Chapter 17
Seventeen
Emma
I'm standing in my bedroom, folding laundry when the music shifts to a heavier beat. The speaker on my dresser isn’t loud—just enough to fill the silence that settles in the house at night. I can't stand silence, so I let it play while I prepare for bed.
The air is warm, infused with the scent of freshly laundered cotton and a vanilla candle flickering beside my bed. I’ve cracked the window open, allowing the cool night breeze to brush against my bare legs.
I'm dressed in tiny sleep shorts that ride high on my hips and a thin tank top that clings to my body. My hair is twisted up in a messy bun, already beginning to unravel, with loose strands brushing my neck. No makeup. No bra. Just me and a pile of laundry waiting to be folded.
I fold a shirt and toss it into the basket, swaying my hips to the rhythm of the music. It’s a simple movement, barely a dance, just a way to pass the time.
Another shirt folded, my hips roll again. I reach for a pair of shorts, folding them with care. I hum softly as I turn in a slow circle, reaching for the next piece of clothing.
The house is quiet—peaceful.
But then, without warning, I don’t hear the door open. I don’t hear footsteps. I’m lost in the music, swaying, when suddenly, a solid body presses against my back.
I freeze.
A sharp inhale catches in my throat as something hard presses against me from behind, and a rough hand wraps around my throat. My body goes still, heat flooding through me in an instant.
I know that hand. I know that body. More than anything, I know that scent—leather, smoke, something dark and masculine that hits me like a punch to the chest.
Hawk.
His chest presses into my back as he leans down, his mouth dangerously close to my ear. His voice is low, rough, possessive. “Did I tell you you could stop grinding on my dick?”
A shiver runs down my spine. My body betrays me, and I instinctively push my hips back against him, grinding lightly.
His grip tightens slightly, a dark rumble vibrating through his chest. For a brief moment, I melt, my eyes fluttering shut. God, I missed him. “You think you can hang up on me?”
But then reality crashes back. It's been a week—seven days since he vanished like a ghost.
No explanation. No word. Nothing.
Anger flares inside me, heating my chest. Before he can react, I twist sharply in his grip, shoving against his arm to spin around and face him.
It works—for a moment. He wasn’t expecting it. I step back, glaring up at him. “Are you serious right now?” I snap.
Hawk stands there like a wall of muscle, unyielding in the dim light. My heart races as I continue, “You disappear for a week. No message, nothing. And now you just break into my house like nothing happened?”
His eyes darken.
“And what—” I gesture between us, fuming. “You think you can just show up whenever you want—”
I don’t finish my sentence. Suddenly, he moves—fast. His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm, and before I can react, he spins me around, pressing me against the wall beside my dresser.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. His body crowds into mine, one hand wrapping around my throat, warm and commanding, fingers holding me in place without squeezing—just claiming.
His other hand grips my hip hard enough that I can feel the pressure through the thin fabric of my shorts. My heart hammers in my chest as he leans closer, his face inches from mine.
“You’ve been a naughty girl,” he says, his voice rough.
My stomach flips. His thumb presses against the side of my throat, tilting my head back. “Trouble,” he murmurs.
My breath quickens. “You spent the last week teasing me,” he continues, voice low and dangerous. “Baking for my men, smiling at them, acting all sweet.”
His grip on my hip tightens, sending a thrill through me. “I warned you a punishment was coming.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as his gaze drops to my mouth and then back to my eyes. “Speak now,” he says quietly, “if you don’t want this.”
The room goes still. The music plays softly in the background. My heart races, my chest rising and falling beneath his gaze. I should say something. I should tell him to leave. I should push him away.
But instead, I stay silent. The truth burns in my chest—I do want this. I want him. And I hate that I do.
Hawk watches me carefully, waiting. When I still don’t speak, something dark flashes in his eyes. His hand leaves my hip, moving slowly, dangerously, down my side, over the curve of my waist.
He leans closer, his mouth brushing against my ear. “Thought so,” he growls softly.
His hand on my hip began to move, a slow, deliberate slide downwards. His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of my shorts, tracing the curve of my belly before venturing lower. I held my breath, my entire body tensing in anticipation.
When his thumb and forefinger found my clit and pinched, hard, a scream was torn from my throat.
It wasn't a scream of pain, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
The sharp, electric jolt shot through me, lighting up every nerve ending.
My knees went weak, and if he hadn't been holding me up, I would have collapsed to the floor.
"Fuck, yes," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my back.
He began to rub my clit in tight, relentless circles, his touch expert and demanding.
"You like that, don't you? You like my hand on your pussy.
" He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
"You're going to be my dirty little whore tonight, Emma.
And you're going to love every fucking second of it. "
His words were gasoline on a fire. I whimpered, a pathetic, needy sound that I couldn't hold back.
My hips bucked against his hand, chasing the friction, the pleasure.
I was grinding against him shamelessly, lost in the sensation.
My movements seemed to make him even more feral.
His grip on my throat tightened slightly, and his movements on my clit became faster, more punishing.
"I'm... I'm going to come," I gasped, the words barely intelligible. The pressure was building to an unbearable peak, a coiling tension deep in my belly that was about to snap.
Just as I teetered on the edge, he pulled his hand away.
