Hawke

Finally laying down next to Patrick after working my shift, I let out a content sigh. I turn to face him and watch him breathing peacefully. He’s really beautiful and soft in the most desirable way. I lean forward, placing my lips against his as a little grin forms on his lips.

“You’re home,” he whispers with his eyes closed.

“I’m home,” I whisper back into his lips, pressing mine against his again for another kiss.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. It feels good; it feels warm and comforting. He rolls on top of me, pressing my back into the bed as his lips trail down my neck. The sensations ignite my body, and I begin to feel like maybe this time I can get there with him. Now, knowing how it all works, how it’s all supposed to feel.

He slips his hand under my shirt, cupping my breast. I release a breath of pleasure at the much-needed contact. I need Patrick to erase the stained memory of Hawke. He kisses along my jaw, moving down my neck to my chest, and flicks his tongue against my nipple.

I moan loudly at the sensation, the tingle it sends to the heat down below. I’m ready for more; craving him inside me. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom to sheath himself. During the quick intermission, I hear a rhythmic banging against the wall. My eyes dart around the room, then back at Patrick.

A grin grows across his face. “Looks like we both had the same idea tonight.”

Thank God it’s pretty dark in here. I’d hate for Patrick to see the look of complete disgust on my face. I know who Hawke has in there. I know who he’s fucking right now, and the worst part is I can hear all of it. These walls are thin.

Patrick rolls the condom on and leans forward to kiss me again. I’m trying my best to get into it, to forget everything but this moment between just the two of us. It isn’t easy, but I’m really trying to focus. He eases into me and I hear Hawke groan loudly while the woman screams out as the bed creaks beneath them. This couldn’t be more messed up.

“Jesus, do they have to be so loud?” I grumble.

Patrick laughs lightly as he moves in and out of me. “Don’t think about it.”

I try to focus on us again, rolling my hips to meet his. The feeling of him in me while hearing Hawke is sending me into overdrive. I find myself imagining it’s him that’s filling me, making those noises above me.

“Grab me,” I instruct Patrick, needing something I’m just not getting.

He grabs my hip with one hand, entering me more forcefully. I dig my nails into his shoulders roughly, making him groan. Pulling him down onto me, I bite down on the top of his shoulder, meeting each of his thrusts. I’m starting to really get into it, feeling the deep burning in the pit of me, edging me towards the pleasure I seek. The feeling of him gliding in and out of me while imagining things I shouldn’t has me on the edge.

He groans loudly, and with a couple more jerky thrusts, I know it’s over.

I sigh, then catch my breath. My hands cover my eyes as Patrick falls to the side of me.

“Nic, that was insane. I’m bleeding.”

I pop up onto my elbows and assess the damage I’ve done.

“Oh my God, Patrick.” I sit straight up. “Let me get you something. C’mon.”

We get up and head to the bathroom together, me in my robe, Patrick in his boxers. Just as we get in there, I hear the front door close. I scour the cabinet for some antiseptic ointment I know I bought at one point but haven’t used.

Hawke bursts through the door in only his boxer briefs and my eyes deceive my mind as I take all of him in. Rippling chest and abdomen littered in phrases and images, the boxers hanging crooked on his hips as if he quickly threw them on. His hair is all disheveled in what’s better known as sex hair, and I can’t stand that it looks so perfect.

His eyes are wide with surprise as he takes in the image before him. Patrick’s shoulders are bloodied, streaks which are clearly from my nails and a bite mark to match. I’m leaning against the sink, feeling the flush of the blood filling my face.

“Oh, shit…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I was just…” He trails the sentence, slowly backing out of the door with a peculiar smirk on his mouth.

Patrick chuckles, almost proud of his wounds. I’m sure it inflates his sexual ego. It does nothing but make me want to pound my head into this porcelain sink until it cracks in half.

What a horrible night.

The next morning I wake up early, showering, then getting into some comfortable leggings and my crop top sweater. I want to get my coffee, and get to work. I have a deadline for one of the manuscripts I’m working through, and editing this one has been a real pain in my ass.

Heading out into the kitchen, I see the tatted-up back of the person I’d rather avoid. I contemplate just returning to the bedroom, but decide against it. This is my home too, and I can move around freely without worrying about it being awkward. It’s only weird if you make it weird, right?

He hears me enter, and turns, leaning back against the counter on his palms, flexing his biceps and chest in the process. His eyes run the length of me as I approach and I feel the heat in every inch he trails. He tilts his head back with a knowing look, peering at me through his lashes as he toys with that lip ring.

“What?” I ask, unable to hold back my impatience and hostility.

“I just had no idea,” he says with a raspy, deep morning tone, his brows raising in surprise.

I stare blankly at him, crossing my arms over my chest and wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. I scoff and move around him to grab my mug and fill my cup. To my surprise, he follows me, leaning around me, placing each of his hands on the counter, surrounding me so I can’t move. My breathing increases at the closeness as he then presses his front into my back. He pins my hips to the counter and I can feel his manhood swell between my buttocks.

“I just have one question,” he whispers into my ear, nuzzling his nose into my hair, breathing me in.

