Page 147 of Rebel Hawke

“No, you’re not.” I spread my palm across his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart and rigid muscles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this tense.”

And that’s saying a lot, considering everything that’s happened since I returned to New Orleans.

His hand stills on my back. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I do, though.”

This has to end.

He has to relax, or he’s going to burn out before he even gets to the ring.

Atlas already made it clear that he isn’t going to tell me what happened. While I’d much rather he unload what’s bothering him and get that off his mind, there’s one other thing I can do to help relieve his tension…

I slide up over him until I’m straddling his hips and press my belly against his crotch.

His breath hitches for a second, his cock stirring to life between us. He offers a dubious look, his brows drawn low. “What are you doing, Little Bird?”

As I rub along him intently, he hardens almost instantly. “Helping you relax.”

He slips his hands to my hips and grips them, trying to stall my movements. “Don’t, Wren.”

“Why not?” I feather my lips over his, loving the way his breath hitches again. “You’ve done nothing but take care of me since we got together. Every day. Every night. Why can’t I take care of you for once?”

One of his brows rises. “Because you’re pregnant, and you’ve been sick for weeks.”

I push up to ensure my eyes meet his uncertain ones. “I’m not sick now. This is the best I felt since I found out I was pregnant. That soup really works wonders.”

He chuckles lightly, some of his doubt melting away, and when I grind my hips against his length, it turns into a groan and his fingers dig into my flesh.

“Please, Atlas.” I kiss the corner of his mouth, then slowly work my way down his tattooed neck, across his rock-hard pecs, and down his eight-pack to where the athletic shorts he sleeps in barely contain his cock. “Let me take care ofyou.”

His body tenses more and more the lower I get, and I slip my fingers under the waistband.

He twitches. “Little Bird…” A barely contained heat shimmers in his gaze. “You’re playing with fire.”

Atlas seems to have forgotten I’ve been burned before.

I’m not afraid of the flames, of the heat and passion he offers. I welcome them all, the opportunity to give him what he’s given me so many times over, to watch him experience the same searing pleasure I have at his hands.

Grinning, I slide backward so I can tug his shorts down to his knees and free his cock. It bobs up, hard and ready in front of me, and I straddle his thighs and take him in a firm grip.

His chest rumbles, and his hips arch into my touch as he tips his head back, his eyes drifting close. “Fuck.”

It’s been so long.

The last thing either one of us has been thinking about is sex.

Between my morning sickness and Gramps’ death, we’ve just been trying to survive and make it through each day. But now, my pussy aches, that dull throb of need for this man centering between my thighs as I dip my head and glide my tongue along the underside of his shaft.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Little Bird…”

He tunnels his fingers through my hair, and I lick again, this time swirling around his head and capturing the bead of pre-cum and flicking the tip of my tongue on that sensitive spot just underneath it. His hips buck so hard he almost pushes me off, his hands tightening in my locks.

The sharp bite of pain eggs me on, making me want to see him lose that control he’s clinging to so tightly.

And I know just how to do it.

By giving him the same treatment he does me.

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