Sinful Rewards 4 – Cynthia Sax – PG-rated Excerpt
Silence stretches. I look upward. A tic of emotion pulses high on Hawke’s cheek, his eyes stormy and his body hard. He wants me to accept his lie, but I can’t believe in a man who has no reason to stay.
“Every time we part, you’ll think I’ve left you, won’t you?” he asks, his voice sinfully deep.
My fingers curl. “Why would you stay?” I counter. Why would anyone stay who had a choice?
Hawke grits his teeth. There’s another long pause. I brace myself for the pain that I know is coming. He’ll tell me I’m too much hassle for a one-night stand. Then he’ll ride out of the city and never return. I shouldn’t care. He’ll leave me eventually, and the timing shouldn’t make a difference. I cross my arms in front of my stomach, hugging my body, trying to protect my foolish heart.
“You’re gloriously stubborn, love.” Hawke sucks air through his teeth, holds the breath for four heart-pounding moments, and exhales. “Come here.” He slides his right hand into the front pocket of his faded blue jeans.
I step closer to him, curious.
“I want you to keep these for me.” Hawke holds out his fist. A silver ball chain is wrapped around his scarred fingers.
I extend my palm. His massive hand hovers above mine.
I wait and wait and wait. Hawke doesn’t release the chain. I survey his savage countenance. His lips are flat. His jaw juts. He doesn’t want to do this.
“This isn’t necessary,” I tell him.
“It is. You need this.” He opens his fist, dropping the ball chain and two dog tags into the palm of my hand, the metal warmed by his skin. Information—a Social Security number, the words “no preference,” USMC, and other letters—is embossed on the oval forms. I don’t recognize the first or last name.
“Are these yours?” I ask. He shared that Hawke wasn’t his first name. Is Masters, the last name he gave me, not real either?
“No, they’re not mine.” Hawke rubs the barbed wire tattoo encircling his right bicep, the vigorous motion reddening his arm.
I tilt my head, studying him. Why would he give me someone else’s dog tags? Our gazes meet and lock and I inhale sharply, reading the answer in his pain-ravaged eyes. “They belonged to Rock, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
Sinful Rewards 4 – Cynthia Sax – R-rated Excerpt
“I didn’t know why we stopped.”
Hawke lifts me onto his machine, plunking my ass on the edge of the seat. “We stopped because I was one sweet touch away from showing the entire town my junk.” He places the helmet on my head and fastens the straps. “Did you want that?”
Did I want that? Did I want people to watch me as I sank to my knees before Hawke, as I pulled down his jeans, released his cock, stroked him, sucked on him?
I hesitate a moment before shaking my head.
“You did want that.” Hawke runs a calloused fingertip along my cheek and I tremble, needing him, craving him. “You’re so damn perfect for me.” He skims his fingers over my lips. I dart my tongue between the seams, tasting the salt of his skin. “We’ll go somewhere more private than this yet public enough to excite you.” His eyes gleam. “Then you can do with me whatever you wish.”
“You’re assuming I want to do something.” I feign a frown.
“You do.” Hawke laughs as he mounts the bike.
The damn man is right. I want to lick him all over, explore every inch of his rock-hard body. He tugs on my knees, sliding me closer to him. I straddle his hips, wrap my arms around his chest, and push my body against his, torturing both of us. We fit together perfectly, my curves meshing with his muscle.
“Hold on, love.” Hawke revs the throttle, the seat vibrates under me, through me, and my arousal spirals skyward. I moan into his shoulder blades, mouthing the cotton of his black T-shirt, and his body shakes, my badass biker finding joy in my sexual frustration, his mirth obscured by the roaring engine.
Two can play at this game. I cup the ridge in Hawke’s jeans with both of my hands, he curses, and we jet forward, the motion propelling me backward. I cling tighter to his denim-covered cock. Hawke rides even faster, his spine rigid against my breasts.
In mere minutes, we blast past Happydale’s city limits sign, the sign I’d changed with a thick black marker when I left, subtracting one from the town’s population. Hawke continues to ride, moving in sync with his machine, traveling toward his perfect spot.
