Page 28 of Rebel Hawke

Picturing her on her knees in here with me, my cock crammed down her throat, her pink lips wrapped around it, thrusting as she swallows me down deeper and deeper…

Her soft amber eyes staring up at me, begging me for more while I give her everything I can…

Nails biting into my ass as she demands more…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I can’t remember the last time I wanted anyone as badly as I do Wren. Maybe never. Today was as close to torture as I’ve ever come, being so close and not being able to pull her into my arms and kiss her…

The mere thought is enough to draw out my orgasm, and I finally come, the rush shooting out and disappearing in the cold water swirling around and then down the drain at my feet.

Gasping, I drop my forehead to the tile and sag against it, letting my mind wander to what it would be like to hold her in the afterglow of doingthatinside her when she’s all sweaty, sticky, breathless, sated, and happy.

The Wren I knew, the one I grew up with, was vibrant and sunny—at least as much as she could be given her mother’s situation. She knew how to make anyone smile, especially me. This one who returned is different, but that joy and sunshine are still there; they’re just hidden beneath the scars and trauma she suffered.

I want to wipe it all away.

Take back the last twenty years.

Pretend it didn’t happen and bring back that girl I think I loved even then. Instead, all I have is the ability to fantasize about her because I can’t touch her.

Not the way I want to.

Not when other things are at stake, like the success of the most important business move Hawke Enterprises has ever made.

“Fuck!”

The word echoes around the bathroom, reverberating in my ears almost violently, a vicious reminder of the frustration I’m sure to struggle with for as long as that woman stays. Which might be forever.

I step back under the spray and tip my face into it, letting it beat down over my skin and wash down my body.

It doesn’t cool my heated flesh.

And coming hasn’t released any of the tension I’ve felt all day.

I scrub my hands over my cheeks, flip off the water, and step out, grabbing a towel. The harsh ring of my phone from the other room hits me before I even have a chance to start drying off.

“What the fuck?”

A phone call at 2:00 in the morning is never good news—that’s something I unfortunately learned far too young.

My gut tightens instantly, and I hustle back into the bedroom, water still dripping off me, and snag it from my nightstand to find Dad’s name on the screen.

Shit.

Accepting the call, I put it on speakerphone and start drying off, already anticipating what’s coming—a quick exit. “What’s wrong?”

“Where are you?”

His tone makes me freeze with the towel on my head, halfway through drying my hair, unease coiling around my spine. “My place. Why?”

He releases an annoyed huff. “It’s the third time I’ve called.”

“I was in the shower.”

“At 2:00 in the—never mind.”

My chest tightens more the longer it takes for him to get to the point. Something is obviously wrong, and it isn’t like him to beat around the bush. “Dad, what’s going on?”

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