Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(27)

“Stop!” I cried, twisting in his hold. “Stop . . . I can’t . . . I can’t!”

He allowed me enough space to turn and then he was back, his body pressing up against mine. I panicked then, shoving against him, beating my hand wildly against his chest. It was a useless battle. Three times the size of me and far stronger, Hawk simply grabbed hold of my wrists and pinned them high above my head.

“I’ll scream!” I cried.

“Why?” he asked, sounding bored.

Through my tears, I blinked up at him. “What?” I whispered.

“Why?” he repeated. “So you can go cry some more? Go back to feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

I didn’t have a ready answer.

“I know you,” he continued. “Wantin’ everything, gettin’ none of it. I get that. Hell, I feel that too. You don’t know shit about me, but I know you. Fuck, I know you better than you know yourself.”

He released me and all at once began backing away. Stopping in the center of his room, he gripped the hem of his black T-shirt, pulled the threadbare material up over his head, and tossed it aside. Then he kicked off his boots, sending them flying across the room where they hit the wall with a loud thud. Then in one fluid movement, Hawk had removed both his leathers and boxers.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, suddenly breathless.

“Givin’ you somethin’,” he said.

Giving me something. That was all he’d said.

I stared at him, both terrified and fascinated.

“Last night was a mistake,” I whispered and dropped my gaze, a last attempt at trying to convince myself of just that.

“Ain’t no such thing as mistakes,” he said. “There’s only shit that happens and shit that don’t.”

Raising my eyes, I found Hawk’s expression unchanged. He stood there, naked as the day he was born, as stoic as ever. And, good God, was he infuriatingly cryptic, and . . . naked! He was still naked! But even as shocked as I was at his brazenness, I found myself looking him over rather thoroughly. His thick arms, his broad chest, a pair of thighs that could crack walnuts, all covered in dark, shadowed tattoos. But mostly I found myself staring at the erection, jutting out tall and proud between his legs.

He didn’t care. He was standing here naked, offering himself to what was essentially the property of one his brothers and yet . . . he didn’t care. To be this careless, to be this spontaneous, to be this free, I couldn’t comprehend it but I was certainly envious of it.

Memories of being with Hawk last night filled my consciousness, things I’d blacked out, reminding me of the way I’d been able to let myself go. There had been no unbearable anxiety, no crippling self-doubt, but most precious of all was the lack of expectations. I’d cried and I’d laughed, not thinking, just feeling. I’d needed, and in return, Hawk had given me what I’d needed.

My nails digging into his back, him grunting in pain as I dragged them across his skin, his body meeting mine, over and over again in loud, echoing slaps, he’d given me what I’d needed.

And then holding me tightly, he’d lifted me off the countertop and I’d found myself flat on my back on the floor behind the bar. The rigid bar mat, wet with spilled alcohol, dug uncomfortably into my skin. But I had little time to dwell on it as Hawk rose to his knees above me and lifted my legs, positioning them over his shoulders.

Then he’d taken me so hard, so fast, that I’d forgotten everything else—where I was, who I was, and most importantly, who I belonged to.

Giving me what I’d needed.

He’d made the whole world disappear.

Oh God, was I considering this? Being unfaithful to yet another man?

What had happened to me? The girl I’d once been never would have entertained this.

But the girl I’d been never would have married a man she didn’t love, she never would have taken up with a married man to fill a void inside herself. I was no longer that girl, filled with dreams of love. I was a woman now, whose mistakes and circumstances had forced her down a very different path. Who had time and time again chosen the wrong direction.

Once again I was at a fork in the road. If I chose right, I could remain faithful to Jase, forever waiting and watching from the sidelines. If I chose left, I could forge a new path, destination and consequences unknown.

“Stop thinkin’, D,” Hawk said, and I almost laughed. Stop thinking? It was like telling me to stop breathing.

“It’s real easy,” he continued. “You leave and Jase finds out. You stay, and Jase never has to know.”

And just like that, he’d made it easy. By taking away my choice, he’d made it easy.

I didn’t remember who moved first, all I knew was I was moving and he was moving and when we collided, it was a collision of mouths and groping hands, the ferocity of which I didn’t recognize. It was awkward at first, wildly different from anything else I’d experienced with Peter or Jase, but at the same time it was oddly filling. Frenzied, messy kisses and touches that were anything but gentle were filling me, replacing my anxiety with an overwhelming sense of desperation. Desperation for what, I didn’t know, only that I couldn’t stop. That I needed more.

More and more, until I felt myself capitulating, both mind and body, letting go entirely. When I grew weaker, his strong arms held me up. When my hands hesitated, his were sure and steady, and when I fell apart, he put me back together.