Sweet Ache

Chapter 15

QUINLAN

The walk to my front door feels like a mile, but at least we’re both sobering up some. Anticipation of what’s going to come next assaults us with every step forward. My nerves hum, my core burns with that sweet, delicious ache, and I tell myself to expect nothing more than the moment. I laugh softly knowing no matter what I tell myself I’m already too attached to Hawkin and nothing has really happened yet.

I fumble with the key in the lock, the expectation adding to the heady moment, until Hawke steps up behind me, my back to his front. He pulls my hair off my neck with one hand, fingertip tracing over my inked motto, and places a kiss on the curve of my shoulder that is so unexpected it heightens the fluttering sensations in my belly. Nerves and expectation ruin my dexterity so he reaches out and places his hand over mine so that we both unlock the front door together.

And I’m so far from the flowery, Hallmark moment girl, but there is something that touches me with the action, and I can only hope he’s unlocking more than just the front door and maybe opening up the possibility of letting me in.

When the door swings open and he follows me in, the silence stretches so tautly it only enhances the desire as we make our way through my darkened house straight to my bedroom. I don’t think to ask if he wants another drink, a bottle of water—it never crosses my mind—because I’m driven by pure need at this point. Besides, we’ve had enough foreplay tonight that without even asking him, I know neither one of us wants to wait any longer.

So I step into my bedroom with confidence and when Hawkin’s hands immediately find my waist and pull me back into the muscled heat of his chest, I close my eyes and allow myself to memorize the feel of his embrace before he renders my body senseless and my thoughts incoherent. He’s already hard for me and I’m so turned on by the fact that I haven’t said a word to him, I haven’t shed my clothes, and yet he’s ready.

His hands begin to move over my torso. They snake under my tank top, and I gasp in a breath at the feeling of skin on skin, at the sensation of rough to smooth that tells me this is real, this is about to happen. He smooths his hands up my rib cage so that my tank pulls up with them, and he cups my breasts as he goes. We both moan in unison as his fingers brush over my nipples. I gasp out as sensation swamps me, my head rolling back onto his shoulder behind me as I surrender my body to his hands, my emotions to his manipulations, and absorb the pleasure he’s giving me.

He rubs my nipples between his fingers and thumbs through the lace of my bra before continuing to slide my tank up to my shoulders. He gestures for me to lean my head forward and he lifts my tank over my head but lowers it over my arms, stopping it so that they are held in place.

Chills race over my body; the ache he’s building inside me intensifies with each touch feeling like a pleasurable pain. My sex throbs with each beat of my pulse and my muscles tense to prevent myself from twisting around, ripping the tank top off and jumping him. God yes I want him with every fiber of my being, but there’s something innately arousing about turning yourself over to someone. Trusting someone with your body, your sexual pleasure, openly handing them your vulnerability—it’s all a very intoxicating feeling.

Add to that the lack of any words between us. Our only communication is the dance of his fingers over my sensitized flesh. Hands urging in silent command, minds running wild.

He draws in a ragged breath from behind me and I love the thought that he’s just as affected. Hawke’s hands begin to move back down my body now, sliding between my breasts where he unclasps my bra before moving to my back and down the length of my spine to unzip my skirt. It falls to the floor and pools around my feet so that I’m wearing nothing but a fuchsia lace thong with nude heels and a tank top holding my arms motionless.

My skin is hot, the air is cool, and his breath feathers over my neck in a whisper of a touch. My thoughts forget the notion of the casual sex I told myself I could have with him because I already know that there is no turning back now as he runs his palms back to my abdomen so that his fingers dip beneath the band of my panties. He lowers them to the top of my cleft, parting me slightly so that his fingertips graze the top of my clit, causing my pelvis to buck into his hand as I beg for more.

The chuckle he gives me in reaction spurs me on, tells me he likes a woman to react, and good thing because I’m not one to take my passion quietly. Then his lips press lightly to the curve of my shoulder in an unexpected action that feels surprisingly intimate and coaxes a soft moan from my lips.

The heat of his body against my back disappears as he takes a step away but his hands command me to stay still when I try to turn toward him. His calloused fingertips begin to trace over my body: up my rib cage, skimming the underside of my breasts before heading up the midline of my chest, and then tracing the line of my collarbone out to my shoulders.

