Sinful Rewards 6 Read online

  While I survey every inch of his chest, Hawke murmurs into his phone, the features advanced, the design horrendously ugly. I can’t decipher half of his words, his communications using some sort of code, but I understand the gist. He’s protecting me, protecting Cyndi, using all of the resources the Organization has.

  He’s putting his job in jeopardy to help me and I should offer at least a halfhearted protest, but I can’t risk the possibility he’ll stop. Cyndi’s personal safety is my priority. I circle the indent at Hawke’s navel, his skin quivering against my chin. He can find another minimum-wage-paying job. My best friend has only one life.

  Hawke and I might have only this encounter. I slide down his body and kneel on the floor between his spread legs. He’s large, dominant, mine, and I will please him. I release Hawke’s belt and he inhales sharply, his words stopping midsentence.

  “I’ll call you back,” he barks, switching to plain English. I rub my palms over the bulge in his jeans, relishing the length and width of him, the denim soft and worn. He’s large all over, more man than I know how to handle.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Hawke lifts my chin, his finger rough against my skin, his grip light. “I don’t expect anything.” His eyes reflect his concern, my honorable military man always seeking to do the right thing. “I’ll protect you even if you never touch me again.”

  “I know that.” I meet his gaze squarely, not hiding my passion and my respect. He safeguards me with no expectation of profit or gratitude, would kill for me if that was necessary. I lick my bottom lip and he tracks this movement, his gaze thrillingly intense.

  “I want to do this.” I pop the buttons on his fly, one by one, the sound loud in the quiet condo, a signal of intent. Part of me knows once I do this, once I taste this intimate part of him, there will be no turning back. I don’t care, past the point of thinking, of caution.

  “You’re so damn perfect for me.” Hawke brushes my hair away from my face, his huge body shaking. I reach between the denim and curl my fingers around his hard shaft. His veins pulse under my palms, as alive and virile as the man I’m holding.

  “Belinda.” Beads of sweat rise on his forehead.

  He won’t last long. I yank on his waistband, wanting to see all of him, and he raises his ass, helps me pull his jeans to his ankles. His cock juts from a base of brown hair. His balls hug his shaft. His thigh muscles flex, his muscles defined.

  I run my fingertips over him, tracing him from tip to base, and he bobs, precum forming over his slit. “You should work, keep Cyndi safe.” I nuzzle against his balls, inhaling his musky scent, and he mumbles incoherent words.

  “Hawke?” I lift one eyebrow, knowing damn well I’ve fried his brain.

  “She’s safe.” He breathes hard, his chest rising and falling, his voice strained. “The situation is under control, love.”

  That’s bullshit. I narrow my eyes as I pump him. Stalkers aren’t so easily dealt with, and I know from a lifetime of being the topic of gossip that the situation won’t ever be under control. Decades from now, there will be people who think I’m a whore.

  “Everyone has secrets they don’t want exposed,” Hawke adds, reading my doubts as he always does. “Even your stalkers.”

  “You’ll threaten them.” I nod, this explanation making more sense. My mom had nothing with which to threaten her verbal attackers. Hawke is paid to gather information on people, to uncover their secrets.

  “I killed for my country.” He drifts his fingertips over my cheeks, his touch light, his skin rough. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

  God, he knows what to say. I increase my grip on his shaft, working him with all of the fervor in my confused heart. “I don’t want you to take any crazy risks.” I won’t trade his life for Cyndi’s. “You can’t protect me if you’re in jail or dead.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Hawke’s lips twitch, the damn man finding my concern amusing.

  I stroke him, relaying my feelings, the caring I won’t ever admit, through my fingers. The dab of precum glistens on his tip and I rub my thumbs over him, spreading his essence across his skin, his tantalizing scent intensifying. I wiggle closer to him, my mouth moistening, and I nudge between his balls with my chin, mouthing the sensitive flesh at his base.

  “That feels so good, love.” Hawke shifts on the couch cushion, spreading his legs wider, giving me more access to him. “Touch me with your soft pink lips.” I follow a vein on his shaft with the flat of my tongue. He cradles my head with his massive hands, drawing me upward.

