Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2) (28 page)

“Love you, Layla,” he says after a while, and I hug him harder, unable to speak. “I am so sorry I was such an asshole to you.”

“I’m not asking anything from you,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.

“And what if I want something from you? What if I want
everything
? Everything with you? Can’t I want you and love you like any other normal guy? Can’t I love my girl, the mother of my baby? Have you thought about that?” When I shake my head against his chest, he kisses my hair. “I really want to be with you. If you’ll have me. I want to be your boyfriend, your man. I want to be the father to our baby. I want you to let me love you and show you how much I want you.”

“You should rest,” I tell him, my heart booming. “We can talk about this later.”

“No. I won’t wait any longer. Every time I waited to say something, it was too late, or I thought it might be. Remember your dream, when I said I can’t do this with you?” At my nod, he goes on. “I can do this, Layla. I
want
to do this. But not without you. Not with any other woman.”

“Oh God.” He’s saying everything I want to hear. It’s too good to be true and too complicated to be that simple. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Be with me. Please be with me, Layla.”

“I’ve been with you from the start,” I whisper, and he trembles against me, murmuring my name.

Four months later

Hawk

“We’re going to be late,” Layla says, a crease of worry between her pretty brows. She is distressed, I know, even as I move behind her and zip up her dress.

She spoke to her dad the other day and is still upset about it. I mean, these days she gets easily upset, but anyone in her shoes would be, hearing their father confess he had been foolish enough to let the Organization help him with his business when he got into trouble and then had to play to their tune and allow horrible things to happen under his company’s roof as payback.

Her dad doesn’t seem like a bad person. Which makes me think again about my own parents and wonder if I should try talking to them again. See if they finally decide to speak to me and tell me a similar story to Layla’s father.

Only her father wasn’t one of the leaders. My parents were. Kinda difficult to think of sufficiently extenuating circumstances for that, right? The truth I have to finally accept is that my grandfather was right, at least in this: his daughter found a man just like her—greedy for power and money. They were a perfect match.

Hell, I hope I won’t turn out like them in ten years’ time.

But as Layla turns around and smiles at me, as I put my hands on her swollen belly and feel our baby kick, I doubt that will happen. I can’t feel their motivations. Never could. I don’t care about more money—I mean, fuck, how much money can one person need?

I have all I need right here, in this room, with me.

And like every time I look at my girl, I’m floored by her glow.

“God, you’re so pretty,” I breathe and kiss her, frantically trying to calculate if we have enough time for a quick, hot fuck before we leave.

My dick is rock-hard in my dress pants, and like every time I take in her accentuated curves—the roundness of her belly, the heaviness of her tits, the hardness of her nipples—I’m close to blowing my load just from looking at her.

“No,” she whispers back, “we’re late,” but she’s pressing her body to mine, kissing me back, and I walk her backward until she sinks down on the bed.

I have plans for some more exciting sex today, but for a quickie this will do. I can’t even walk, I’m so hard for her, and seeing her underneath me, in her glittery dress and sparkly high heels, all dressed up for Storm’s and Raylin’s wedding, is too much to resist.

The need to peel her clothes off her is a constant in my life lately, but now I also need to mess up her perfect hairdo, pull loose those shiny locks, pull off her dress to see her lacy panties and bra, throw her legs over my shoulders and eat her up.

She moans when I lift one leg and kiss her ankle, then the inside of her knee, then her inner thigh. I can see her panties now, a pale blue, and I nuzzle her pussy through the lace, drawing in her scent of arousal.

“I want you,” I grunt, pulling back reluctantly so that I can undress her, “so fucking bad.”

She laughs breathlessly. “Even like this?” She pats her belly and color spreads on her cheekbones.

She really doesn’t get it. “Especially like this.” I sit beside her, unzip her dress and have it off her in a heartbeat. “Listen, babe. I hope we’re gonna have fuckloads of children, so that we can have lots of pregnant sex.”

Giggling, she turns toward me, and God, I love the sparkle in her eyes. My hands are all over her body, over her tits. They’re more than a handful now, and I reach behind her for the clasp of her bra, impatient to have them bare in my hands, in my mouth.