There’s something about the way that he’s touching me, almost as if he’s learning the lines of my body like he would an instrument. It’s intimate, sensual, and languorous, like he wants to take the time getting to know me before he claims me. It’s surprisingly erotic and not what I’ve ever experienced in a first-time encounter with someone who hasn’t already professed his love for me.

I push the thought from my head, ignore the questions his actions evoke: Is he always like this? Is he like this because he wants more? Parts of my psyche hold on to the hope that I know I’ll need after tonight is over and decide to focus on the fact that he needs to fuck me soon. My body’s on fire and so attuned to his touch that when he finally does I’m going to come in a matter of seconds.

The scrape of strong fingers up the curves of my shoulders, featherlight touches up the base of my neck and into my hair, quiet my thoughts, tell me to shut it down and enjoy the moment. My head falls forward and I moan in ecstasy as he kneads my muscles softly. His hands begin a seductive descent down my shoulder blades to the swell above my butt before slipping his fingers into the fabric at my hips. He pushes my panties down the length of my legs—slow and purposeful—smooth and rough in a devastating one-two punch to my nerves. I lift my feet as they fall and then stand motionless, our excited breathing the only sound in the room.

I’m not sure at what point he silently requested that I not speak and I decided to comply, but the combination only adds to the sexual tension snapping through the air. The notion that I am at his every whim heightens the sensations.

I stand motionless, Hawkin still behind me, and yet he’s not touching me. Curiosity and desire wage a feudal war within me as I debate whether to turn around and take what I want or to play out this little game that has me willing to beg if he doesn’t touch me soon.

And I don’t beg.

His fingertips begin again, whispering a trail up my inseam, gentle pressure urging my legs farther apart. I suck in a breath as the cool air of the room bathes the heated skin between my thighs. He brushes his hands ever so slightly over me before they once again leave my body.

I close my eyes, wondering where to next, while goose bumps race over my skin in expectancy as I hear him move behind me. And I find out quick enough when I feel the warmth of his mouth on the nape of my neck again. Desire mainlines from everywhere within me as his fingertips touch the apex of my thighs, causing that sweet, pleasurable ache to burn with a heightened intensity.

He presses close against my back again, his erection thick against me. “Open your mouth,” he commands, his voice sending chills down my spine.

I part my lips without hesitancy and he murmurs in approval before slipping two fingers between my lips.

“Suck.”

How can that single word evoke such a visceral reaction from my body? Nipples hardening to the point of pain, my sex swelling, my mouth reacting. I respond, body vibrating with the desire that increases with each passing moment.

“Do you have any idea how bad I want you right now? I’m hard as a rock and it’s taking everything I have to not lay you down on your bed and fuck you into oblivion,” he says in a pained voice that only turns me on more knowing he’s suffering as desperately as I am. “You deserve better than that, Quinlan, and fuck if it’s not taking everything I have to give that to you…. I’ve never wanted to be more selfish than I do right now.”

His teeth nip my shoulder, which causes me to open my mouth where his fingers still remain. His words stoke the flames of desire even brighter knowing that I matter enough to him in whatever this is to try to give me what I deserve.

I begin to respond, to tell him Thanks but right now all I want is you in me, on me, pleasuring me, but he stops me. “Uh-uh, don’t talk.” His mouth brushes against my ear, that raspy rhythm an audible pheromone. “Right now I’m going to take these fingers and fuck you with them. I’m going to lick your clit and finger fuck you into a frenzy until you’re just about to climax. I’ll hold you there. Make you ride that fine line between frustration and desire. Make you beg, make you moan, make you scream my name. And then I’ll stop because I want to be in you when you come.”

I close my eyes and let his words sink in, allow my body the visceral reaction—the sudden tensing up and then slow release of muscles—as I wait in that suspended state of hazy desire for him to begin. He crosses his free arm over my chest, lower rib cage to opposite shoulder, and pulls me roughly against the front of him so that there is no mistaking his want of me. His chuckle reverberates against my back and into me. “Oh, believe me. I know you think you’ll come even if I stop but, sweetness, I assure you, you won’t until I’m in you. You’ll hate me, then love me and fuck if when you come it won’t be the strongest orgasm you’ll ever have.” He runs the tip of his tongue along the side of my neck, making me forget my thoughts of how he knew what I was thinking. “Now bend over and get ready to beg.”

