Hadn’t Aric gotten puffed up with that?
“Relax, mama.” Hawk ran his knuckles over her cheek. “JJ’ll call if Aric needs a pick-up.”
“I know.” And the slumber party was just next door.
She should enjoy her time with Hawk—their own “overnight”. Something they hadn’t had since the helicopter trip.
In the bathroom, Kit brushed her teeth and stared in the mirror, trying to decide what to wear. And laughed at herself.
She’d just wear her usual and not make a big deal about it. Stripping down, she smiled and patted her breasts. “Ready, my pretties?”
“Did you say something?” Hawk asked.
Kit pulled on her nightgown on and walked out. “The counselor suggested I talk to my body—and compliment it.” She bounced her breasts in her hands. “These are my pretties.”
“Pretties?” Hawk was sitting on the bed, shirt off, still in jeans. His gaze lingered on her breasts, and his smile was slow and very masculine. “I’d agree with that.”
She could see the heat in his eyes as he looked at her. It seemed he liked her nightgown. His gaze slid down. “Any other names?”
Darn it, did he have to ask that? Her face felt hot. “Peach. I hate the word pussy.”
He grinned, the jerk. She’d heard someone in town say he didn’t have a sense of humor. So wrong.
As she slid under the covers, he started to unzip his jeans. The zipper must have been old and made an almost grinding sound as if the gate, no—the prison door—was complaining about being opened?
Oh heavens, when she was nervous, her thoughts became bizarre.
But she knew what lay behind that prison door. She clapped her hands over her mouth to smother a snicker.
Halting, he studied her, obviously worried that she was nervous. “Stop?”
“No.” She felt her shoulders start to shake. Don’t laugh.
“Kit.” The low growl held a warning. “Talk to me.”
“Just thinking…your zipper sounded, um, creaky. Like a prison door.”
He gave her an odd look as he finished unzipping. His shaft sprang out.
Sprang. Out.
“Oh, nooooo. The one-eyed dragon has escaped the dungeon. It’s loose.” Waving her hands in the air, she fell back on the bed.
Hawk stared. “Fuck me, I broke her.”
She was giggling so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.
Shaking his head—but he was grinning—he finished undressing and went into the living room. She heard him lock the door. He left the light on in there.
Back in the bedroom, he turned off the nightstand lamp.
By the time he finished she was sitting in the center of the bed, a lingering ache in her belly from laughing.
“You won’t need this.” He bent and pulled her nightgown off.
“Hey.” She frowned at the light streaming in from the living room.
“I like to look at you.” Hawk’s mouth tipped up. “And the pretties.”
Then he showed her how much he liked her pretties, using his mouth and fingers—and even his teeth. By the time he finished, her breasts were so swollen and her nipples so sensitive, even the slightest touch made her quiver.
Lying down beside her, he rolled onto his back. “Climb on.”
Oh, she could do that. But when she straddled his hips, he put his hands under her bottom and pulled her up, past his stomach, past his chest, until her most intimate parts were right over his face.
“Yeah, there.” His fingers tightened on her buttocks when she would have moved. “Happens I like peaches.”
And he licked, lightly, up and over her pussy. Up and down. Around. When she started to whine, he relented and focused on her clit.
With a gasp, she grabbed the headboard.
He laughed and continued. Swirling and sucking, and pushing his tongue inside her. Driving her totally insane.
After she’d come so hard she’d seen stars, he rolled her onto her back, using his legs to spread her thighs. Pressing himself against her slick, throbbing entrance, he smiled. “Let me introduce you to my one-eyed dragon.”
A long, satisfying time later, Kit lay beside Hawk with her head on his shoulder. His skin was warm and slightly damp, and smelled woodsy with a trace of pine.
He stroked down her arm, then up to play with her breast, teasing the nipple as if fascinated.
Capturing his hand, she kissed his fingers, then realized there was enough light to see his whole arm.
“What?”
“Your tattoos. I like how the colors are shades of brown and gold.” She sat up beside him, holding his arm to see it better, then reached for his other arm.
Obligingly, he lay it across his stomach.
His right upper arm had a golden eagle—and, sheesh, she wouldn’t want to be within reach of that viciously hooked beak. His left had a soaring bald eagle with trees as a backdrop.
He loved those predatory birds. Whenever he saw one, he’d stop and just watch. Aric was full of the tidbits of information Hawk had shared.
His left forearm showed military helicopters, and the dark tree branches wove the birds and choppers together.
She nodded. Combat had definitely influenced who Hawk was.
With her finger, she traced a ridged pink line past a helicopter into the trees. The knife wound was healing.
He saw where her finger was. “Least it didn’t mess up the art.”
That was his only concern? Men.
Looking closer, she saw smaller tats in the branches. A police badge. A serpent entwined rod—the symbol of medicine. The round sign from Bull’s brewery. Then a bunch of military insignia. SEALs, Army Special Forces, the Night Stalker one. “Did all of you serve in the military?”
He nodded.
His right forearm was far more peaceful with a floatplane landing on a mountain lake in front of a log cabin.
But…what in the world? “Hawk, lakes don’t have sharks, do they?” She traced the dark shape cutting through the water.
He chuckled. “Mako means shark in Māori. It was the sarge’s military handle.”
Oh. She touched the cabin and glanced at him.
“Yeah, that’s where we grew up. I’ll take you sometime.”
It looked very primitive.
Whoa, there were knives embedded in the porch post. A hawk perched on the roof, and a big moose stood in the shadows of the forest. On the other side, guarding the shadows was an angel.
Hawk saw where her fingers had stopped. “For Gabriel. His mother named him after the archangel.”
All of them, protecting the cabin where four boys and one battered sergeant had become a family.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Never draw fire; it irritates everyone around you. ~ Murphy’s Laws of Combat Operations
Seated at one of the pushed-together tables, Audrey listened to Tina, Lillian, and the postmistress vie for the raunchiest joke.
Honestly, she’d never blushed so much in her life. Well, aside from the first few times she’d had sex with Gabe.
Effing-A, the jokes got dirtier with every round of drinks.
Hopefully, the Saturday night crowd at the roadhouse wouldn’t mind. It was late enough the room was only a quarter full now. So, there weren’t too many people to be offended.