Mystery Man
Page 72

Chapter Twenty-Two
All I Can Ask
Hawk flipped me to my back.
“Baby,” I gasped. “I wasn’t done.”
He ground his c**k into me. “You got a time limit up there, Sweet Pea,” he grunted. “You can’t bring it home, I take over.”
This was true. Hawk allowed the top for awhile. Then, if I couldn’t “bring it home”, he stopped allowing it.
Like now. Now, he pulled up my leg, kept it high with his bicep behind my knee, arm wrapped around, hand warm on my inner thigh and lifted up with his other hand in the bed, arm straight.
Then I watched his head drop so he could study our connection, his eyes heated, his face hungry. He liked what he was seeing. Just watching him, I felt a strong, pre-orgasm vibration.
Then he did that thing he does with his hips, I whimpered because I really, really liked that thing he does with his h*ps then he started driving into me again.
“Hawk,” I breathed, my hand trailing down, my fingers separating around his pounding cock, feeling our connection, the power of him riding me. Beautiful. Wet. Hard. Hot.
His eyes came to mine and he did that thing with his h*ps again, my neck arched and I came.
Not long after, Hawk did the same.
He released my leg and his heat and weight came to me. I took it gladly, welcoming it by wrapping all four limbs around him.
His face was in my neck and I glided my nose down his shoulder.
God, he smelled good.
His mouth came to my ear. “Got shit to do, babe,” he murmured.
It was morning. The morning after the girl posse meeting of the minds. The morning after he promised to handle me with care.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Even though he had things to do, again this was no first thing in the morning nookie, slam bam, thank you ma’am. His mouth came to mine and he kissed me lightly and again then again before he nipped my bottom lip.
Shit but I liked when he did that.
So much that when he started to roll off me, I rolled with him so I was on top, straddling him, my forearms in the bed, my br**sts brushing his chest, my hair framing both our faces.
One of his hands spanned my hip, the other one gathered one side of my hair, holding it at my neck.
“Gwen,” he said softly.
God, I really loved my name.
I lifted a hand and put it to his face, my thumb moving over his brow, his cheekbone, to where his dimple would be if he was smiling then across his lips and he let me do this, his eyes locked to mine.
“Do you promise to handle me with care?” I whispered, my heart racing.
His hand at my hip curved around my waist pulling me down to him and his hand at my neck did the same so our faces were a breath away.
“Promise,” he whispered back.
“Swear?” I pushed.
“Swear, baby.”
“You had a hand up too, Hawk,” I told him.
“Dropped it awhile ago, Gwen.”
Shit. He had. He totally had.
I nodded then bent my head the quarter inch I needed to touch my lips to his. His arms got tight, he rolled me to my back and my lip touch became a long, hard, wet, delicious kiss.
His head came up and he asked, “You just give me you?”
“I’m gonna try,” I answered.
“All I can ask, Sweet Pea,” he muttered did the triple touch with his lips again, denied me the nip then stated, “We’re goin’ out tonight.”
Oh yeah. I liked that.
“Okay.”
“Dress sweet for me, baby,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I repeated.
He smiled down at me, his dimples popping out then I got the belated nip on my lower lip.
Nice.
* * * * *
“Babe,” Hawk answered his phone.
It was early afternoon and without the freezer full of frozen Twix bars calling my name, firebombs, drive-bys and commandos installing security systems, I’d had two days of uninterrupted, flat out work. I was getting ahead of the game. I had another author send me her files but the deadline was far away, so work was steady, I was golden and my invoices that month were going to be awesome.
“My insurance guy called,” I replied into the phone, wandering to the window, staring at the not-very-attractive scrub, hardscrabble and somewhat attractive, small-river-maybe-large-creek flowing by. “I need to meet him at my house.”
“When?” Hawk asked.
“Three,” I answered.
“I’ll send one of my boys,” Hawk replied.
“Thanks, baby,” I whispered, he didn’t respond so I went on. “Can I ask about tonight?”
“What about it?”
“Well, is it a little black dress and heels night? A glittery top with jeans night? Or a t-shirt and motorcycle boots night?”
“You own motorcycle boots?”
“No, but there are about a gazillion Harley Davidson stores in and around Denver. Maybe your boy can take me on a pit stop.”
“A gazillion?” he asked, sounding like he was smiling.
“Maybe a bazillion, just down from a gazillion.”
I heard a manly, deep chuckle.
Then, “Babe, not big on a woman in motorcycle boots.”
“Okay, that’s out,” I muttered and got another chuckle.
“Somewhere between dress and heels and tee and boots. That work for you?” he finally answered.
“Yes,” I replied then cried, “Oh! Meredith called. She wants to do dinner but she can’t make dinner at their house because clean up just started so she wanted to know if we want to meet them at Rock Bottom Brewery.”
“Call Elvira, tell her to check the schedule and give you my parents’ number,” he said.
“Your parents’ number?” I asked.
“They liked your folks, they’ll want to come.”
I lost sight of the scrub, hardscrabble and small-river-maybe-large-creek as my eyes went blurry. This was because it was one thing for our parents to be thrown together in a out-of-control family drama that involved cleavers and weeping but it was totally another to casually arrange a meeting of the parents like it was just any other dinner.
“Gwen?” he called.
“What?” I answered.
“Thought I lost you.”
“I’m here.”
“All right, so call Elvira.”
“’Kay.”
I got that out but I was incapable of further speech. It just hit me that my mystery man knew my parents, I knew his, he wanted me to set up a meet the parents dinner even though we’d already met each other’s parents, not to mention they’d met each other, and we were practically living together.