Rising Heat (109 page)

My concerns and doubts about whether we really had a relationship were soon put to rest. We had a blast. When the weather allowed, we spent our days walking in the woods, talking, sharing our past experiences, our hopes and our dreams.

I learned how to walk in snowshoes, after a few hilarious falls. I even learned how to fish. The nearby stream was frozen along the edges, but on warmer days, Hawk said the fish would bite. It was an activity I found surprisingly relaxing. Of course, once I hooked a fish, I always handed my pole to Hawk. Call me silly, but I didn’t want to watch as he pulled the hook out of the fish nor cleaned them, and I have to admit that I refused to learn.

He did most of the cooking, which was perfectly fine with me as I didn’t know how to cook much of anything without a microwave. When the snows came, we stayed inside more. It was a good thing he had a good supply of condoms because the sex was incredible — and frequent. Every day we spent together served to cement our relationship.

After that first couple of weeks, I didn’t have to worry that our relationship had been based on our shared experience. While I did realize that without the presence of a stalker in my life, I might never have met Hawk, I knew that if we had met under different circumstances, my attraction for him would have been just as intense.

We did come down from the cabin once that winter, to spend a couple of days over Christmas with his mother. By then, Hawk and I were inseparable. Every time we came within close proximity, I felt his hand on my shoulder, touching my forearm, reaching for my hand. I found myself doing the same. His mother noticed, beamed with pleasure, and nodded in self-satisfaction.

About midway through January, we started talking about heading back into town. I needed to get back to work and so did he. On one particularly cold night when the temperatures drop well below zero, we lay naked and huddled under the bed covers, a crackling fire in the fireplace casting a cozy glow into the cabin. We had made love often during the past weeks, but for some reason, this night felt special to me.

I lay beneath him, his body hovering over me, nestled between my legs, my calves wrapped around his as his lips ravished me. At the moment, he suckled a breast, his tongue wickedly circling my nipple, then sucking on it, then slowly licking it. The hard little nub engorged and reached and ached for more.

In the dull light cast by the fire, I watched him with half-lidded eyes. The scar along his right cheekbone reminded me of how close I had come to losing him.

Nevertheless, I found that thin scar incredibly sexy. Every time he grinned, smiled, or laughed and the scar moved, I felt a clench of muscles deep in my stomach; a combination of intense sexual attraction, insatiable desire, and love. That scar, more than any other scar on his body, reminded me of what Hawk had been willing to sacrifice for me.

My hands skimmed along the smooth flesh of his back, once again reveling and tracing every muscle. My fingers traced the outline of that gorgeous tattoo over his shoulder. His shoulders, wide and rippling with muscles, his skin so hot and smooth. As he worshiped my nipples, the fire deep inside me raged. I unwrapped my legs from his, planted my feet firmly on the mattress, and lifted my hips upward, urging him to take me.

He chuckled low in his throat, sending a shiver of pleasure through me. His tongue slowly and patiently continued its ministrations on my breasts before he shifted his position. His tongue and kisses traced a line down the center of my chest, down my stomach, and then began the slow teasing ritual he had perfected during our voluntary isolation in the cabin.

My pussy felt like it burst into flames, my hips arching upward of their own accord as he began to nibble gently on the flesh of my abdomen. My own scars were plainly visible, and during every bout of lovemaking we had enjoyed since “the incident”, he had always made sure to gently kiss every single scar; on my forearm, underneath my jaw, the thin, fine scar under my left breast, and each one on my thighs.

He was an exquisitely gentle lover, but also passionate, as was I. What always began as a gentle, slow, lovemaking session nearly always turned into a hot, wet, passionate, and sometimes noisy affair. At this moment, I was burning for him and he knew it. As his lips dipped lower, I adjusted my position and spread my knees wide, offering him complete and total access. The chill of the air outside of the blankets caused a shiver of goosebumps to rise on my flesh. Instants later, the heat he invoked from within warmed me.

My fingers threaded through his hair. His wonderful, long, silky black hair caressed my thighs and my hips like the gentle brush of a feather. And then his lips were at the core of my being, nuzzling, his tongue searching and teasing. I spread my knees wider. My hips tilted higher, encouraging. That wonderfully gifted tongue of his began to circle and stroke my clit. I sucked in a breath, caught it, and then moaned with pleasure.

One hand reached under my hips and lifted them off the bed. As he lifted my hips, he encouraged me to wrap my legs over his shoulders. He adjusted his position so that he was on his knees, one strong arm bracing my hips, his other hand reaching for, finding, and tweaking my nipple.

It felt like he was going to eat me alive, sucking and licking my clitoris one second, then diving into my wet depths the second. My moans soon transformed into sharp gasps of intense pleasure. My legs tightened around his shoulders, urging him ever closer.

My breath came in sharp gasps as intense pleasure surged through me. I let go of his hair with one hand and reached below me. My fingers wrapped around his erect cock and began to stroke it, as ever marveling at its length, its hardness, the contrast between soft skin and rock-hard muscle underneath. Even though I tried to delay the inevitable, I felt the orgasm building, causing my hips to gyrate and rock with hard, fast movements. My hand quit moving and just squeezed, my thumb stroking the tip of his wet head.

For a few seconds, everything went white. My pussy clenched in rhythmic contractions, sending wave after wave of ecstasy through me. I closed my eyes, threw my head back on the pillow and arched my breasts, still seeking the pleasure of his touch.

Moments later, my ears ringing and the blood pounding through my veins, I opened my eyes and saw him gazing down at me with a look that warmed me more than my orgasm had. I smiled and reached for him. I disentangled my legs from around his neck and placed my hands on his shoulders, urging him over me.

“Hawk…” I breathed, the sound coming from deep within my throat. Words seemed inadequate to express my feelings for him. He lay on top of me, balancing most of his weight on his forearms as he gazed down at me, searching my face. His hair fanned around us. The expression in his eyes was searching, almost contemplative.

“A penny for your thoughts,” I whispered.

He grinned. “I was thinking I wanted to ask you to marry me,” he said.

His warm breath brushed against my lips as he lowered his head to kiss mine. My heart leapt with excitement. I pulled him closer, down on top of me with a smile of my own as he nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck.

“Took you long enough.”

He lifted his head, again gazing down at me, his expression serious. I nodded and opened my legs. No need to bother with condoms anymore. I wanted him, now and forever. I wanted to bear his children, to grow old with him, to experience life with him.

He didn’t hesitate. Within seconds, he positioned himself and thrust deeply, as if he wanted to touch my very soul. But he had already done that. Many times over. I smiled and met him thrust for thrust, reveling in the feel of him wrapped in my embrace and my love.

The End

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Helen Grey is the author of the hot alpha military romance series “Serving the Soldier.” Her passion is to write steamy erotic romance and she loves hot billionaire bad boys. Lucky for her, these two go perfectly together… Find out how in her books!

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Helen Grey

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