17. HAWK #2
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, phone in hand, half-texting, half-arguing with CJ.
He’s still livid about that goddamn article.
Understandably so, with our club’s business splashed online like dirty laundry.
He’s fuming but, thank God, hasn’t aimed any of that anger toward Marcy.
I made it clear that wouldn’t fly, and to my relief, he agreed.
Not that CJ has ever been cruel. Just stubborn as hell.
I pause mid-text, thumb hovering, when the bathroom door creaks open.
The phone slips from my fingers, forgotten entirely.
Marcy stands there, steam rolling off her skin like a dream. Her long blond hair cascades damply down her shoulders, water droplets still trailing a tempting path down her curves. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the bath, and her lips part slightly as her gaze meets mine.
I swallow roughly, my throat going dry. “Marcy,” I murmur, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.
Her eyes flicker, darkening as something shifts between us. Slowly, deliberately, she releases the grip on the towel wrapped around her body, letting it drop softly to the floor. Her body is bare before me, and my pulse kicks wildly, heat flooding my veins.
Without a word, she crosses the short distance between us, her confidence growing with every step.
My eyes never leave hers, even though I’m painfully aware of her body—soft curves, full breasts swaying gently with each movement, hips made to be held onto.
She reaches me, places her palms on my shoulders, and gently pushes me back until I’m sitting fully upright on the mattress.
“Hey,” she whispers, lips quirking in a tempting smile as she settles herself onto my lap.
My hands find her waist instantly, fingers gripping the soft heat of her skin as our mouths collide. It’s rough at first, hungry and desperate. The kind of kiss you share after days of tension and wanting.
Her hips shift, pressing herself against me, and a groan vibrates in my throat.
My hands glide up her back, tangling in her damp hair, holding her close, needing her closer.
Her breasts press against my chest, nipples tight and hard.
I break our kiss just to trail my mouth lower, tasting her throat, her collarbone, hearing her breathing hitch in response.
“Hawk,” she moans softly, arching into me.
“I got you, baby,” I whisper against her flushed skin, taking her mouth again, deepening the kiss until she’s trembling in my arms. She rocks against me, and the friction sends white-hot sparks down my spine.
My palms travel down, gripping her hips firmly, guiding her rhythm as she moves.
Her nails scrape gently down my chest, and I feel myself grow painfully hard beneath her.
She lets out a quiet gasp against my lips, and I feel a thrill deep in my gut.
God, this woman… she’s undoing every bit of control I’ve fought so hard to hold onto.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Marcy,” I whisper, the words a ragged promise against her mouth. I pause, searching her face, making sure she’s truly?okay. “You still feeling all right? No dizziness?”
Marcy’s eyes are clear—hungry, sure. She bites her lower lip, then murmurs, “I want it a little rough, Hawk. Think you can handle that?”
The request shoots straight through me. My hand slides up to the back of her neck, fingers wrapping around it firmly—not hurting, just holding. Her breath catches, pupils flaring.
“Like this?” I growl.
“Exactly like that,” she whispers, rolling her hips against the hard length straining my jeans.
“Hold on,” I murmur against her lips. I lift her just enough to shove the denim and boxers down in one impatient motion, kicking them away. She watches, biting her lip, eyes dark with want.
The second I’m free, she sinks back onto my lap, rubbing herself along the length of me. A tremor runs through her as a growl rumbles from my chest.
I curl my fingers around the back of her neck, thumb brushing the pulse beneath her jaw. Her eyes flutter as I tighten just enough to remind her who’s in charge, but not enough to hurt. She shivers, pressing closer.
“Good girl,” I rasp, guiding her hips.
She rises on her knees as I angle myself, the head of my cock slick against her heat. With one slow, deliberate push, I slide inside, and we both gasp.
She braces her hands on my shoulders and starts to move. Slow at first, testing the stretch, rolling her thick hips in lazy circles that make my vision swim. My grip on her neck tightens as my other hand settles on her hip, fingers digging into soft flesh as I urge her to go faster.