The moment I draw one nipple into my mouth, she goes wild. She grabs my shoulders and grinds herself on my hard-on, and pleasure shoots up my spine, sparks behind my balls.

Oh yeah.
I suck on her other boob, kneading the first one with my hand, torturing her nipple, and her movements grow frantic, her hips moving in circles on my crotch, her belly pressing into my stomach, until I’m panting with need.

She comes with a soft cry, pushing her tits into my mouth, into my hand, slumping against me.

“Beautiful,” I whisper again. So damn perfect.

I carefully pull her off me and settle her on the bed to unzip my pants and pull my aching cock out. “On all fours,” I command her, and she obeys immediately, turning her lovely heart-shaped ass to me.

God, this girl. She’s killing me, every day. Every night. She’s all I want.

I pull down her soaked panties, nudge her legs apart, and lick at her opening, one long lick that has her rocking back into me and calling my name. She tastes sweet and musky and the taste zings straight to my cock.

Taking myself in hand, I push the tip between her folds, into her pussy. I groan as I slide home, deep inside her, and she rocks back, taking me even deeper. Reaching around her, I palm her tits, pulling on her nipples, and she clenches around me, gasping.

I pull back a little, then thrust again into her, my hand sliding down her side and then between her legs. Her clit is swollen and hot, and I rub it with my fingertips, circling it, stroking it until she cries out and shudders with another orgasm.

“Fuck, babe.” I grab her hips and pull her back to sit fully on me, wrapping an arm around her, under her tits, and putting my other hand over her throat, controlling her breathing. “Again. Come again. With me.”

She swallows against my hand, testing my grip. I relax it, let her draw air, then tighten it again. My other hand is now back between her legs, and my dick is so swollen it hurts. Her passage is tight like a fist around my hard-on, and when she shifts and rolls her hips, it tightens more, drawing a broken groan from my throat.

I stroke her clit harder, then trail my hand lower, where I’m sliding in and out of her, and she shudders. She’s moaning, I feel the vibrations against the palm I have on her throat, and I squeeze it lightly as I slam into her, my whole body straining to be inside her.

Her pussy ripples around my dick, and her head drops back on my shoulder as she rides her pleasure. Seeing her, feeling her triggers my own release, and I let out a hoarse shout, spilling inside her. Letting her have all of me.

I cling to her, hugging her to me as we both struggle to catch our breaths. Fuck, I wanna stay here, like this, inside her. With her.

“To hell with Storm,” I pant.

“It’s his wedding.”

“Fuck him.”

She laughs. “Come on. You promised me you’d go down on me in the back of your limo.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love this girl. Well, one of the reasons, but the main reason my dick loves her.

“Let’s go.”

***

The wedding is about to start. Storm and Raylin chose to have it at one of Rook’s estates by the sea, not far from Baltimore. So of course we are taking the limo.

And of course I’m about to make good use of the back seat.

However, Layla distracts me right before I close the partition between us and the driver, right before I push her back on the seat and spread her legs. I’m already salivating at the thought of making her come with my mouth, of the way she will come apart so completely while lying back on the white leather, her hair loose on the seat, her eyes closed, her body trembling.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she says, catching my hand before I do much more than slip it under her dress.

“If you’re gonna ask me whether the driver can see or hear you as you come, I’m not gonna answer. Because half the fun is not knowing.” I wink at her.

“No, not about that.” She blushes, and my dick likes that, trying to drill a hole through my pants.

I love that she’s open to me, that her emotions are there for me to see.

“What is it?” I ask gently, though I leave my hand where it is, on her knee, because I like having it there. “You can ask me whatever you want. You know that.”

She nods. “I wanted…” She bites her lip, and fuck, she’s adorable, and hot, and so damn sexy. “To ask you about how you lost part of your hearing as a kid.”

What. The. Fuck.

I blink at her, and withdraw my hand from under her dress. It’s clenching into a fist, I note distantly, and force myself to relax it.

“Why?” I clear my throat. “Why are you asking me this?”