He withdraws his fingers from my mouth, murmuring an approval as I obediently lean forward and place my chest onto the top of the mattress. And the funny thing is most of the time I’d tell a guy to screw off if he was going to give me orders, deny me my orgasm, and not let me touch—this girl likes to give just as good as she gets—but there is something about Hawkin that makes me want to earn the orgasm he gives me.

“Damn, woman,” he murmurs the moment the finger I’ve just wet with my mouth slides between the already slick lips of my sex. My body is so on edge from this foreplay that there is no way he’ll be able to stop my orgasm because the beginning of it is already bearing down on me like a freight train and he’s barely touched me.

I feel him against my knees and it takes me a minute and a glance down to realize that he sat down on the floor, his back against the foot of the bed I’m bent over so that his face is right where it needs to be. He positions his hands so that when he grabs the roundness of my ass and pulls gently, the tips of his fingers skim over the backside of my cleft. The sensation is strangely arousing but it’s taken to all new heights when his mouth closes over my pleasure. His tongue splits me and slides down to where his fingers have now pressed their way inside me.

The cry falls from my lips, my hands fist, and I work the tank top that’s still holding my arms hostage up some so that I can bend my arms and fist them in the top of his hair. Pleasure swamps me, owns me, and has me begging for more. “Oh God Hawke.” They’re the first words that I speak in I don’t know how long but they’re all I need to say because I’m swamped with sensations.

I’m an it takes time for me to come girl but hell if he just hasn’t blown that all to smithereens because the way his mouth is working my clit mixed with the slow slide of his fingers in and out has me climbing that peak faster than ever before. I can’t catch my thoughts when usually I’m having to push them away as his tongue owns every inch of sensitized flesh between my folds.

The room fills with the commands he vocalizes, the vibration of his voice only adding to his delicious torment, my labored breathing and the slick sound of my wetness being expertly manipulated. My body begins to tense, that slow flush of heat beginning to bathe my body in its warm glow as my orgasm rises from the depths of my body. I start moving my hips, grinding back and forth onto his fingers and tongue, his previous decree of edging me out lost in my quest for release, so just as I can feel it wash over me, all movement from him ceases.

I gasp out and squeeze my eyes shut to try to will my orgasm to fruition, but without my hands or his, nothing’s going to happen.

“Hawkin!” I say his name like a curse into the sexed-up air and it earns me a taunting laugh from him.

I clench my muscles, desperate for so much more of him than just this orgasm. The thought scares me momentarily but I can’t think about it right now. I need to focus on the here and now and not the mess my heart will inevitably be in after he casts me aside.

I step back from where he’s positioned between the confines of my legs and his hands slide up the outside of my thighs to my hips to my waist as he stands. He reaches my neck, and I look up and meet his gaze for the first time in what feels like forever since we arrived at my house.

The look in his eyes—burning desire and the wild need to sate it—makes me feel like he wants to take every single part of me, memorize me, use me, and then start all over again, and hell if I’m not down with this game. I want his kiss, his body on top of mine, his hands braced on either side of my head while he’s driving into me.

And I want it now.

I step forward this time, my flanks into his, his legs pressed against the edge of the bed, and we just stand there. Our torsos are touching chests to thighs, our breaths mingle, and our eyes speak a language exclusively our own. I want you. Take me now. Fuck me. Wreck me. Make me yours.

A mutual exchange of needs and desires that I initiate when I lean into him and brush my lips to his. His hands slide around my back and pull me into him harder as our mouths part and tongues unite. I feel my heart slip a little toward the edge of no return and lose myself in the taste of my pleasure on his tongue and how there’s something so strangely arousing about it that I just want more of what he’s offering me. His hands move over my bared skin like his tongue does—skillful, urgent, a little rough, and a lot needy—and hell if the mixture of motions isn’t a potent cocktail of desire that we’re getting drunk on.

