47. Ivy
Ivy
T he inside of my bicep itches from the tattoo I got yesterday. I decided on a pair of spiked gloves, and I swear Hawke almost cried, complaining about some dust in his eyes.
Telling him that I love him scares me. Hawke so easily wears his heart on his sleeve, but I feel like there should be some kind of resistance or a timeline for relationships.
But as I look at the women sitting in my apartment—all of them in the same boat as me—as our men are out taking care of business, I realize none of their timelines are the same.
I’ve never been in a relationship, but I can’t fault any of what Hawke says. When he says he loves me, he means it. I’ve felt it in his words since he started saying it to me in the dead of night.
But it feels like it’s the final thing to keep me from going all in because I know the moment I say it to him, I’ll fall so deeply I won’t be able to turn back.
Maybe I already have. No, I know I have.
If not, I wouldn’t have gotten the tattoo of his gloves on my arm to go along with the ivy on his chest.
I wanted the gloves specifically to represent my acceptance of that part of him. I never want to change him. I know beneath the larger-than-life energy is an unquenchable hunger for violence. But also amongst that is something so sweet that I’m privileged to cherish.
Hope is enjoying a cup of tea at my kitchen counter.
Billie stopped pacing back and forth a few moments ago and is now sitting down with popcorn as she flicks through the channels.
It must be hardest on her since she almost lost Ford once already.
Although I heard Hope’s dad shot Braxton in the chest, so that could be scary, too, I suppose.
But Hope is as calm as they come. Posie stayed home to look after her son, Bentley.
And Jewel, being the badass she is, went with Eli, Dutton, Ford, Braxton, and Hawke to Springfield.
We’ve been talking about things idly since they left, but the nerves are obviously starting to filter through the room.
But I don’t want to normalize not being able to talk about these things.
I want us to support one another, no matter what, and since we all seem to have screws loose loving men who are all killers, we might as well have the discussion.
“I’m surprised they asked Braxton to join,” I say to Hope, and Billie whips her head toward Hope expectantly.
“Oh no, they didn’t. I told him to go because it would be a good bonding experience for them,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I’m not worried about him coming back. He knows the only one who can kill him is me, so he’ll return.”
Billie chuckles. “I still have to get used to you saying things like that.”
“The last thing I said to Hawke was to kick their ass, but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry,” I admit.
“But I know he’ll return. It just feels different now.
I can’t remember how many times I saw my father walk out and return with blood all over him.
My mother always seemed so calm about it, but I think deep down maybe she was worried. ”
“It’s only natural to have those thoughts, isn’t it?
” Billie says, and I’d wanted to start this conversation primarily for her.
Because I know this hits her the hardest. “I told Ford to come back home in one piece, and he said with a deadpan expression”—her face changes and she tries to mimic her boyfriend—“‘Why wouldn’t I? I just want to come back home to Netflix and chill with you as soon as possible.’” She laughs at herself.
And I must admit it’s a good impression. “But I trust him.”
I sigh thoughtfully. Despite it all, these last few months of uncovering the secrets behind this operation have been exciting.
I wonder if maybe I was cut out for this—finding locations of those who are hurting and abusing women.
With a boyfriend who’s practically carved out of stone, I can’t help but think of what a good team we make.
It might’ve started as personal, but this is making me realize there are so many things I can do with my skills besides just making money.
I can help women. I don’t need the credit for it; if anything, I prefer to work in the background. It’s an idea I’ve been playing around with lately, but I’m certain all this happened to point me in a new direction.
“How’s Posie doing?” I ask Billie. She was at her house before she came over here.
“She’s fine. Apparently, Dutton said he’d make sure he’s back home at a reasonable time so he can read Star Wars to Bentley. He’s really into Star Wars now.”
My nose scrunches up. “I don’t recall Dutton ever being into Star Wars. ”
“He wasn’t,” Billie says with a smile. “He’d literally do anything for that kid.”
I’m smiling as I go to the kitchen to make a coffee.
Who would’ve thought we’d all be in relationships at this point in our lives?
I pull out my phone to check the trackers I put on Hawke.
I’ve placed several on him, including his boots, car, jacket, and even his gym bag.
I haven’t checked my phone for two hours, knowing I’d be going crazy if I kept checking it.
Besides, I know deep in my heart my man is going to return covered in blood with a grin on his face.
The door bursts open, and I almost drop the mug I’m holding because I’m so startled.
As if materializing from my thoughts, Hawke is standing there with a big-ass smile. He’s okay . I scan my gaze over his chest, quickly counting the cuts and flesh wounds, but he scoops me up in a hug and spins me.
He’s still on a high from the kill, and his hard cock pressing against my stomach expresses that this asshole only has one outlet.
“I said no sex for the number of days equal to the cuts and bruises?—”
He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss, devouring my mouth. I don’t even notice what state Braxton and Ford are in as they walk in because Hawke has already lifted me up by the ass, wrapped my legs around his waist, and is carrying me into the bedroom.
“I told you I’d come back at a good time like a good boy,” he says, biting my lower lip and tugging. It pulls at my core, my pussy immediately pounding as he slams the bathroom door behind us.
My last thread of control snaps, and I run my hands through his hair as he begins undressing us both through broken kisses.
“Fuck, I had so much fun today.” His energy is buzzing as he walks us over to the shower and turns it on.
He kisses me again. There’s still blood on his ear, and I think he must’ve tried to clean his face before coming up to my apartment.
“There were big explosions, and I killed eleven guys, and…” He kisses me again, but it shifts as I direct it into something softer.
I’m just grateful he’s back in one piece.
That he came back home as promised. Someone like Hawke needs a reward system to ensure he’s not reckless, not that I think I can or want to ever change that about him.
But I want him to always come back like this, and the way we’ve been able to best communicate is through touch.
He follows my lead as he lifts me and hovers me over his cock. He leans back to scan my eyes. “Did you miss me, lover?” he purrs with a cocky grin.
I line his cock up with my greedy, wet pussy, needing to remind him of what home feels like, as I say, “You took your fucking time.”
He chuckles as he slams me down onto his cock and begins thrusting into me against the tiled wall as hot water runs between us, rinsing away his adventures of the day. I never thought I’d love this man so irrevocably, but the truth is, it’s hard not to.
He continues pounding into me, dispersing all of that jittery, excitable energy he walked in with.
I let him use my body, abusing me so he can expel his carnal urges.
He sucks, bites, and curses as he jerks into me, filling me with his cum.
I sigh, relieved, the moment I feel it hitting inside of me.
My own body crumbles as I break into pieces, my pussy squeezing around his cock and milking him for every last drop.
Home.
Hawke.
Peace.
Our breaths are shaky as he continues to lazily kiss me like we have all the time in the world. I cup his jaw as I look up at him, realizing I’m a sucker for him.
“I love you too, Hawke,” I tell him, and he breaks out in a shit-eating grin as he spins me, almost slipping on the wet tiles as if forgetting where we are.
Images of him being in this very shower, slipping in oil, come to mind, and I throw my head back laughing. I’ll never not love this man because he’s entertaining, at the very least.
“You better not be thinking about the oil incident,” he growls as he places me gently on my tippy-toes and I wrap my arms around his neck, looking up at him sweetly. It’s answer enough, and he rolls his eyes, trying to hide his smirk.
He leans down to press a kiss on my lips and he says, “It took you long enough, lover. I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”