surges inside, our tongues twisting, twining, the kiss calm and unhurried, our passions sated.

  He threads his fingers through my hair, straightening the tangled tendrils and adjusting the comb. I trace the wings tattooed across his collarbone, caressing each finely etched feather, and I wonder why I need anything more than this, why I’d want to spend the evening apart from my military man.

  Pulling back from him, I break our kiss. “Will you be working tonight?” If he works, we won’t be together. There’s no reason for me to stay at home.

  “Yes, I’m working.” Hawke’s face darkens, the tension in the room rises, and I regret asking the question.

  Chapter Five

  WE DRESS SLOWLY. I help Hawke with his boots. He zips my dress. We leave the empty condo unit hand in hand, whispering like two naughty teenagers. There’s no one to catch us, the hallway and elevator empty.

  Hawke folds his arms around me as we watch the red digital numbers descend, our images reflecting in the mirrored walls. My military man’s big body, clad in his ugly black T-shirt and ragged blue jeans, frames my smaller form, making me appear fine and delicate. We’re vastly different, yet we fit, meshing together perfectly.

  “Mack will be arriving with Gisele soon.” I tap my toes against the tiled floor, excited, looking forward to seeing our cat, to having her join our makeshift family. “Was he able to buy everything on my list?”

  “Logistics sourced the items, and Mack picked them up an hour ago.” Hawke tightens his hold on me. “Gisele will have everything she needs.” He rubs his cheek against mine, his stubble teasing my skin. “Including a home and two people who love her.”

  I glance up at him. “You love her?”

  “She protected my girl from construction site rats.” He kisses my neck. “How could I not love her?”

  I frown, wishing he wouldn’t use that term so casually, acting as though love doesn’t mean anything, as though it doesn’t indicate a forever together. “Will you stay with me until she arrives?”

  “We’ll greet our new cat together,” Hawke assures me. The elevator doors open and we exit, our fingers linked together. “But after Gisele’s settled, I have to leave.” He brushes his shoulder against mine. “I’m personally supervising the venue’s preliminary security scan.”

  “Do you usually supervise that?” I slow my pace to a crawl, wishing to spend more time with him.

  “No.” Hawke matches my stride, his gait smooth and silent. “Normally, I assign the task to my team.”

  But he isn’t tonight. I don’t delude myself that this personal attention is because of me. “There will be a lot of media at the event.”

  Hawke’s lips flatten. “The media is the number one reason why our clients need security. If a hostile’s sole goal is to eliminate an individual, he’d avoid an event like this ball. He’d approach his target when she’s out of the spotlight and alone, minimizing casualties and the possibility of being apprehended.”

  I consider his words. “I don’t have to worry about that type of hostile.” No one would specifically target me. I’m not that important. “That’s why I was safe in the French restaurant.”

  “You were safer in the restaurant,” Hawke corrects. “You’re never completely safe.” He touches the barbed wire tattoo on his arm, a reminder of how random violence can be. “The media and an event like tonight’s ball attract a different type of hostile. They wish to make a statement. They do this by taking out their target and as many bystanders as possible, ensuring coverage of their cause.”

  This is the scary world he lives in. I shiver. “That doesn’t happen very often.” I would have seen reports on the Internet, on TV.

  “But it does happen.” My military man waves his passcard over our condo’s sensor. “You’ll obey my team tonight, Belinda.” He opens the door. “If they say move, you move.”

  “I’ll follow orders.” I step over the threshold. There’s a speck of gravel on my previously cleaned floor. I frown. That shouldn’t be there. I cleaned the condo before I left. No one has entered it since then.

  Or have they? I freeze, my b
ody temperature dropping. “Hawke?” I whisper.

  “Yes, love?” He moves forward and the door shuts behind him.

  I extend my arms, preventing my big man from passing me. “Back into the hallway and call your team.” I keep my voice soft and calm, suppressing the terror swirling inside me. “Someone entered our condo while we were gone.”

  “There’s no need to worry.” Hawke dismisses my concerns.

  I look over my right shoulder and lower my eyebrows, trying not to freak the hell out. “There is a need to worry. I’m serious. Someone was here.”

  “I know you’re serious.” His eyes glimmer. “And that pleases me.” He turns me around to face him. “You’re so damn perfect for me.” He surges toward me. Our chest and hips collide, and his lips cover mine.

  Our condo has been infiltrated and he’s kissing me. I’m stunned, unable to react for a heartbeat, and then I slap his chest, trying to beat some sense into my normally rational man. He reluctantly releases me.

  “You don’t understand.” My pitch rises. “Hostiles came into our home.”

  “They weren’t hostiles.” He sounds certain.

  But how could he be? “How do you know they weren’t hostiles?” I demand. Hawke’s lips part. “You don’t.” I glare at him. “You weren’t here. They—”

  He places his right index finger over my lips, stopping my flow of words. “I know.” His confidence eases some of my panic. “You’ll always be safe here. No one enters our condo unless we want him to. Every inch of our home is monitored.”

  “But someone did enter our condo.” I didn’t imagine the gravel on the floor.

  “Those someones were friendlies,” he explains.

  I gaze at him, confused. “But you’re Friendly.” He’s my mysterious texter.

  “Friendly is a military term for an ally, someone on your side.” Hawke brushes my hair away from my face, his touch gentle, careful, soothing. “A person who would never ever harm you.” He smiles. “The team was here, setting up Gisele’s things. They wanted to surprise you.”