14. Jade #2
I climb off the bike, legs stiff from riding. “I can’t go back to who I was. Before Tyler. Before all of this.” I pace a few steps, trying to find the words. “Tyler made sure of that. He broke that woman. Destroyed her piece by piece until there was nothing left.”
“Jade—”
“But maybe I don’t want to go back anyway.” I turn to face him. “I spent four years being afraid. Afraid to leave. Afraid to fight back. Afraid to even think about a life that didn’t include him.” I take a breath. “I’m done being afraid.”
Hawk’s watching me with those dark eyes, and I can’t read his expression.
“Good,” he says finally. “Because we’re going to need that. The next few days are going to be hell. We’re going to make a plan, and it might mean facing Tyler. We’re getting you out safely, but we need you strong.”
“I am strong.”
“I know.”
The way he says it makes something warm bloom in my chest.
We’re standing maybe ten feet apart on this empty forest road with trees pressing in on all sides and nobody around for miles. The sun filters through the canopy, dappling everything in green-gold light.
And I’m suddenly very aware that we’re alone.
Hawk seems to realize it at the same time. His posture shifts slightly, tension creeping into his shoulders.
“We should get back,” he says, but he doesn’t move toward the bike.
“Yeah.” I don’t move either.
The silence stretches.
Then: “You’re cold.”
I am. I’m shivering slightly, the adrenaline from seeing Mason wearing off and leaving me chilled in the mountain air.
Hawk moves closer. Not touching, just near. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
I should say no. Should keep the distance. Should remember that this is Tyler’s father, and that’s complicated and wrong, and a hundred other reasons to not close this gap between us.
Instead, I step forward.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. The heat of him is immediate and overwhelming, and I press closer on instinct, seeking warmth.
His heart beats steadily under my ear. His hands are solid on my back.
This is different from when I collapsed crying about Mason. That was comfort in crisis. This is something else entirely.
I tilt my head back to look at him.
His eyes are dark and intense, and the way he’s looking at me makes my breath catch.
“Jade,” he says, and there’s warning in it. Warning that if we do this, there’s no taking it back.
I don’t care.
I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
He freezes for one heartbeat, then surges forward.
His mouth claims mine, rough and hungry, one hand fisting my hair to hold me exactly where he wants while the other clamps around my waist and hauls me against him.
No hesitation, just raw need. He tastes like coffee, faint smoke, and pent-up want.
I open immediately, tongue meeting his in a deep slide that makes my head spin.
He groans into my mouth, low and guttural, the vibration rumbling straight through me.
He tilts my head back, deepening the kiss until I’m clutching his leather jacket, nails scraping, pulling him closer. My hips press forward instinctively, feeling the thick ridge of him against my stomach, and it sends a fresh pulse of heat between my legs.
He breaks away, breathing heavy, lips brushing mine. “You sure about this, Jade?”
“Yes.”
“Once my hands are on you, I don’t stop until you’re shaking and coming for me. Say it.”
“I want that. I want you.”
His mouth drops to my neck. Hot, open kisses turning to sucks that pull skin between his teeth, marking me just hard enough to sting sweetly.
I gasp, tipping my head to give him more.
He drags his tongue along my pulse point, then nips my earlobe.
“You smell so fucking good,” he mutters, voice gravel-rough.
“Been driving me crazy pressed against my back all day.”
His hands slide under my shirt, calloused palms rough against my ribs as he pushes the fabric up.
Cool air hits my skin; I shiver, but his heat chases it away.
He shoves my bra up, exposing me, and cups both breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until they pebble tight. I arch into his touch with a soft moan.
“These,” he growls, squeezing gently, then harder. “Been imagining my mouth on them since day one.”
He bends, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make me jolt.
Pleasure arrows straight to my core. I thread my fingers into his hair, holding him there as he switches sides, lavishing the other breast with the same attention: wet suction, slow circles with his tongue, a sharp bite that makes me whimper.
My hips rock forward, seeking friction against his thigh. He notices, wedges his leg higher between mine so the seam of my jeans presses right against my clit. I grind down shamelessly, the denim rough through thin fabric, building that delicious ache.
“Fuck, look at you,” he says against my skin, voice thick. “Riding my thigh like you can’t wait.”
“I can’t.”
He chuckles low, dark, then pops the button on my jeans, drags the zipper down with deliberate slowness that makes me squirm. He shoves denim and underwear past my hips, just enough to bare me. I’m very wet already.
His palm covers me fully, heat searing, fingers parting me gently at first. He strokes through the wetness, spreading it, circling my clit with featherlight pressure that makes my breath hitch.
“So wet,” he rasps, sliding one finger inside, slow at first, letting me feel the stretch, the drag of his knuckle. “This tight little pussy’s been waiting for me.”
I clench around him instinctively. He adds a second finger, thicker now, pushing deep, then curls them upward, stroking that sensitive spot inside. My knees weaken; he pins me harder to the tree with his body, free hand braced beside my head.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, pumping steadily, thumb finding my clit and rubbing slow, firm circles. “Right there. That’s where you need it.”
I nod, panting, hips rolling to meet every thrust of his hand. The wet sounds are filthy in the quiet woods, his fingers sliding in and out, my slick coating him, my ragged breaths mixing with the wind in the pines.
He keeps the rhythm steady but varies it: deep, slow strokes that make me ache, then faster, shallower ones that tease my entrance. When my thighs start trembling, he slows again, thumb pressing harder on my clit but easing off the thrusts, edging me mercilessly.
“Hawk—” My voice cracks.
“Not yet,” he says, kissing my neck again, sucking a fresh mark below my ear. “I want to feel you get tighter. Want you begging.”
“Please,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through leather. “I need more. Harder.”
He growls approval, thrusts deeper, fingers curling relentlessly against that spot while his thumb works my clit in tight, insistent circles.
Pleasure coils tighter, my hips bucking wildly against his hand.
My breasts bounce with every movement, and he dips to suck one nipple again, the dual sensation overwhelming.
I’m close, throbbing, fluttering around his fingers, every nerve lit up. He feels it, presses his forehead to mine, eyes locked on my face.
“Come on, baby. Squeeze my fingers. Let me feel you fall apart.”
The command tips me over.
I come hard, crying his name with my back arching off the rough bark, walls pulsing rhythmically around his thrusting fingers as waves crash through me. He keeps stroking, thumb circling slower now, drawing out every tremor until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, legs shaking.
Finally, he eases out, fingers glistening. He brings them to his mouth, licks them clean with deliberate swipes of his tongue. The sight makes my stomach flip with fresh heat.
He kisses me, letting me taste myself on him. I melt against him, boneless, still trembling.
He holds me against his chest for a moment, hand stroking down my spine, grounding me as my breathing evens.
Then his phone rings.
We both stiffen.
He pulls it out. “Shadow.”
Reality hits like cold water.
I tug my jeans back up with shaky hands while he answers.
“Yeah?” Pause. “On our way. Twenty minutes.” Pause. “Fine. Talk when we get there.”
He hangs up.
We stare at each other.
“We should go,” he says.
“Yeah.”
Neither moves right away.
“This doesn’t change what we need to do,” he says. “We figure out what to do about Tyler. Then you disappear.”
“I know.”
His thumb traces my swollen lip. “But this does change how much I want you safe.”
“How much is that?”
He meets my eyes, raw. “More than I should.”