Page 101 of Rebel Hawke

His thrusts become erratic, and I know he’s as close as I am.

Like a sunrise on the horizon.

Right there.

This was never going to be long, drawn-out lovemaking.

It’s a rush.

A frantic race.

A hurricane slamming against the shore at a category five.

Barreling down on land with such brutal force because it wants to destroy everything.

And I want to let him destroy me in the best way possible.

With each slam of his hips, that white-hot ball centering low in my belly starts to spread out, and he tears his mouth away from mine, letting me press my cheek back against the rough brick.

He grips my hip with one hand and continues to roll and tweak my clit with the other. “You’re going to come for me, Wren.Hard. I want to feel your cunt squeezing my cock, milking me, sucking me up deep inside you. I want you to take my cum like my good Little Bird.”

Jesus, when he talks like that—

I shudder and finally explode.

Atlas somehow manages to get his hand up from my hip and over my mouth before my scream cuts through the party.

Bright light flashes against my closed lids.

Scorching pleasure ripples through every nerve ending in an aggressive rush.

My legs start to give out.

I jerk against his cupped hold on my cunt.

Clenching and grasping his hard length.

He continues to thrust relentlessly, the same unstoppable intensity I’ve helped him try to regain in the ring, until I finally feel him harden even more and hot spurts hitting deep inside me.

Sweet mother of God…

Every muscle twitches as I come down from my high, and I finally manage to gasp in another breath as I sag forward to the brick. Atlas falls on me, giving me his entire body weight—his solid frame, all that muscle and power pressing into me against the unyielding, rough wall.

But I don’t even care.

It’s exactly what I needed.

A reaffirmation of everything we are, of what we’re working for, of the fact that Satriano is not going to be able to do anything to hurt the Hawkes or me.

Atlas will always protect me.

Just like he is now, with his arms wrapped around me, holding me to him, keeping me safe in a way only he can.

The hazy cloud of orgasm starts to fade, and the sound of the orchestra playing finally fills my ears again—a light and upbeat number that likely has the dancers below us out enjoying the floor, spinning in their gowns and tuxes with their masks, hiding behind them as much as I have.

I may show them on a daily basis, walk around in the studio in things that reveal them, but I also used my scars as an excuse not to come back, not to face the man still hard inside me.

But it was a mistake.

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