I swallow, closing my eyes tightly as a breath escapes me.

“Who was it you were thinking about when you turned into an animal?” he whispers before firmly pushing his hips into my backside, taking my breath away. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He flips my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck to him. “I was thinking about you, too,” he whispers against my skin.

Tingles. Everywhere throughout my body. I bite my lip and release a small moan I instantly regret. He was thinking about me while he fucked that girl, just like my mind wandered to him while I was with Patrick. The thought of him did exactly what he’s suggesting. It turned me into some sort of sex-crazed animal.

His lips trail my neck and run the length of my shoulder. I feel a light sting and gasp as I realize he nipped me. Right where I bit Patrick. I turn immediately and push him off me.

He grunts a little at the firm push, then grins, looking at me devilishly as he backs away, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

He’s trouble. So much trouble.

Patrick joins us after a brief moment of silence passes between Hawke and I. He proudly walks around the table, grabbing my hand, and spins me around into his arms. I smile at his peppy energy. He cups my cheek before kissing me.

“My wild girl.” He smirks, pressing me into his front.

I blush, realizing we aren’t alone, and look over Patrick’s shoulder to see the smug look on Hawke’s face behind us. But it isn’t there. He’s just staring down into his coffee cup.

“I’ll be back tonight. Maybe we can order in before your shift?” he offers.

“Yeah, depending on when you get off. Just let me know.”

He kisses my hand and gives me a wink before saying his goodbyes and heading out of the door.

“What’s wrong with you? Catch a nonrefundable disease last night?” I joke at Hawke’s strange demeanor, walking towards the table.

He looks blankly up at me through his lashes, not responding, then back down to his coffee. His finger runs the edge of the cup as he remains deep in thought. His mood seems to have shifted entirely.

“Do you wanna talk?” I ask in a softer tone.

“No.”

Okay, not connecting. I think of an ulterior plan that I know will reach him.

“Want to watch Carlito’s Way?” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, getting up from the chair with his coffee.

We do our thing again. The one where we sit close to each other and watch mob movies while sipping our java. It’s strange how oddly comfortable we can be around each other. When he’s not teasing me and being ridiculous, we actually have amazing conversations. He puts his arm around me, pulling me closer to his side. I lean into him as his fingers softly play with mine. We’re crossing that line again. This would look super suspect to anyone looking in, yet it just feels so natural.

I sneak a peek at his face and something just isn’t right.

“What’s wrong, Hawke? You can talk to me,” I explain, sensing this weird demeanor isn’t going away.

He sighs, running his free hand through his hair. “Nothin’ Cole.”

“Is everything set for your new job? Is that what you’re worried about?”

He stares blankly at the wall, his jaw tightening, then loosening again.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. The hours don’t sound horrible, and at least you’ll start seeing some money.”

“I don’t need money,” he snaps harshly.

I pause the movie, turning to face him head-on. Something isn’t right.

“I know you like to live a simple life, but—”

“I have more money than I know what to do with,” he interrupts in a cold, snippy tone.

He has money? So much so, that the only reason he’s getting this job is to abide by his parole, to get back into society as he says. But where is the money coming from? I’d hate to think it was something illegal.

“So, what’s wrong, then?” I ask again.

He looks up to the ceiling, so I touch his jaw, attempting to move his head down to look at me. He moves looking down off to the side so I pull his head up to face me. He’s trying to avoid me. Brushing me off again, he looks towards the door.

He’s playing this game.

I playfully climb into his lap, grabbing his head and lowering it to face me while giggling. “Hawke. C’mon, you’re being ridiculous.”

His lip pulls up in the corner, creasing slightly as he watches me. At least he’s entertained by my antics.

“What is it?” I ask in a calming, caring tone.

His mouth drops open to say something, but he stops himself and licks his lips, looking at the floor.

I’m now very aware of how close we are. My legs are surrounding his as I sit in his lap, my hands on his chin. If Patrick walked back into this house right now, this would be a hard one to explain.

“You should get off me,” he says with a coldness to his tone, moving his head so my hands drop between us.

My brows raise as I look at my hands.

Why he does this, I just don’t understand. One minute he’s telling me how he imagined fucking me while trailing his lips down my neck, then the next he’s acting as if I’m the only one coming on to him, treating me as if I’m so out of line.

I’m over this. The back-and-forth shit. It’s confusing me more and more. He doesn’t talk to me about his feelings, so I have no idea where he even stands. Every time he does this, it just solidifies how stupid I am for wanting to remain close to him, trying to be around him.

I get off him, shaking my head, and walk towards my room. I hear him curse and throw something at the wall. Whatever demons he’s dealing with, he’ll need to deal with them alone, the way he intended.

I hear the front door slam. I can’t help but wonder what he’s been through. Five years in prison? He’s clearly still holding on to the heaviness of whatever it was and it’s sinking him deeper and deeper into that dark place. I wish he’d talk to me about it. I wish he’d know that I’m here for him. That I wouldn’t judge him or think differently of him for a past he can no longer control.

Either way, I’ve decided I need to know.