Page 45 of Restless Hawke

Ones I don’t intend to deviate from.

Her hips start to roll against my hand, but she somehow keeps the rest of her body still, so that anyone looking won’t be able to see what’s happening thanks to the long tablecloth.

I return my arm around her shoulders, tugging her against me and nipping at her ear. “Are you going to come for me, Allegra?”

There isn’t any way she could last longer.

God knows I can’t.

She nods as I swirl my thumb rapidly around her clit. Her pussy starts to clench and tremble.

So fucking close.

I cantasteit.

I cansmellher arousal coating my hand.

Ifeelher need for release in her tense body and clenched thighs.

I kiss her gently, letting my lips linger over hers, then pull my arm free again to tilt her chin up until her eyes, half-hooded and soaked in lust, meet mine.

“You’ve been fucking with me since the first moment we met.”

She doesn’t try to deny it.

Just holds my gaze as I continue to work her to the brink.

“And I want you to know something, Allegra. Something that everyone eventually learns.”

“Wh-what’s that?”

A grin spreads across my face as I hold her stare, knowing full well what I’m about to do. “Nobody fucks with the Hawkes.”

Her eyes flare as I yank my hand out from between her legs, raise it up to my mouth, and slide the glistening fingers into it. I groan as the flavor of her arousal dances across my tongue.

Rich.

Sweet.

Fucking addictive.

Like I knew it would be.

I adjust my cock to try to conceal the raging erection before I slide out of the booth and walk away from Allegra without looking back.

7

COEN

The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the Hawkeye Club envelop me the second I walk through the front door. Somehow, after being gone for over a month, it simultaneously feels like I never left and like I’ve been gone forever.

Thumping bass vibrates through my feet and up my body as the door swings closed behind me, sealing out the sticky New Orleans air and me in with the scent of alcohol and the sweet perfume the dancers wear.

Chantell wraps herself around the pole center stage, draping backward and exposing her breasts to the patrons gathered closely around the front. She flips back up and catches my eye, winking in greeting before she continues the routine I know by heart now after seeing it performed so many times.

It’s a good crowd tonight—heavy with young tourists and a few older locals.

I scan the bar to check who’s working.