Page 53 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)
twenty-three
true love
Raze (“Havoc”)
Thinking Out Loud: Ed Sheeran
T he way the morning light spills across Whitney's face has me in a fucking chokehold.
Even in the tiny rearview mirror, a halo of light frames the crown of her head, and with her eyes peacefully shut, she looks like an angel.
Hawk and I sit in the parking lot of her building, motionless in the car, devoid of the energy to step outside as we watch over her.
I am fucking worn out, both mentally and physically, but I’m determined to be strong for Whitney.
She needs us now more than ever. Though she hasn't shared what went down with Dustin, we can only assume the worst, knowing his history—their history.
My heart aches for her, pulsing with the same sorrow I felt all those years ago when we left her behind.
"Should we wake her up so we can go inside?" Hawk asks, his voice laced with hesitation.
"I'd rather not, but we probably should," I reply softly, reluctant to disturb her peace any sooner than necessary.
We both continue to gaze at her, memories washing over us as the air inside the car grows stifling and warm.
I crack open my door and pull the keys from the ignition to silence the beeping, but the sudden rush of cool air stirs Whitney from her sleep.
She jolts awake, eyes wide with confusion as she takes in her surroundings, momentarily disoriented.
It doesn’t take long for recognition to dawn, but it seems to take an eternity for color to return to her cheeks.
"We're already here?" she asks, pulling her hood closer around her face, fingers gripping the door handle—eager to get out yet slightly apprehensive.
"Yeah, we didn’t want to wake you," I reassure her, shifting in my seat to catch her gaze, a faint smile breaking through her tired expression.
But then I notice the bruises marking her lips, remnants of what must have been a savage blow.
My blood ignites, a fiery pulse racing through my veins.
My fists clench instinctively, but a glance from Hawk reminds me to relax, pulling me back into the present moment—our reality free from Dustin, or so I hope. But I need to know.
"Are you going to be safe here?" I ask, conscious she understands the gravity of my concern. "Is Dusti—"
"Dustin isn't fucking coming back," she interjects, her voice flat as she throws open the back door and steps out, slamming it with finality. "Dustin's dead and never fucking coming back."
Surprisingly, a smirk tugs at my lips at the thought of her killing him; it stirs something within me. I've witnessed her kill before, but this feels different. I don’t need to have seen it to visualize the scene, and the image is fucking intoxicating.
Hawk and I step out and trail behind her as she pushes open the door to her apartment, bracing ourselves for a scene of darkness and destruction.
To our astonishment, however, the moment she enters the place is clean, warm, and inviting, the scent wrapping around us like a comforting embrace.
Boston zips around, headphones in, diligently tidying up the space without realizing we’ve arrived.
But the surprises don’t end there. As we venture further in, we find Red and D seated on the couch, engaged in conversation as they wipe down the table before them.
"What the hell is this?" Hawk mutters, bewildered, casting a cautious glance for King.
The guys look up, putting down their cleaning supplies and grinning at us in silence. Whitney slips off her shoes and heads to her room without a word to them, but the expressions on their faces indicate they expected nothing less from her after the turmoil she’s endured these past few days.
"How is she?" Red asks, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Not great," I admit, exhaling a sigh as I light a cigarette. "But she just needs time; she’ll get back to her normal self." I wish I could believe that, but deep down, doubt lingers. "Where’s King?"
"Not here; don’t worry," D replies, obviously aware of the precarious spiral King has been caught in and clearly unsettled by it.
He stands and heads straight for Whitney's room, causing my hands to twitch with anxiousness.
The door cracks open, leaving a sliver between the frame, and I catch whispers floating out, but no signs of distress, reassuring me that she is okay.
Taking a moment for myself, I settle into a chair just as Boston enters, her eyes widening in shock.
She yanks her headphones out and scans the room for Whitney.
"Where is she?" Panic seeps into her voice when she doesn’t see her.
"Talking to D in her room," Hawk replies, nodding toward the door. "And thanks for doing this for her. We really appreciate it."
"I couldn’t let her come home to this… chaos." She shakes her head, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Everything's nearly finished, so we'll be heading out soon to give you all some privacy."
