Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (Hawke Family #1)(15)

I roll onto my back, sprawling across the bed, and stare at the ceiling fan, watching the paddles spin round and round until I get dizzy and have to clench my eyes shut. Sleep has been elusive since my dinner with Savage. If I get any at all, it’s fitful and short, and I end up having to bust out BOB to fulfill my middle of the night needs the Savage sex dreams create.

After his buddy, Gabe, dropped me off at my apartment on Saturday night, I tried to go to bed immediately. I figured after three bottles of wine, I was wasted enough to crash right away. But, instead, I spent most of the night replaying every word we said to each other and thinking about every heated look he threw at me. Mostly, though, I thought about how his eyes and his mouth looked when he told me he wanted to bury his face between my legs and stick his tongue in my pussy.

Who the fuck talks like that? Savage Hawke, apparently.

My pussy clenches and my clit throbs just remembering that look when he said it. I have no doubt that man would know exactly what to do if I ever let him between my legs. I press my thighs together, but it’s no use. Two nights of masturbating thinking about Savage have not been enough to ease the deep ache he put there.

Work hasn’t helped either. I thought maybe concentrating on my story on top of my daily assignments—really exhausting myself and staying late—would help keep my mind off that man, but it was futile. Flashes of his smile, his strong hands, the brush of his lips against my skin, the smell of his cologne when I kissed him goodnight, they just kept coming until I finally gave up and gave in to the fantasy.

I glance at the clock again—2:09 a.m.

Nine minutes? Fuck. It felt like nine hours.

Mentally slapping myself, I reach out and grab a pillow, pressing it over my face to muffle my frustrated scream.

Don’t give in. Don’t give him the power.

Who the fuck am I kidding? I love men who display their power. Strong, powerful men are a fucking drug to me and I am a hopeless addict…as long as they don’t want more than a hard, fulfilling fuck. The whole relationship thing is just not in the cards. Not after seeing what losing my dad did to my mom. I can’t ever rely on someone like that for my own happiness.

Once I get Savage out of my system, I’ll move on, like I always do. He doesn’t seem to be the type who will be willing to just be friends with benefits so it may be a one-time thing, but something tells me it will totally be worth it.

Admitting that helps any reluctance fly out the window and I grab my cell phone off the nightstand along with the card that came with the roses he sent—the one with his cell phone number scrawled in neat cursive along the bottom.

You are probably going to regret this.

The beeps as I press the numbers into my phone are exceedingly loud in my silent bedroom. I enter it as a new contact, but instead of hitting “Call,” I open a message box and type the first thing that comes to mind.

< Hey! What are you doing? >

Jesus, that was lame.

I wait, not so patiently, and within seconds, those three little dots appear and my stomach does somersaults. The three dots are slow torture. Whoever invented them knew exactly what they were doing to people.

Oh, crap! I never gave him my number! What if he doesn’t even know it’s me?

> I was wondering when you were going to use that number I left you. I’m just getting into bed. <

The image of Savage, naked, sprawled across a huge bed, assaults my brain and I clamp my thighs together again with a frustrated whimper.

Goddamn this man and what he does to me.

Finding release has never been a problem for me, nor has finding a partner to do it, but ever since I met him, nothing seems to satisfy my soul-aching need for him. My dalliance with Max was wholly unfulfilling and after going through a Costco-sized box of batteries in the last two weeks, I’m surprised my poor, abused BOB is still functioning.

But I need to keep cool. I can’t let him know what he has done to me, how much I’ve been obsessing over him the last two days, and every single day since we met.

< How is your trip? >

> It would be a lot better if you were here. <

I grin as I consider my response. Flirting via text message isn’t usually my thing. Usually I’m direct and just ask where we can meet to get down to business, but with him two thousand miles away, what other choice do I have?

< What would be happening if I was there? >

Almost immediately, my phone rings in my hand, startling me and making my heart jump in my chest.

Fuck, it’s him!

I can’t not answer it, but now I feel a little stupid for texting him in the middle of the night. Shit. I take a deep breath and hit “Accept.” Trying to sound nonchalant is impossible at this point, but I give it a shot anyway, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he replies, his deep voice sending chills down my spine and doing nothing to disperse the annoying throb between my thighs.

“What’s up?”

What’s up? Really, Danika? Are you ten? He’s in bed at midnight, what the fuck do you think is up, besides maybe his dick?

He chuckles softly before responding, “My dick.”

Moisture pools between my legs. God, I bet his cock is hard and thick just like the rest of him.

Is he touching himself?

Jesus Christ…

Watching a man stroke his own cock is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced and imagining Savage doing it has my body begging for it, despite knowing he’s hours away.