3. MARCY #2
The heat between us crackles like a live wire, making my skin burn everywhere he touches.
His hands move to my waist, gripping tight.
I gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, teasing, coaxing, demanding.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans, the sound vibrating through me, straight down to my core.
His hands skim under my sweater, rough palms against my bare skin, and I shiver from the contrast.
Then, suddenly, he grabs the hem and yanks it over my head.
I barely have time to react before he’s tossing it somewhere behind him, eyes dark and hungry as they rake over me.
“Fuck,” he breathes, low and rough.
His hands slide over my bare skin, tracing the curve of my waist before moving up, fingers grazing the swell of my breasts, still covered by my bra. He smirks, then reaches behind me, unclasping it in one swift motion.
I don’t even protest.
I don’t want to.
The second the straps fall from my shoulders, his mouth is on me.
I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, slow and deliberate, his scruff scraping against my skin in the best possible way. He lingers at the base of my throat, nipping lightly before dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot.
My knees almost give out. But he doesn’t stop.
His mouth moves lower, kissing down my collarbone, his hands gripping my hips as he drops to his knees.
Then—oh, God—his lips close around my breast, hot and wet, sucking just hard enough to make me whimper.
My fingers bury themselves in his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue swirls over my nipple, sending a sharp, hot pulse straight between my legs.
I should be embarrassed at the way I arch into him, but I don’t care. I need this.
I need him.
“Fuck, Marcy,” Hawk groans against my skin, biting lightly before soothing it with his tongue. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, not even thinking, just feeling.
His hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of my jeans.
“How bad do you want me, sweetheart?”
I don’t even hesitate. “So bad.”
And that’s all he needs to hear before his fingers move lower.
Hawk groans against my skin, his hands exploring every inch of me like he’s memorizing my body, like he wants to. His fingers squeeze my hips, running down the thick swells of my thighs before dragging back up, slow and reverent.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, his beard scratching deliciously against my skin. “You’re so goddamn soft.”
“I know,” I breathe. His head snaps to me, and the way he looks at me—hunger, admiration, pure fucking lust—makes my thighs clench.
“I love how you know how fucking sexy you are,” he says.
I tilt my chin up, lips curling. Butterflies dance in my stomach. Never in my life has anybody wanted me so unabashedly. His groan is sinful. “Sweetheart, you might actually kill me.”
My breath catches as he spreads my thighs apart, running his hands down my legs, squeezing, kneading. He’s worshipping me, eyes flicking up like he’s savoring every second.
“I love this,” he mutters, dragging his palms up, caressing the curve of my hips, the fullness of my thighs, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the flesh right above my jeans. “All of it. You feel so fucking good.”
My skin burns under his praise, but I don’t shy away.
He flicks open the button of my jeans, and I let him. Let him slide them down, let him press his lips to my inner thigh as he hooks his fingers under my panties and tugs them off.
I brace against the wall, my heart hammering as he spreads me open. He looks up at me, eyes dark, mouth curved in a wicked smirk.
“You ready for me, baby?”
My breath is ragged, my whole body humming. “Hawk, please.”
His growl vibrates through me a split second before his mouth devours me.
I gasp, my head falling back as his tongue slides through my folds, slow at first, teasing, before pressing deeper, hungrier.
“Fuck,” I moan, my nails digging into his scalp as he drags his tongue over my clit, circling, sucking, making me shake with every movement.
He grips my thighs, holding me in place, his fingers digging into my soft flesh like he wants me to know he loves it—loves how thick I am, how I arch for him, how I take what he’s giving.
I roll my hips into his mouth, shameless, desperate, and he groans, the sound filthy as he licks me deeper, his scruff rubbing against my inner thighs.
“Jesus, Hawk,” I pant, my thighs trembling.
He hums against me, his tongue flicking just right, sending pleasure rocketing through my body.
Then, just as I’m right on the edge, he slides two thick fingers inside me, curling up just right.
And I shatter.
I cry out, my body pulsing around him as he keeps licking, keeps sucking, prolonging every second of my orgasm until I can’t even think, can’t even breathe.
When I finally go limp against the wall, my skin damp with sweat, my legs still shaking, Hawk presses one last lingering kiss against me before looking up, smug as hell.
“Told you you weren’t just a good girl.”
I’m still trembling when I reach down and grip Hawk’s shoulders, pulling him up to his feet. His lips are wet, his beard slick with me, and the sight alone nearly sends me spiraling again.
I don’t hesitate. I crash my mouth onto his, swallowing the groan he lets out as I taste myself on his tongue. It should make me blush, should make me pause, but I don’t. I want this. I want him.
His hands find my waist, squeezing tight, pressing me into the wall, but I barely notice. My fingers are already tugging at his belt, fumbling with the buckle, needing more.
Hawk breaks the kiss, panting against my lips. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
I freeze for half a second, his words slamming into me harder than I expect.
What am I doing?
My mind reels, flashing through every single thing my father has ever said to me.
“You need to lose weight, Marcy.”
“Do you want the whole world judging you? No man wants a girl who can’t take care of herself.”
“You should be grateful for whatever attention you get.”
My stomach knots, the weight of years of shame pressing against my chest.
But then, I hear Hawk’s voice instead.
“You’re so goddamn soft.”
“You feel so fucking good.”
“You’re not just a good girl.”
I look up at him now, at the way he’s watching me. There’s no judgment in his eyes. No hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered want.
And suddenly, I realize—I want this for me. Not for validation. Not to prove anything.
I just want.
I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze, fingers slipping under his waistband.
“I think,” I murmur, “I’m finally making a decision for myself.”
His breath stutters as I slide his jeans down, my hands tracing the hard lines of his body.
His voice is rough, barely controlled. “Marcy…”
I press a kiss against his jaw, then lower, licking at the sensitive spot under his throat.
“I’ve made some life-changing decisions today,” I whisper against his skin. “Why not this?”
Hawk groans, his head falling back, his hands gripping my hips like he’s barely holding on.
And that’s when I know that I have him.
Hawk groans against my mouth, his hands gripping my hips as he presses me harder into the wall. His cock is thick and hot, rubbing against my soaked entrance, teasing me, rocking into me slowly, torturously.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel too fucking good, sweetheart.”
My breath is ragged, my nails digging into his shoulders as I arch into him, needing more, needing everything.
He grips my thigh, hitching it higher around his waist, his other hand sliding between us, lining himself up. He’s almost there, almost inside me, stretching me open?—
Then the door slams open.
The deep, thunderous voice shatters the moment.
"Marcy Hollingbow, what the fuck are you doing here?"
Hawk jerks back, his entire body tensing like a live wire. I freeze, blinking at the figure in the doorway. A tall, broad-shouldered man stands there, his dark eyes locked onto me with something between anger and disgust.
My heart slams against my ribs, my mind racing. Because for the life of me, I have no idea who the hell he is.