He groans my name into my mouth. I want to pull away, strip off his boxer briefs, and taste him, but right now he’s savoring me and there’s something endearing about it. As much as I want to order him to give me what I want like he has me, it’s not possible because my independent streak is out the damn window right along with my control.

I’m all for equality between a man and a woman but right now this woman doesn’t care about being equal, she just wants to come.

I know without a doubt that Hawkin owns the keys to that toe-curling orgasm I’ve been without for some time and hell if I’m not going to submit so he can find the lock and use his key to unleash it.

Our kiss grows possessive. I writhe against him, trying to tell him that I need him to push me off that ledge I’m walking precariously on just like he said I would be. His hands slide down my biceps and remove my tank top from my elbows.

And the minute my arms are released from their cotton confines, it’s on.

My hands go immediately to the back of his neck, fingers tugging in his hair, pulling him into me. My hands match the urgency of his and yet we still stand there and express our desire with our hands and mouths when so many other men would have already been in, out, and done by now.

I snake one of my hands down his abdomen and slip it inside his underwear. I find his dick immediately, it’s hard to miss it really, and the minute my fingers encircle his girth, a pained groan falls from his mouth. His hands leave my skin momentarily as he pushes the fabric down to grant me unhindered access to pleasure him.

My fingers dance over the length of his shaft, causing our lips to part and his head to fall back as he absorbs my reciprocal foreplay. I lean forward and kiss the underside of his jaw. He tastes of salt and soap and the scent sears itself into my memory as my tongue licks and hand slides back and forth over his cock.

“Quin.” I love the grate of his voice over my name, desperate and defiant.

“Get ready to beg,” I murmur against his skin, rough with his five o’clock shadow, tossing his comment back to him. His body falters a moment, a strained but amused laugh falling from his lips that turns into a groan of desire when I gently scrape my nails over the underside of his dick.

His hands find my shoulders and grip tightly as he tilts his head down so he can meet my gaze, a chiding smile on his lips and everything I want reflected in his eyes. “Sweetness, as much as I want you to wrap your mouth around my dick and make me beg for it, you can take me there next time because right now, I want you,” he says, his tongue wetting his lower lip and distracting me from focusing on the fact that he said next time. And telling me there will be an again when he hasn’t even had me yet makes places in me stir that have nothing to do with having an orgasm. “And I’m going to have you.” He says the last statement on a melodic whisper that reminds me of the song earlier but this time he’s not on stage in front of thousands of women, he’s standing here in front of me.

I breathe in deeply, needing the air to help clear my head, and all it does is the opposite because it smells like him. I keep my hands on his dick but with my eyes on him, lean forward and take the flat disk of one of his nipples in my mouth and graze my teeth over it. He hisses in a breath, eyes darkening with lust as my own taunt him to do just what he’s promised, to take me.

Two can play this game. My hand slides up and down him again, his dick pulsing in my hand from the stimulation. “What are you waiting for, Hawkin?”

I take a step back slowly, my eyes running up and down his body, my first time getting to see the whole of him. And holy mother of God … if Hawkin Play fully clothed is hot, a naked one is breathtaking. And being a man used to women staring at him, he stands still and lets me get my visual porn.

His shoulders are strong, pecs and abs defined but more from constant physical activity than a guy who lifts for bulk, and in the moonlight I can see the basic outlines of the shapes of his tattoos but not make them out. My eyes go lower, trace the V down to where he demonstrates just how ready he is for me, and hell if he’s not packing what Luke claimed to have.

The unbidden part of me doesn’t care that he knows I’m openly staring at him so I lift my eyes ever so slowly up to meet his. He walks toward me, his body announcing the predator inside him ready to take what he thinks is his. His eyes are hungry, smirk arrogant, and body made for the kind of sins I enjoy committing.

My only thought is that I need to hold on tight because I have a feeling Hawkin Play is about to take me for a ride in more ways than one, and I just hope both my body and my heart will be able to handle it. I’ve been able to separate sex and emotion with men prior to tonight, but I know right here, right now, with that look in his eyes and that purpose in his posture, that there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to with him.

“Bed’s this way,” he says with a lift of his chin over his shoulder as he stops in front of me and reaches out to my hips and pulls me into him. Skin against skin. His erection presses deliciously between the V of my thighs, making my mouth water and my legs weak with thoughts of everything that’s about to happen.

