Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

Hawk parked his bike at the curb and took off his helmet, his pale hair lashing across his face. He grinned as I walked up to him and climbed up behind him. His bike intimidated me.

He intimidated me.

Strong. Handsome. Rich. Successful. Why was he sticking around? I wanted to think I was getting good at sex, after all I’d had lots of practice with him—but hey, I wasn’t delusional. There had to be lots of other pretty girls out there to satisfy his needs.

And maybe he did have more girls, I thought for the millionth time as I put on the extra helmet and curled my arms around his waist, holding on to his hard stomach. Only the tabloids seemed baffled by the lack of gossip around him lately, and we met often enough it almost felt like we were dating.

An illusion. I knew that, okay? We just fucked. This sexy thing between us could end at any moment.

I tightened my hold, but soon enough we veered into a side street and stopped in front of a hotel. He always took me to hotels. Beautiful rooms, suites that had to cost a fortune, so I don’t think it was pay by the hour, but still.

I’d never seen his car. His house. His penthouse.

Though he’s a millionaire, and he’s always picked me up on his bike and we went to private boutique hotels where he proceeded to screw my brains out regularly.

Looked like that night was going to be the same, and I couldn’t deny the excitement rushing through me as he pushed the kickstand into place and waited for me to climb off his bike.

He looked at me as I straightened my jacket, a lazy smirk on his lips, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe.

He made me feel hot all over.

I followed him inside the hotel. The man at the desk placed a key in front of Hawk with a nod, and we headed to the elevators without a word.

He unlocked our room, stepped inside—and the moment I entered, he pushed me up against the wall and crushed our mouths together, kissing me silly.

He wasted no time pushing down my jeans and panties and wrapping my leg around his hip to fuck me with his fingers. Kissing me, stealing my breath as he twisted his fingers inside me expertly, stroking me hard until I came, moaning in his mouth.

Then he unzipped his pants, pulled out his rock-hard cock and fucked me right there, my head thumping against the wall, my body on fire as he threw me into another earth-shattering orgasm.

And then… then he pulled out of me and carried me to the bed where he started to undress. He shrugged off his leather jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, tearing it off his powerful shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time I saw his tattoos. For someone so loved by the tabloids, he managed never to get himself caught on camera bare-chested—although there is a photo of his muscular, naked back as he fucks a woman from more than a year back.

Lifting my hand to his chest, I touched his ink. Roses. Black roses twining over his stomach, over his pecs, thorns spreading on his side. Words, Latin probably, curling on his arms.

He pushed his pants down, and I was done for, because he’s beautiful down there, too—his muscular thighs covered in blond hairs, his narrow hips, and his large, flushed, pierced cock.

I’d touched his tattoos many times by then, I’d marveled at them but never found the courage to ask what they stood for.

But this time, long after he’d fucked me into a near-stupor, I did.

Sub rosa, he’d whispered in reply. Secrets hidden under the roses. Secrets I’ve never told anyone.

Never thought until now he kept his secrets from the men who are like his brothers, too. And that he told them to me.

Chapter Thirteen

Hawk

Storm is acting damn weird. He’s fucking pissed at something and keeps answering my questions about where we’re going and Raylin in monosyllables.

Well, fuck him. I’m way too fucked up to navigate around his PMS, so I just prop my head back against the backrest, tighten my hold around my girl and drift off.

And drop into blackness, a bottomless void. My weight vanishes, the pain vanishes, and I float like a feather on the surface of time.

Then, what feels like a second later, someone pats my shoulder.

Gently.