I close my eyes as I wait for Whitney to come out of her room, mouthing a silent prayer for everything to return to how it was between us before all the bad shit got in our way.
Something brushes across my face, making my nose twitch and my lids flutter, and making me feel like I have to sneeze.
My tired eyes open to a blurry sight of Whitney in tiny black panties straddling my lap.
Confusion hits hard, and as I go to lift my head to look around, she pushes on my chest and dips her head, her lips crashing down on mine.
Of course my hand goes to the back of her neck, and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss as she grinds on my lap, my dick already hard.
"Whitney," I mumble in between breaths as my lips leave hers briefly.
"Shh, it's okay," she assures, slipping her hand up my shirt and dragging her nails down the center of my chest, making me shiver.
Her lips move to my neck, where she licks, sucks, and bites while her ass bounces up and down on my lap.
I grab her hips and hold her in place while rocking her back and forth, my toes curling in my socks.
Looking over her shoulder, I spot Hawk watching, rubbing his dick over his pants.
He grins, his eyes glazed over, anxious for more.
"Let's go to your room," I suggest, cupping her ass and kneading it like dough.
Before she can say anything, I stand up with her in my arms, following Hawk to the room as he undresses on the way.
I lie Whitney on the bed and sweep my eyes over her body as I take my clothes off, my gaze landing on her tits, my mouth watering.
Both of us stand before her, naked, drooling over how fucking perfect she is.
"Well, what are you fucking waiting for?" She asks, patting both spots on the bed beside her.
We jump on anxiously, and I lie on my back, pulling her back on top of me as Hawk takes his place behind her.
I grab her thighs and pull her toward my mouth, growling the moment her pussy hits my lips and diving right in.
Each lick of my tongue makes her squirm.
Each flick of her clit makes her eyes shutter.
When my tongue slides inside of her and my teeth graze her sensitive skin, she moans, throwing her head back against Hawk's chest. He tightens his grip around her waist, and I can feel his need echoing through her body as even more shivers run down her spine.
"God, you're amazing," he muses, his breath hot against her ear, mixing with the intoxicating scent of her skin.
Whitney writhes, pushing back against Hawk while grinding her hips against my mouth, and I can't help but groan, the vibrations making her buck even harder.
"Damn, feel that?" Hawk whispers, urging her on. "She loves it."
I lift my head from between her thighs momentarily, making eye contact with Hawk, the unspoken agreement flashing between us—this is no ordinary moment.
This is raw, primal, the culmination of chaos and affection, desperation and healing.
Whitney embodies them all, and I want to unleash everything we’ve stored inside us for her.
“More,” she breathes, her voice dripping with need. “Don’t stop.”
Only the sound of hurried breaths fills the room as I delve deeper, tracing patterns with my tongue, while Hawk’s hands wander to her breasts—teasing, pinching—each pull bringing her closer to the edge.
Her body surrenders to pleasure, arching and crashing like waves, and everything outside this room feels far away, like a distant nightmare.
Suddenly, she cries out, a visceral sound that echoes in the confined space.
"Oh my God, yes!" The frantic rhythm of her hips betrays her surrender to the pleasure washing over her.
I can feel the pulse of her heartbeat against my mouth, the way her body begins to coil.
Hawk nips at her shoulder, his lips brushing her neck, whispering sweet nothings that only fuel the fire burning within her.
It’s intoxicating. My tongue swirls around her clit, coaxing every last moan from her.
I lose myself in the taste of her, in the heat of the moment, the sound of her pleasure ringing in my ears drowning out everything else.
“Let go, baby,” Hawk encourages softly, his voice calm amidst the storm. “Just let it happen.”
The tension within her peaks, and I can feel it in the way she clenches around me, her body tightening like a vise as a torrent of pleasure breaks free.
Her body quivers—a symphony of gasps and moans leading to that euphoric crescendo.
I step up the pace, my tongue working harder while I hold her steady, delivering her to that edge of sweet release.
“Oh! Oh God!” Whitney's cries tumble from her lips, each one a tipping point as she spirals into bliss.