Page 45 of Hawk

Callum stroked one of his palms up my spine to tangle it in my hair. Tugging my head back, he punched his hips up, goingeven deeper. “You always do. Never gonna get enough of this sweet pussy that’s mine. Only ever mine.”

The possessive thread in his tone ratcheted my desire even higher. Then his other hand slid between us, and he circled my clit with his thumb. “Ride me, baby.”

I might’ve been on top, but he was still in control. Which somehow made me feel even more free as I let go, gliding up and down his hard shaft until my body was strung taut above him. “So close.”

“Fly apart for me,” he grunted, yanking me down against him so his dick was anchored deep.

I ground up and down as much as I could with how he was holding me, my breasts bouncing while I flew apart. He followed with a groan that sounded like my name and a vow all in one. “Gemma, fuck yeah. That’s it, milk the come from my cock.”

My orgasm went on and on until I finally collapsed against his chest, fully spent.

Sprawled against him with his arms wrapped around me, I knew exactly where I belonged.

Forever.

EPILOGUE

HAWK

Iwaited just outside the door of Gemma’s studio until the light I’d installed beside it turned from red to green. Then I knocked. Gemma’s sweet voice floated to my ears, telling me to come in.

We’d set up this system so that I would know when she was in session and couldn’t be disturbed. When the light was green, it meant I could knock, but she only called for me to enter if the client gave permission.

The bell above the studio door chimed just as I stepped inside. The low, delicate jingle barely cut through the quiet hum of soft instrumental music drifting through the space. A warm, clean scent, mixed with hints of floral curled in the air—Gemma’s signature. Familiar and comforting, it wrapped around me like her touch.

Sunlight slanted through the front windows, filtering through gauzy curtains and glinting off the framed prints lining the wall. Soft, tasteful boudoir shots in black and white, angled just enough that nothing was exposed, but everything was suggested. Confidence, power, and vulnerability created into art.

At the far end of the space, Gemma was whispering with a client as she slipped into a jacket. The woman was glowing from the shoot, her eyes lit with a new kind of confidence. Her smile was wide, grateful, and real. She touched Gemma’s forearm gently—almost reverently—before murmuring her thanks and heading for the door.

I stepped aside to let her pass, holding the door as I dipped my head in greeting. The woman flushed but didn’t look embarrassed—just empowered. Gemma had that effect on people. On the women she photographed. And me.

The door closed behind the client, and I turned to face my wife.

She smiled at me, all soft curves and glowing skin, her hair twisted up in a loose knot, wisps curling around her cheeks. Her fitted pink tank top hugged the gentle curve of her swollen belly, and her black leggings that made her legs look even longer.

Gemma was always fucking stunning, but here were no words to describe the perfection of my baby growing inside her.

One of her hands slid absently to her bump, rubbing the taut swell like she was checking on our little one.

I crossed the room without a word, setting my hand over hers. The movement was instinctual, as though my body couldn’t be near hers without touching. I craved contact with her, no matter how small.

“You done for the day, baby?” I asked, voice low as my thumb brushed over the thin stretch of fabric that barely separated my palm from our child.

Gemma nodded, her sinful lips curving as she leaned into my chest. “Yeah. I’m excited to work with that client again, though. She said she wants to book another session after the baby’s born and I’m back at work.”

I grinned, tucking a piece of toffee hair behind her ear. “She’s not the only one. You’re booked solid for weeks. Place is buzzing, babe.”

She rolled her eyes a little, but her cheeks flushed. “Quiet referrals and word of mouth have brought me more business than I ever realized they would. But you know I’m still picky. I don’t shoot just anyone.”

I glanced toward the back, where the reinforced steel door marked Private remained locked tight. Behind it was the vault Deviant built—secure, air-gapped, and fireproof. Nothing connected to the internet. Nothing accessible from the outside. It was basically Gemma’s own SCIF room.

“Some people think it’s overkill,” she murmured.

“No,” I said firmly, cupping her face so our eyes were locked. “It’s fucking perfect, baby. You made a fortress out of trust. You protect your clients. You’re not just giving them art and a new sense of self, you’re giving them safety.”

Gemma’s eyes softened. “They like reviewing the photos with me. I thought they’d think it was a hassle. But they say it makes them feel seen.”

I lowered my head until our foreheads touched. “You have a gift, baby. Not just the camera. You see people. And you help them see themselves.”

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