Page 28 of Hawk
“Yes,” I exhale, teetering at the brink. He pulls out, but doesn’t drive back in immediately. He’s waiting. And I knowexactlywhat he’s waiting for. “Yes, Daddy.” That’s all it takes. Every bit of his resolve shatters, and he takes me without abandon.
My pussy clenches around his thrusting length, and my back arches off the bed. Tears spill from my eyes as a bomb goes off inside me when I come for him.
For Daddy…
He grits his teeth and snarls, desperately fighting against the inevitable. He slows his pace, and his hands roam my body as his lips and tongue do the same. “Now, be my good girl and do it again, because I’m going to fuck you until you forget every man who came after me. Until my cock is the only one you remember. The only one you crave. Until you remember that you’re mine.”
My heart pounds as he haphazardly promises to never let me go again. He worships my body as the sun crests over the horizon, erasing years of longing and regret. “Just like that, baby,” he groans as I lift my hips to meet his languid thrusts. Reaching between us, he rubs his fingers around my overly sensitive clit. “Come for me. Come for Daddy while I mark you as mine.”
With my pussy quivering around him, I come again. My body following his commands exactly like he taught it to, like I never forgot. It’s his undoing. He drives deep with a breathy grunt, his abs clenching as he spills inside me. He collapses on top of me, his lips meeting mine with soft, feathery kisses.
After rolling us onto our sides, he pulls me against him. I fit the same way I always did—perfectly. With my head on his chest, his fingers tangle in my hair. There’s a raw vulnerability in the way he holds me, like we’re both afraid this might be a dream slipping away. There is no pillow talk or confessions of love. We lie in a fragile silence, as if one wrong word could shatter everything.
Because it could…
The thin cot mattress shifts, jostling me slightly as the light brush of a hand slides over my shoulder. “Get up.” Chris’s quiet, yet firm, voice cuts through the fog of sleep. It’s soft but steady and controlled. His voice always is.
I groan with my face half-buried in his pillow. “Ugh…”
“Come on.” There’s a hint of a smile in his tone. I know he’s watching me. “The guys are getting the gear ready. We’re rolling out in about twenty minutes.”
My head snaps up. “Rolling out?”
The morning light is spilling through the tent’s canvas, catching the sharp lines of his jaw. He’s already fully dressed, pulling his tactical vest over a dark shirt. Staring down at me, he doesn’t look at me the same way he did a few hours ago. He’s all business now.
“Back to your village,” he discloses, checking the magazine on his rifle before slinging it over his shoulder.
I sit slowly, the sheet slipping down my chest. “Chris…” His name suddenly feels heavy on my tongue, intimate in a way it shouldn’t. “I didn’t.” I swallow hard. “Last night wasn’t to make you… or convince you…”
“If they’re willing to make an attempt on your life, there’s clearly something they don’t want anyone to know about,” he states flatly, glazing over—or ignoring—what I said. After sliding his knife into its sheath, he moves toward the tent flap. “Twenty minutes.”
My heart stutters. “Are you sure?”
He turns, and his eyes lock with mine. The same eyes that bore through my soul unguarded are now cold as steel. “If you promise to listen.”
“I promise.”
He nods once. That’s all I get before he steps out into the desert.
I slip from bed and dress quickly. When I push open the tent flap, I’m met with the searing sun, faint smell of diesel, and the distant hum of an engine. I follow Chris toward the trucks where Jagger and Damon are doing a weapons check.
Chris tosses Jagger a set of keys. “Damon and Gunnar will take point. We’ll tail behind with Reese.” Jagger nods. These men communicate more with looks than words; their language and trust forged through years of violence and survival. I’m the outsider here. And the reason they’re all on edge.
I open the rear door to the Humvee, and Chris helps me into the vehicle. His hand brushes my waist—just a whisperof contact—and my body betrays me with the smallest shiver. This morning plays on a film reel behind my eyes. His breath. His hands. The way he called me his.
And now… this.
Silence and distance, like it never happened at all.
The drive is quiet except for the engine and the occasional squawk of the radio. Dust clouds rise behind the short convoy as we head into the vastness of the desert. Nearly an hour later, Jagger slows the truck before we crest the hill on approach to the village. I look out the window, realizing that Damon and Gunnar did the same about fifty yards to our left.
Jagger kills the engine and slips from behind the wheel, grabbing a pair of binoculars off the dashboard. Standing beside the Humvee, he scans the landscape. “Movement,” he murmurs. “Far end, near the well.”
Chris’s jaw flexes. “We split up. Damon and Gunnar sweep east. We’ll go through the center.”
Jagger relays the message to the others through the radio, and a short, broken “Copy that” echoes through a moment later.
Chris opens my door, and my pulse hammers. I shouldn’t be here. I know that. But when he looks at me and outstretches his hand to help me from the SUV, there’s no room for argument. “Stay behind me,” he insists quietly, tightening the straps of my bulletproof vest. “Don’t make a sound unless I tell you.”