I’m not as patient as he is. I pop his fly, one button at a time, releasing his junk, as he calls his long, thick cock. My rebel marine doesn’t believe in underwear, all of him gloriously accessible.
I push the flaps away from him and curl my fingers around his shaft, relishing his girth, his size. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever held. . .not that I’ve held a lot of men. My dating life consisted of boring, safe boys.
There’s nothing boring or safe about Hawke. As the wind plucks at our clothes and the pavement blurs beneath us, I pump him slowly, steadily, concentrating on learning his size and shape, pleasing him, trusting my tattooed biker to pay attention to the road, to find us a place to stop, to finish this.
I know I shouldn’t touch him. Any of the drivers passing us can see me fondle Hawke, can see my fingers wrapped around his cock.
Sinful Rewards 4 – Cynthia Sax – PG-rated Excerpt
At four sixteen, exactly fourteen minutes after our call ended, the doorbell rings. I look through the peephole, see a giant brown eye, and laugh. My control-freak billionaire is trying to peer into the condo. I swing the door open. “Peepholes work only one way,” I tease.
“I thought you might require retinal identification.” Nicolas smiles, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face, and I inhale sharply. He’s so d*mn handsome, even when exhausted, his black hair swept back from his gorgeous face, a hint of darkness under his eyes, a shadow of stubble on his chin.
My body hums with excitement. I’ve gained an appreciation for stubble, loving the feel of it against my soft skin. “Welcome to my, or rather the Wynterses’, humble abode.” I give the main room a game-show wave, showing Nicolas all of its fabulous features, features he installed.
He looks around him, his gaze stopping at Cyndi’s bedroom. “Their humble abode is a mess.” Nicolas shakes his head. “That must be the Wynters girl’s room.” He strides toward it.
“Don’t go in there.” I hurry after him, intent on protecting Cyndi’s privacy. “That’s her private space.”
“I’m closing the door.”
“Don’t close the door,” I shout. Nicolas stops abruptly and I smack into his back. He turns and gazes at me as though I’ve lost my mind, which I suppose I have. “I like having it open,” I explain, my voice lowered to a normal volume.
Nicolas raises his eyebrows. “Her room is a disaster zone. You want to look at that?”
“Yes,” I admit, avoiding his gaze. Seeing Cyndi’s things reassures me she’ll return to the condo, to me. She’d never leave all of her stuff behind.
“Come on,” I urge, not sharing any of this with Nicolas. “We’re serving ice cream at the kitchen counter.”
Nicolas looks at the bedroom, bewilderment flitting across his beautiful face. I wait, my heart pounding, my fears admittedly irrational yet real to me.
He shrugs his broad shoulders and follows me into the main living room-kitchen space. He’s a smaller man than Hawke, yet his tread is heavier, noisier.
Relieved that the bedroom crisis is over, I saunter to the fridge and extract the carton of Heavenly Hash ice cream from the freezer compartment. The glass cups and spoons are already laid out on the counter.
Nicolas perches on a stool, touches the bowl of jelly beans, and frowns. “These look familiar.”
My face heats. My roommate tossed a bowl of jelly beans out of the window recently, earning all building residents a memo from Nicolas’s management team. “It sometimes rains jelly beans.” I scoop ice cream into the cups. “Chicago weather is strange.”
Nicolas sprinkles a handful of jelly beans onto his ice cream. “Your messy roommate is the strange one.”
“Cyndi is my best friend.” I jump to her defense. “And she bought the ice cream you’re eating.” I place the tub back in the freezer. “Be nice.”
“I’m not a nice man.” Nicolas swallows a spoonful of ice cream. “But she does have good taste in ice cream. Does this have marshmallow in it?” He dissects the creamy treat. “It does, and almonds. G*d, this is good.” He sucks on his spoon, appearing adorably boyish.
I sit beside him and we eat ice cream. My billionaire’s blue silk tie is loosened, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. His navy blue suit hugs his lean body. His leather dress shoes balance on the bar stool’s footrest.
He’s here alone. He arrived alone. “Shouldn’t you have a bodyguard with you?”
Nicolas’s lips curve around his spoon. “Am I in danger? Should I be scared?” His dark eyes sparkle.
“Be serious.” I slap his shoulder.
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