“Rest assured, I know where my bed is, Hawkin.”

“Then why are you not on it?” The heat of his breath feathers over my lips as I fight every urge in my body to continue our banter when all I want is him and me rolling around on the bed.

“Because I wanted to make you come first.” I know exactly what I’ve said, how he’s going to take it, and by the flash of the feral smile he gives me, know that he heard me.

He laughs. It’s more strained now as he fights the urge to figure out what I’m trying to accomplish. “Hmm. Now, I know you may think I’m a selfish bastard but I promise you, I never come first unless it’s with my own hand. So …” he says, fingertips tracing a line down the side of my cheek that I can’t resist leaning into, “get your ass on the bed, Trixie, before I’m tempted to tie you to the bedposts and fuck you into explaining who this Trixie is that you pretended to be.”

His words, his touch, his nearness intoxicate me so that it takes a moment for me to respond. I nod my head to the drawer of my dresser as I reach out and pull open. It has a small stash of condoms—a girl’s gotta be prepared. I step away from him as he raises his eyebrows in surprised approval.

I saunter slowly toward my bed, eyes looking over my shoulder at him as he watches me. “By the way, Trixie is my naughty side…. She just might like that a little too much.”

I hear his intake of air, see his eyes widen, right before he launches himself at me. I’m on the bed before he lands next to me and scramble away from him as we erupt into a fit of laughter laced with a tinge of desperation.

“Don’t think you’re going to live that comment down,” he taunts as his hands find my hips and pull me toward him. I struggle playfully because when he presses me into the mattress, his body flanking mine, I can’t help the sigh that falls from my lips at his closeness. Our eyes meet and our smiles remain but silence descends as he leans forward and slants his mouth over mine.

And this time he holds absolutely nothing back. He draws every last ounce of desire from me as his tongue meets mine, leading this intimate dance with skill and passion that has every part of my body lit aflame and begging for him to hurry the pace and sink into me. Even though I know the minute it’s over I’ll wish he dragged it out.

His knees find their way between mine and push my legs slowly apart while his mouth continues to tempt me in every way possible. A hand cups my breast before sliding farther down my body, each inch feeling like it’s taking forever to cover on the way to where I want it the most.

And he kisses away the moan he coaxes from me when his fingers find me open and waiting for him. Gentle yet demanding touches on the most sensitized of flesh. I lift my hips up, physically begging him to sate the desire burning out of control within me. The motion earns me a chuckle against my lips, and the head of his dick lines up perfectly at my wetness. His fingers part me, dipping in to test my readiness for him, and I pulse my muscles around his fingers to show him I’m more than ready.

His mouth brands mine, one last searing kiss that cements emotions I shouldn’t be feeling before he pushes up on his haunches like a pagan god between my thighs waiting to worship, but the only thing I’m allowing him to devote himself to is me.

He pushes into me, that slow burn of stretching as my body accommodates him the most exquisite of pain. He looks down, hands holding my thighs apart, eyes expressing the unspoken words behind his mask of arrogance, and lips falling lax as he succumbs to my wet heat. We hold each other’s gazes as he begins to move, and I can see so many things flicker within his eyes. The pace he sets is slow at first. His thick crest slides over nerves I never knew I had and brings me unfathomable pleasure.

I close my eyes when the sensations become too intense, my feelings too transparent, but every time I open them back up, his eyes glisten through the darkness. I become mesmerized with the look, the feel, the subtle sounds he makes as he sheaths himself root to top before pulling back out.

I lose myself to the feeling, to the moment, and allow it all to wash over me. Yes this is casual sex, chemistry igniting between two willing people, but the way he takes his time and yet takes what he wants simultaneously is an intoxicating spell I willingly submit to.

He slides his hands down my inner thighs, fingertips adding friction to my clit, propelling me closer to the edge. “Hawke.” His name is a sigh on my lips as I buck my hips up to meet his fingers and the rhythm of his thrusts.

Sounds fill the room—my plea, his praise, our combined moans, as he works us into a frenzied pace where the simple touch of flesh to flesh feels like two live wires connecting. Sparks trace from where we become one and chase their way through my body, digging in and taking hold, annihilating any hope I have from walking away from him unscathed.