  I swirl around his rim, watching his face darken and lips flatten, his reaction to my erotic caress captivating me. Hawke doesn’t hide any of his emotions, his blunt, broad face easily read. He isn’t as beautiful as Nicolas is. His nose is flattened, scars dissect his stubble, and his eyebrows are too thick to be pretty. But he’s all male, strong and real and as tough as the leather boots on his big feet, able to protect me, to handle everything I give him.

  I toy with his slit, tasting his essence, and his fingers fist in my hair, causing arousing pinpricks of pain to shoot across my scalp. Our gazes meet, his eyes widening as he reads my intentions, how I plan to sexually torment him, bringing him close to release, dangling him over that edge.

  I lower, pushing my lips over his cock head, sucking him as I descend, and the cords on his neck lift, sweat trickling down his cheeks. He’s large, filling my mouth with hard flesh, velvet skin over rigid steel. The erotic combination makes my pussy clench around nothing, my body frustratingly empty.

  This encounter isn’t about me. It’s about him, his needs, his pleasure. Gripping his base with my fingers, augmenting his control, I take more and more of him, my cheeks indenting around his shaft, my gaze never leaving his. His tip taps the back of my throat and I stop, covering his remaining cock with my hands, inhaling deeply. An animalistic groan originates from low in his chest and he pulls on my hair, forcing me to release him.

  He’s that close to coming. I smile around his girth, allowing him to guide me up and down his length, setting our rhythm. His full attention is on me, on my face, my lips. I’m his everything, his priority. A sense of power, of strength, bolsters my battered sense of self. I can’t do anything about the men hounding me, but I can satisfy Hawke.

  He coaxes me to move faster, lifting his hips as I greedily suck him in. I flutter my tongue against his shaft and tighten my clasp on him while Hawke fucks my mouth with a thrilling savagery, grunting with each thrust, his grip on my head permitting no retreat, no escape. Rivulets of moisture drip down his chest, between his pecs, making his tattoos sparkle under the lights.

  I kneel before my former marine, my badass biker, in the main room of the condo, in front of the open window. Anyone looking into the space will see me servicing him, glimpse his thick cock plunging in and out of my mouth, my lips sliding along his shaft. I suck and slurp noisily, every sound exciting him more. The musky scent of sex flavors each breath.

  This is wrong, risky, titillating. I moan, the hum vibrating against his flesh, and Hawke’s muscles flex, his back straightening.

  “Belinda, love.” His fingers tangle in my hair as though searching for a handhold, something, anything to supplement his control. “I can’t last.” His huge body shakes. “Sweetheart, I’m going to come.” He pulls on the tendrils, struggling to lift me off him.

  I want all of him, every inch, every drop. Closing one of my hands around his balls, I ruthlessly sever the last remnants of his restraint, pushing him over the edge.

  Hawke roars, the sound temporarily deafening me, and he thrusts upward. Hard spurts of cum shoot down my throat, warming my stomach, as he bucks, acting more animal than man, his face twisted with pleasure. I ride his release, milking every ounce of essence from him, my cheeks convulsing around his shaft.

  Gradually, Hawke quiets, sagging against the purple leather couch, his cock softening in my mouth. I flick his rim with the tip of my tongue, prod his slit, licking him clean, tid
ying my man as I tidy everything else, with focus and dedication.

  Our bond has deepened, a hum of emotional, physical, almost spiritual awareness linking the two of us. I’ve tasted him, taken a piece of him inside me, and I will never be the same.

  “You’re priceless, love.” Hawke pets my hair, his eyelids partially lowered, his skin flushed with sexual satisfaction, a satisfaction I gave him.

  Pride fills my chest. “Hundreds of men in Chicago think I have a price.”

  “It doesn’t matter what those hundreds of men think.” Hawke pulls me upward and sets me on his bare thigh, his muscles reassuringly firm under my ass. “Only what I think.” He brushes his lips over mine, my primitive man not caring that I taste of him. “And I know you’re one of a kind.”

  I gaze into Hawke’s unwavering blue eyes. When I’m with him, I feel designer, special, loved, and I wish this was enough. I wish I could stay.