I groaned, a sound of pure frustration and denial. My pussy was throbbing, clenching around nothing, begging for the release that had been so cruelly snatched away. I was soaked, my inner thighs slick with my arousal.
"Naughty girls don't get to finish right away," he murmured, his voice thick with dark amusement.
He spun me around to face him, and before I could protest, his mouth crashed down on mine.
It was a bruising, punishing kiss, all teeth and tongue.
He claimed my mouth with a possessive fury, his tongue delving deep, stroking and dominating.
His hand came up to my throat again, squeezing lightly, cutting off just enough air to make my head spin.
"Who do you belong to, Emma?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with a possessive fire that should have scared me but only made me wetter.
A defiant spark ignited within me. I looked him dead in the eye, a smirk playing on my swollen lips. "No one."
He didn't like that answer. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a primal sound of warning. "Get on your fucking knees," he commanded, his voice hard as steel.
My defiance melted away, replaced by a wave of submission so strong it made my head spin. I obeyed instantly, sinking to the floor before him. I looked up, my heart pounding in my chest. He fisted a hand in my hair, his grip tight and unyielding, and roughly tilted my head back.
"Stick your tongue out," he ordered.
I did as he said, extending my tongue, my eyes locked on his. He leaned down, his face close to mine, and spat directly into my mouth. The act was so debasing, so filthy, that it sent another jolt of arousal straight to my core.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked again, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
I met his gaze, my own eyes alight with challenge. "No one."
He growled again, the sound full of frustration and a dark, thrilling hunger.
He released my hair and unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them down his hips.
His cock sprang free, and my eyes widened.
It was massive, thick and long, with a prominent vein running up the underside.
The tip was already glistening with precum, and my mouth watered. I couldn't wait to taste him.
He gripped his hard cock, stroking it slowly, twice, his eyes never leaving mine. I opened my mouth in invitation, and he didn't hesitate. He stuffed his cock inside me, pushing past my lips and sliding all the way down my throat until my nose was buried in the coarse hair at his base.
I gagged, my throat constricting around him as he hit the back of my throat.
He didn't give me time to adjust, immediately starting to roughly fuck my face.
His hips pistoned, his cock thrusting in and out of my mouth with a brutal, punishing rhythm.
My pussy was dripping, so wet from the sheer force of him, from the taste of him on my tongue.
Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the saliva that dribbled down my chin, but I loved it.
I loved the feeling of being used by him, of being completely at his mercy.
I wanted to make him feel good, to show him how well I could take him.
He thrust deep into my throat one last time and held it there, buried to the hilt. "Look up at me," he commanded, his voice strained.
I blinked up at him, my vision blurred by tears, his cock still lodged deep in my throat. "Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
I just blinked, unable to speak, unable to do anything but submit to the overwhelming presence of him. He slowly pulled his dick all the way out of my mouth, and I collapsed forward, coughing and gagging, desperately trying to catch my breath.
He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back again. "I don't like repeating myself," he said, his voice dangerously low.
I looked up at him, a defiant glint in my eyes. "No one." I loved firing him up, loved seeing how unhinged, how feral, he got for me.
He shuddered, a violent tremor running through his body.
With a guttural roar, he shoved his cock deep down my throat again.
This time, his movements were long and slow, deliberate.
He pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in, giving me no time to get a proper breath.
I was gagging and coughing, my lungs burning, but the sounds I was making seemed to only spur him on.
He was moaning, his head thrown back in ecstasy.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned. "You take my cock so well. Such a good little whore for me."
He held my face against him again, my nose pressed into his skin, his cock buried deep in my throat. "Who. Do. You. Fucking. Belong. To?" he asked, his voice a desperate, demanding plea.
When he finally pulled out of my mouth, I looked up at him, my eyes wide and my lips swollen. I took a ragged breath and whispered the words I knew he'd been waiting for. "You."
That was it. That was the breaking point.
A raw, untamed look entered his eyes, and he seemed to lose all control.
He hauled me to my feet, lifting me as if I weighed nothing, and threw me onto my bed.
I landed on my back with a soft bounce, and before I could even process what was happening, he was on me.
He didn't waste a second. He dove between my legs, his mouth finding my clit with an unerring accuracy.
He sucked hard, his tongue flicking and swirling, driving me wild with pleasure.
I was so wet, so on edge from the denial and the face-fucking, that the sensation was almost too much to bear.
I screamed, my hands fisting in the sheets as my hips bucked against his face.
Just as I felt the familiar coil of tension tightening, ready to snap, he shoved three fingers inside me, curling them upwards to rub against my g-spot.
The dual stimulation was my undoing. I screamed, a high, piercing sound of pure ecstasy, and my body convulsed.
I squirted, a gush of fluid that coated his face and hand as I orgasmed violently on his face.
He stood up, his face glistening with my cum, a triumphant, feral grin on his lips.
He grabbed my legs, pulling me to the edge of the bed until my ass was hanging off.
He immediately stuffed his cock into my still-spasming pussy, and I cried out at the sudden, fullness.
He started to rail me, his thrusts hard and deep, his hips slapping against mine with a wet, rhythmic sound.
He reached forward, his fingers finding my nipple and pinching it hard. The sharp pain mixed with the pleasure, pushing me closer to the edge again. He was talking dirty to me, his words a litany of filth that only fueled my arousal.
"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "This pussy is mine.”