Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)
“Layla?” he rasps, lifting his head, gazing at me. His eyes are heavy-lidded. He looks drowsy.
Better get in there with him.
So ignoring the way my blood heats up at his steady gaze, at the glimpse of his strong, tall body laid out in all its bare glory in the clear water, I step away from the door and walk toward the tub.
As sacrifices go, it’s okay. This isn’t a hardship, not by any stretch, and yet… And yet my heart will let me know the price later.
***
He’s watching me. He doesn’t move a muscle, but his eyes glimmer under his pale lashes as I step into the warm water. I’m going slowly, slightly light-headed and afraid to slip, and his gaze glides over my curves like a hot caress.
I shiver, like every time when he’s around, my body responding to his without conscious thought—my breasts aching for his touch, a throb starting between my legs as I ease myself into the water.
That’s normal, I remind myself. It’s been like this from the start. It has nothing to do with any newly discovered, unreciprocated feelings. Feelings I need to get rid of.
I mean, he’s beautiful. His strong-jawed face with the high cheekbones and the pale beard, the blue-gray eyes, the blond hair trailing in the water.
He’s powerfully built, his smooth, inked chest a work of art, all sculpted muscles, with a six-pack to die for. His biceps bulge where he rests his arms on the rim of the tub, his long-fingered hands lax. My gaze returns to his chest and dip low to his flat stomach, and the pale trail that dips under the water to his cock.
It fills out as I watch, the piercings on the crown glinting through the clear water. My mouth goes dry.
Sex is fine. Sex was fine until recently. Strings-free, awesome, toe-curling sex with this rich, handsome man, a guy normally unavailable to normal, middle-class college girls like me. I should be flattered he even slept with me.
I was. I am.
Never mind. This isn’t helping. Just put some distance between you. Guard your heart.
“Come here,” he says, his voice a low rumble sending goosebumps over my skin, and I move toward him as if pulled by a string.
I dunk my head underwater, surface again and slide against his side. His lips tilt up in a smirk, that hot gaze fixed on me, moving from my face down to my boobs and back up, lingering on my mouth.
“Gorgeous,” he breathes, and he reaches for me, slipping his hand over my hip, around the small of my back. Pulling me to him. His cock is now hard and thick, flushed dark, the silver piercings winking at me. The sight sends bolts of heat to my core.
“I’m supposed to help you clean up,” I whisper, not even sure why I’m resisting, trailing my fingertips over his tattoos. “And dinner is on its way.”
Why am I resisting? Don’t I know by now it’s a lost battle?
I want him inside me. Right now.
“Then clean me up,” he says, and I blink at him, his words taking their sweet time to sink in. One side of his mouth tilts up in a grin, and the sight of fresh blood welling on his split lip jerks me from my trance.
His hand is still on my back, over the curve of my ass, a burning hot presence that keeps my whole body aware of him, aroused and taut. My nipples are so hard they ache, and my pussy is clenching on nothing, but I force myself to turn and grab the soap and sponge set on the edge of the pool.
“You look too smug,” and truth be told, too aroused, “for someone who could barely stand upright ten minutes ago.”
“I’m not standing,” he points out, still smug as heck.
“Some parts of you are.”
“My dick missed you.” He grins widely now, leaning his head back on the tiles. “It says hi.”
“Hi,” I breathe, my mouth watering with the desire to lick him, close my lips around his girth, my hand around the base, and stroke him until he comes. I want to hear him moan and curse and cry out.
I want him so much. In more ways than he wants me.
And that’s all the reminder I need to focus on the task at hand. I mean, his dick missed me. And although that’s hot, so hot my insides clench with need, he’s obviously keeping his dick separate from the rest of him.
He didn’t miss me.