Page 150 of Rebel Hawke

That foul mouth of his that always sends me over the edge.

His words somehow manage to untangle the tethers that keep me grounded and throw them free, letting me soar.

Two more thrusts and a perfect roll of his hips are all it takes for me to do just that.

I cry out as my orgasm ripples through me.

He unleashes a guttural grunt and flips me over onto my back, pumping into me and finding that perfect spot for the head of his cock to catch that keeps the pleasure bubbling through every nerve of my body. Each thrust abrades my clit. Beautiful lights flash against my closed lids. My pussy clenches his hard length, trying to draw it deeper and keep it when he withdraws, until he roars my name and comes again.

Atlas sags onto me, his chest heaving, heart thundering against my own, making sure to keep his weight mostly supported so he doesn’t crush me.

I release a heavy, labored breath, wrapping my arms around his neck and turning my face into his neck, kissing him there as we both come down, praying he finally finds his peace tonight.

22

ONE DAY UNTIL TITLE FIGHT

WREN

My knee bounces wildly in the back seat of the limo.

The soothing low music, thick, luxurious leather beneath and behind me, and the swanky surroundings aren’t doing anything to ease my anxiety. Though, I’m sure that was the intent when Savage sent the stretch number to pick us up so we wouldn’t have to drive ourselves tonight.

Atlas slides his hand onto my thigh, stopping the incessant motion, and squeezes gently. “Shouldn’t I be the one who’s nervous?”

I glance over at him as he ghosts his palm up my bare leg to the hem of my skirt. The smooth glide of rough callouses along my sensitive skin sends a little shiver through me, but it doesn’t help with the nerves. “Yes. I mean, no”—I shake my head—“you shouldn’t be. It’s only the weigh-in, right?”

The corner of his lips quirk up, and he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Get in, step on a scale, answer a few questions, and then we can go home.”

We turn onto the street that houses The Hawke Hotel, and I chew on my bottom lip as I watch the other buildings speed by, relieved the motion isn’t making me sick today.

“Are you sure you still want to go home tonight? You wouldn’t rather stay at the hotel with everyone else?”

He shakes his head, running his free hand through his hair. “No, I sleep much better in my own bed. Anytime I have a fight in town, I stay at home.” A slow grin spreads across his face. “No matterhownice the mattress and rooms are at the event hotel.”

The words barely leave his mouth before we pull up outside, and I gaze up at the sparkling glory of The Hawke Hotel.

Huge panes of glass.

Massive slabs of shiny marble glinting in the setting sun.

His family name in eloquently scrawled lettering across the top of the covered entrance.

Breathtaking…

I’ve seen it over the last few months, driven by it several times, and even seen the virtual tour online, but I’ve yet to set foot inside of it—mostly because Atlas never wanted to.

For obvious reasons, even if he won’t say it out loud.

It was just his nerves getting the better of him, not wanting to go in before the grand opening—and I hope that’s all it is today, too.

My knee may be bouncing while he is the one cracking jokes and grinning, but he shares my nerves. Whatever happened last weekend, whatever he’s been keeping from me for the last several days—while he did his final cut and trained with Isaac and Bishop under Savage and Stone’s watchful eyes—has been eating away at him.

And it’s more than just being worried about the fight.

I know that’s what he wants me to believe his restless sleep has been about, but by now, I can read him too well.

Astrid swears she doesn’t know anything and that if something were wrong, she would, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s something big keeping him awake at night besides the opening, the fight, or even Gramps’ death.

---