  Chapter Four

  HAWKE COMMANDEERS MY laptop, monitoring sites that require a barrage of security measures to access. He jabs on the keyboard with his index fingers and cradles his ugly phone against his right ear, relaying the information on the cards I’ve been sent, giving his team additional instructions.

  Whatever they’re doing is working because the text messages slow and then stop. I’m able to answer my phone again, no longer worrying about the disturbing calls. His team filters all of the communications.

  He gave me back my peace of mind, and I don’t know how I will ever repay him. The five thousand dollars isn’t enough, not that he’ll accept the money, my stubborn man refusing payment. I drift to the kitchen, needing to do something, anything, for him. It’s noon and he must be hungry. He’s a big guy.

  I search the fridge for inspiration, the new order of groceries not yet delivered. There’s sliced bread, a mixture of cheeses, ham, and fresh herbs, all of the ingredients for a lip-licking grilled cheese sandwich. I make him three and set them on a plate, placing it beside a tall glass of ice water.

  “Mmmm . . .” Hawke settles on one of the bar stools, the metal legs creaking under his weight. “I could get used to this.” He inhales one of the sandwiches, devouring it in four bites. “Did Karl teach you how to cook?”

  Hawke’s appreciation of my cooking heats my chest. “He did. I’ll never match Karl’s magnificence, his unparalleled artistry, his mastery of the culinary arts.” I laugh, the diner chef’s ego knowing no bounds. “But I try my best.”

  “You’ve succeeded. This is damn good.” Hawke’s lips lift into his lopsided smile. “Expect me for lunch tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.” He finishes the second sandwich, licking the crumbs off his fingertips.

  “You’re welcome to come over for lunch.” My smile fades as reality intrudes. “If I’m still here, which is unlikely.” I sigh, dreading the future. “I know what comes next.”

  “What comes next?” Hawke’s eyebrows lower.

  “Cyndi’s father won’t want a hooker living with his baby girl. He’ll pressure her to end our friendship, to terminate our housing arrangement.” I glance toward my bedroom, not looking forward to moving, starting again with nothing and no one. “That’s how it always happens.”

  “In the past, your friends deserted you.” Hawke reaches across the counter and clasps my hand, his palm rough and warm and reassuring. “That’s why you value loyalty.”

  “Yeah.” I nod, unable to say more.

  “I won’t leave you.” He pulls on the chain and places the dog tags between our palms. “You’re my girl.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. His declaration melts my heart yet doesn’t change my situation. Hawke lives in a condo his company pays for, doesn’t have the money to buy the simplest of furniture, wears the cheapest clothing a man can buy. My mom depends on me to pay her rent. I don’t have a job and, soon, I won’t have a home or friends.

  I love Chicago, but I also know the gossip will cling to me here, forever. I’ll always be known as a whore, always be judged harshly for this one incident.

  “I’ll be the person leaving.” I drop my gaze, unable to see the disappointment in his eyes. “I can’t stay here, not with the rumors circulating about me.”

  “You won’t leave today.” Hawke squeezes my hand and pulls his fingers away from mine. “And you’ll call me before you make that decision.” He calmly eats his third and final sandwich.

  “The decision might be made for me.” I frown at him, his casual response to my impending departure bothering me. Doesn’t he care that I plan to leave? “Cyndi will be arriving in less than an hour, and she’ll evict my notorious ass.”

  “You underestimate your best friend.” Hawke rounds the counters and places his dirty dishes in the dishwasher, a chore Nicolas, my busy billionaire, would never undertake. “She might surprise you.”

  “Surprises are never good.” My mom taught me that.

  “You surprised me today.” His eyes glimmer with wickedness, the damn man trying to distract me. “And that was very good.” Hawke drags his mouth along my neck, the stubble on his chin burning a trail over my skin. “I’ll never forget the sight of your sweet lips stretched around my hard cock.”

  My face heats, my pussy moistening.

  “You looked so prim and proper, kneeling between my legs,” he murmurs against my earlobe. “Yet you sucked me dry, draining every drop.” He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring. “I smell my cum on your breath. Do you still taste of me?”