My hands fist sheets and then move up to score lines into the muscles of his thighs before sliding back to the sheets again—restless movements that try to satisfy the desire unfurling within me and between us. My legs begin to tense, my muscles clutching around him so that he knows I’m nearing my peak.

Just when I want him to drive harder and faster—force me into the oblivion just beyond my reach, he slows down. My head snaps up to challenge him just in time to see the ecstasy written on his face when he slides all the way in and pops his hips in some way that needs to be patented and taught to men everywhere because whatever the hell he does, when he does it a few more times, I’m lost.

I fall under the warm rapture of my orgasm as it hits me with a savage intensity. I don’t know what I say or do because I’m hidden behind the veil of white-hot pleasure that is so overwhelming all I can do is feel: the satisfying singe of his touch, the stroke of his cock over sensitized nerves, the ricochet of the orgasm as it pulses through my body. And then Hawkin begins to move again, withdrawing and plunging back in, in a fervent pace that not only prolongs my climax but pulls his from him like a tornado touching down.

“Fuck!” he cries out, his hips jerking spasmodically as he chases his release, driving as deep as he can into me, fingers digging into my thighs, my name falling from his lips.

He leans forward, crawling up my body, mattress dipping at my sides as he presses his hands there before collapsing softly on top of me with a satisfied groan. “Damn, woman,” he says, warm lips pressing tender kisses against the chilled skin of my chest as our panting breaths fill the silence of the room. “You wore me out!” His chuckle rings with warmth and satisfaction and vibrates into me from our connection.

My fingers trace up and down his back, the flush and scent of the sex we just had still clinging to my skin. “Well shit … then you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to handle Trixie,” I tease, earning a quick graze of his teeth on my nipple in response.

I wiggle away from him, laughter falling around us as he slips out of me, the emptiness ringing loudly despite his hands still touching me. “Oh.” He grunts out the sound. “I’m going to have so much fun playing with her.”

We laugh as I find a pillow beneath my head and his lips pressing against mine, tongue slipping between them in a slow, tantalizing kiss that cements what we just experienced. I groan in protest when he pulls back, but I love the look he graces me with, eyes hazy and a smirk softening his features.

“Silly boy,” I murmur, bringing my hands up the sides of his torso, feeling the muscles bunch beneath them as I go. “Trixie’s for men.” I can’t resist the taunt—the play off the cereal commercial—because he sure as hell just proved to me he’s a one hundred percent skilled man but I need to keep this simple. The way he’s touching me and not rolling over and snoring like so many others have done is making this moment a bit too intimate for me, making it a bit too real. And hell yes, I’ll take something real but I also know that with the real comes the heartbreak that’s inevitable and so I defuse the feelings from finding permanence with humor.

“Wow!” he exclaims in jest, eyebrows raised and fingers finding the ticklish spots on my rib cage. And at first it’s innocent in nature when I writhe beneath him but as my breasts rub against the firmness of his chest and the condom he hasn’t removed yet that’s still slick with my arousal slides over my thigh, desire fires anew. My breath hitches when his hands find my hair and fist in it before his mouth meets mine in a kiss that surges with hunger. “Guess I better show you again how much of a man I can be then.”

He pushes up off me, leaving me cold and wanting as he saunters over to grab another condom from my drawer-o-protection, his ass a sight I could stare at all day long, and all I can think is Pretty please.

“I thought you were going to edge me out. What happened to that?” I throw the taunt at him as I hear the telltale tear of foil, my body already stirring back awake with the anticipation of getting more of him.

He turns back and looks at me, the moonlight soft on his skin and confidence reflected in his posture. “Hmm. If I’m not mistaken, it was you just screaming my name, right?”

“It was a moment of weakness,” I lie, savoring the smile he graces me with because we both know damn well it was more than that.

“I think it was a whole lot of skill,” he says as he walks slowly toward me, erection bobbing with each step as I scrape my eyes over his shadow in the night. He crawls on the bed and hovers over me, our bodies void of any contact. “Skill … and this weakness I seem to have when it comes to you.”

My heart swells at his words and the only thought that passes through my mind is, rocker trumps racer, without a doubt.