I bend forward, capture one rosy nipple between my lips, sucking hard while she moans, her hips jerking in response. My teeth graze, my tongue soothes, and she trembles, a desperate sound slipping from her throat.
“Hawk… more,” she breathes, voice cracking. “Harder.”
I sit back, tightening my hold. “You want it rough? Then ride me, baby.”
I thrust up as she drops down, a sharp, perfect collision that knocks a cry from her lips. She finds a rhythm—fast, needy—sliding up and slamming back, her breasts bouncing, her belly brushing my abs.
Sweat beads at her temples, and damp hair clings to her cheeks.
I loosen my hold just enough to pull her forward, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss while she rides me hard.
Her nails rake my shoulders, her body shivering as pleasure coils tight inside us both.
We kiss—hungry, frantic—our breaths mingling as her pace turns frantic.
“Look at me,” I growl against her lips.
Her eyes meet mine, wide, pupils blown.
“Come for me.”
She shudders, nails digging into my shoulders, hips stuttering as pleasure rips through her. She clenches around me, heat pulsing, and I lose it—thrusting up hard, spilling deep inside her with a broken groan.
I thrust one last time and more pleasure slams through me. The words rip out before I can stop them, raw and loud.
“I love you, Marcy!”
Her eyes go wide. Her lips part, and she starts to answer.
And the doorbell shrills through the house, cutting her reply short.
Once. Twice. A third time, more insistent.
Marcy jerks against me, breath catching in surprise. I feel myself harden again inside her, ready for round two, and a frustrated growl rumbles in my chest. Whoever’s at the door picked the worst possible moment.
She brushes damp hair from her face, frowning. “Maybe it’s important.”
“Could be club business,” I mutter, though I don’t hide my irritation. CJ, Ryder—hell, any of the guys could’ve shown up unannounced. Still, the timing couldn’t be worse.
The bell rings again.
I sigh, press a quick kiss to her lips, then ease out of her with a wet, reluctant sound that makes us both shiver. “Don’t move,” I tell her, grabbing a Shirt from the floor and tugging it on. I yank my jeans up—no time for boxers—and run a hand through my hair as I stride down the hall.
Another impatient buzz. I yank the door open, jaw set, ready to bite someone’s head off. Whoever’s on the other side better have a damn good reason for interrupting.
Two uniformed cops stand on my porch, hands resting on their holsters. Behind them, cruiser lights cast red and blue over the siding of the house.
“Evening,” the taller one says, tone clipped. “We’re looking for Marcy?Hollingbow.”
My gut drops. “What the hell for?”
Before he can answer, a truck door slams at the curb. Ryder strides up the walk, boots crunching gravel. He must’ve swung by to check on us.
He stops beside me, eyes narrowing at the badges. “Something I can help you with, officers?”
“We need Ms. Hollingbow to come with us,” the second cop says. “Immediately.”
“On what grounds?” Ryder asks, voice like granite. “You got a warrant?”
The taller cop smirks. “Stand back, sir, or we’ll arrest you for kidnapping… or whatever we like.” His gaze sweeps past me into the living room. “I’m sure in a den like this, we’ll find enough to put you away for life.”
A clear threat. My fists clench, blood roaring in my ears.
Ryder steps forward, shoulders squared. “You wanna repeat that?”
The cop’s hand drops to his taser. “I said back up.”
Before it explodes into something worse, Marcy appears behind us, wearing my shirt and nothing else, face still flushed from what we were doing minutes ago.
“Hawk,” she says softly, laying a hand on my arm. Then, louder to the cops, “I’ll go.”
“Marcy,” I start, but she squeezes my wrist.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, though her eyes say it’s anything but.
She steps onto the porch, arms wrapped around herself. The cops move to escort her down the steps.
Then another voice—soft, familiar—cuts through the night.
“Marcy?”
We all turn. A woman in a tailored coat steps out of a black sedan parked behind the cruiser. Her blond hair is pulled back, and her eyes are wide and worried.
Marcy’s breath catches. “Mom?”