She’s looking at me, her big eyes vulnerable. “I talked to Storm and Rook. About your grandfather. I wanted to understand you. Understand why you went on that first suicide mission. Why you were going to go again, before I left.”

I nod. I shouldn’t be angry. She did it because she cares for me. I know that now. And thank God, I’ve gotten a better hold on my tongue nowadays, not blurting out whatever nasty doubt and defensive thought comes to my mind.

“You could have asked me,” I say, keeping my voice quiet, and meet her gaze. “I’d have told you.”

“I know.” She reaches for my hand and our fingers tangle together. “I know that now. Which is why I’m asking you about this, and not them.”

Relieved, I turn her hand over, study it. So small against mine. So graceful and smooth.

“It never was a viral infection that took part of my hearing away. That was what I told the guys when they asked about it. What I told anyone who knew. Even my parents.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it. “Remember I told you my grandfather threw me against the wall a few times when I first moved in with him? That was the reason. One of the hits damaged my inner ear.”

“Oh God.” She leans closer, pulls her hand free to cup my cheek. Tears are glittering in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. He was a bastard.”

I frown. Was he? “I never told anyone, because he was the only adult who really saw me as a person. He saw me and recruited me. Gave me a purpose. Told me what was important. What I was supposed to do.”

“Do you still believe that?”

Fuck, this is hard to say, because my grandfather was my world until he died. He may have knocked me around, but he also raised me. Set me straight. Gave me discipline and his twisted sort of love, which was much more than anything my parents ever had.

But I can finally admit what he did, say it out loud. The roses inked into my chest burn with phantom pain as my secrets come to light.

“My grandfather… he made me believe I wasn’t meant to have a life. He was rattled by what he guessed my parents were doing, I guess. He hammered it into me, into my head…” I laugh, the irony too great. “Yeah, he actually hammered all this into my head. He punched and shoved and slammed me into the walls, and every time he said he was training me to be a soldier for the world. He made me believe it was on me to make things right. Only, he never taught me that I wasn’t alone with this burden. That I’m not the only one responsible. Or that I have an even bigger responsibility—to my family. To those I love. That one day I’d fall in love. That I’d find someone like you, someone who matters to me more than the world.”

“Hawk…” She’s stroking my cheek, my beard, running her fingers through it.

“I’m not a hero,” I tell her, the admission painful. “I’ve tried to be.” I rub the words inked on my forearms over the soft cloth of my shirt. “I had these tats done after he died.”

“What do they mean?”

“
Vivo Ut Serviam
. I live to serve. And
Ad Serviam Veritatem
. In the service of the truth. I believed that was my purpose in life. The reason I was born. But now… I dunno anymore. Or rather, I do. I’ve done my part. I thought I had nothing to live for. But I do. I do have something—someone to live for. I have you. Let Rook ask his friends for help. I’m done.”

She leans in to kiss me, and I place my hand behind her head and draw her to me. My other hand is over her tits, over her hip, and she’s frantically fumbling with my zipper, the leather squeaking underneath us, and the windows fogging up.

I guess we’re gonna try a different position in the back of the limo first.

I tug her panties to the side, and she guides my cock inside her, her mouth never leaving mine. I suck on her tongue, and she nips at my lips and fuck, I’m coming apart so fast I don’t know what hit me.

Layla. Riding my cock, her hair tickling my face, her eyes closed, her hands tangling at the back of my neck, rising and falling on me like a naked flame.

Burning away the past. Burning my soul. Branding me as hers.

“Marry me, Layla,” I whisper, like I’ve done every day for the past four months. She always says no. “Marry me.”

“Yes.” She laughs, and it takes me a long moment to realize this time she didn’t refuse. This time she accepted, and then she’s kissing me, and tears are slipping down her face. “Yes.”

“God, I love you,” I breathe, closing my eyes, and I know I’ll love her to the end of time.

I want to thank so many people, and I am sure I am forgetting some (I always do, sadly). I am so lucky and grateful to the lovely friends and collaborators I have the pleasure of spending time with and benefiting from.