  “No,” I lie, his unique flavor coating my tongue and tattooed on my brain.

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Hawke laughs, reading the truth in my eyes. “I like that you taste of me, smell of me. If we had enough time, I’d surprise you, feast on your wet, warm pussy, savoring you as you should be savored.”

  “Don’t surprise me in the kitchen.” My lips twitch. “That isn’t sanitary.”

  “Passion is messy, love.” He walks with me toward the door, one of his big hands cradling mine. “Do you want me to stay with you? We could face your friend together.”

  Together has a nice ring to it. Although I’m tempted by his offer and need his support, I won’t gang up on Cyndi. That wouldn’t be right.

  “I’ll be okay.” I open the door, the cooler air from the hallway sweeping over me. “This isn’t my first eviction.”

  “You want a home, somewhere permanent, a space you can’t be evicted from.” Hawke recites words I once told him. This simple wish sounds like an impossible dream now. I blink back tears.

  He drifts his calloused fingertips over my cheeks. “We’ll get through this, sweetheart.”

  Hawke speaks as though we’re a team, as though I’m not alone, and the lump of emotion in my throat grows larger, strangling my response. I tilt my head upward and meet his gaze, not hiding any of my fear or my gratitude, or that other feeling hidden deep in my heart I don’t yet dare to name.

  As Hawke stares into my eyes, reading my emotions, he plays with my hair, brushing stray strands away from my face and petting my straight locks, his touch comforting me. I rest my hands on his cotton-covered chest, one of my palms placed over his heart, the beat against my skin reassuringly strong and steady.

  “I’m leaving once Cyndi is safe,” I remind myself.

  “You’re not leaving today,” Hawke repeats. He dips his head and presses his lips against mine, his kiss too brief for my liking. “After you talk with Cyndi, talk with me.” He taps the tip of my nose, returning me to reality.

  “I will.” Talking with him won’t change the results. I’ll be evicted, become homeless yet again.

  “Hawke?” I hold his hands, not wanting to let him go.

  “Yeah?”

  “Was my lunch with Lona a mistake?” I gaze up at him. “Should I have said no?”

  “A private room should have been reserved. That was a mistake.” Hawke’s lips flatten, my military man taking full responsibility for that error. “But having lunch with Lona was the right thing to do. She’s yo
ur friend, a nice person, and she needed your help.”

  My mom said something similar. Both of them can’t be wrong. “Okay.” I reluctantly release his hands. “You should go. Cyndi will be here soon.”

  “If you need me, call.” Hawke strides down the hallway, his tread soundless, unusually light for such a large man. He turns the corner, disappearing from view.

  I close the door and gaze at the flowers. They’re an untidy reminder of a lunch gone terribly wrong. I sweep more petals off the floor. Cyndi will have to deal with this mess after I’m gone.

  I clean the room again, rubbing a disinfectant wipe over the couch cushions, erasing all signs of Hawke. Two pumps of an air freshener remove the scent of sex.

  I then wander into my bedroom, open the closet door, and stare at my newly acquired collection of designer clothes, purses, and shoes. They’re beautiful, classic, timeless, functional works of art and, in the past, I thought having these gorgeous things would make me happy. Now, the prospect of donning them for strangers, for people who don’t care about me, brings me little pleasure.

  I fold my fingers around the dog tags Hawke gave me. He thinks Cyndi might surprise me, in a good way, and he’s skilled at reading people. It won’t change our fate. Her dear daddy will pressure her to disassociate with me. But it will make a difference to me, knowing my friend didn’t easily abandon me.

  Not having the heart to pack, to put my few things into boxes, to prepare to be kicked out, I return to the main room, sit on the couch, and complete research on possible new hometowns. I dismiss Miami, as that’s where Angel’s family lives. Cyndi’s nasty friend would track me down, make my life hellish, and I’d miss the seasons, the cute winter jackets, the sexy knee-high boots.

  New York is a possibility. It’s an expensive city for a girl earning minimum wage, but the fashions are delightful, many of the top designers having offices in the Big Apple. I’d fit in style-wise with my black Chanel suit and Louboutin heels, both of which I’ve yet to wear for Hawke . . . or Nicolas.