My pulse pounds in my ears, my body feels like it’s been lit on fire from the flush of adrenaline that burns through me, and even Hawke’s touch on my skin does nothing to abate my nerves. I liked the idea of this but now that the opportunity is a reality, my fear and anxiety and excitement all crash together. I’m going to have to act, not think, feel not worry, relax until the apprehension fades to pleasure. My every emotion is amplified in the silence of the room, and the muted beat of music down below throbs like a second heartbeat.
“Quinlan.” The way Hawkin says my name as he reaches out to brush my hair off my face pulls on every emotion that the moment hasn’t already churned up, because I hear the strain in it, the sadness I want to be gone. “I don’t—”
And before I can chicken out, before I can tell him that I’m so nervous I can’t speak in return, I yank him toward me and cut his words off by putting my lips on his. Hawke is hesitant at first, trying to pull back to make sure that I’m okay, but I don’t relent. I keep my hands and my lips in constant movement so that I can lose myself in the moment.
And then he starts to finally respond. He’s just as eager, just as hungry as I am. My hands are trying to unbutton his jeans but his hands slide between my thighs before I can get them undone. I don’t even realize that the incoherent moan that fills the room is from me until Hawke groans in response when he finds me slick with desire for him. I arch my back as I’m swamped with the sensation he gives me when he slips two fingers inside me at the same time his mouth finds the tight bud of my nipple.
The haze of arousal owns all of my senses and is amplified by Rocket’s drinks and the heady sensations of Hawke’s hands on me. Our chemistry is so intoxicating that it feels like forever since he’s touched me intimately even though it’s been only days.
I get lost in his thoroughness as he works me into a frenzy: his warm mouth on my chilled skin, his fingers sliding in and out of me before pulling back up and adding friction to my clit. He murmurs to me, how sexy I am, how hard he wants to fuck me, how he can’t wait to feel his dick in my mouth.
My muscles begin to tense as everything begins to overwhelm me, that warm, sweet ache in my core spreading from my center outward like some inexplicable paralysis due to an overdose of sensation. “Hawke, God,” I moan. “Don’t stop.”
My body soars as I fall off the edge when my orgasm hits me full force. My breath, my heart, my emotions, all three work in overtime so that I can ride out the orgasm Hawke has given me. My body trembles as I resurface from my climactic haze, and then Hawkin brands his mouth to mine, stealing my soft mewls before I can even begin to recover.
Then I feel the bed shift, and I’m shocked back to the reality that Vince really is here, on the bed. I’m immediately pulled from our intimacy that was like a protective shield making the moment solely ours. And now it’s not. Hawke’s lips fall from mine instantly and I can physically feel the hesitation in his actions, fingers flexing into the sides of my hips and mouth denying me its taste.
I’m not sure if it’s my overall hesitancy or nerves mistaken as a lack of enthusiasm toward Vince, but something about the moment shifts.
Even with Hawke in front of me, I suddenly have doubts about my decision to be okay with this. It’s not Hawke and it’s not Vince, it’s me.
Am I trying to be something I’m not by doing this?
“Stop.” My voice cuts through the lust clouding the room. Hawkin shoves back off me, and the lack of physical connection with him immediately leaves me cold and insecure. So many things flicker through my mind in a flash and the only one I can hold on to is shame.
I know it’s not warranted—I have a right to change my mind—but even with the strength of my feelings for Hawkin I feel like an inadequate little virgin who can’t hang with the big boys.
And then I stop myself and wonder if I just have cold feet. That maybe my buzz has worn off and now I’m letting nerves control my thoughts when I shouldn’t.
“Just go!” Hawke’s voice is low and even and full of an emotion I can’t quite peg, and I hate that I can’t see his face to read his expression. At first I think he’s talking to Vince, but he’s facing me and when he doesn’t move or speak and the only sound in the room is the remnants of the party downstairs, I realize Hawkin is talking to me.
I feel like he’s slapped me although we’re nowhere near touching. The shame I felt but told myself was my own ridiculous insecurity comes back with a vengeance. “Hawke …”
“We’ll deal with—just go!” He bites the words out, and I can hear his feet heavy against the floor as he paces before something slams against the dresser.
What the hell? He’s kicking me out because I changed my mind? Talk about whiplash. “I’m sorry …” I say and am immediately pissed at myself because I shouldn’t be. Besides, what am I apologizing for? For being nervous? For changing my mind? Yes, but I sure as hell am not going to apologize for not being like one of the floozies downstairs who would have dived in headfirst.
“This is … I can’t with you…. You’re not …” I can hear the remorse in his voice as he tries to explain but my embarrassment has now turned into anger. I’m off the bed in an instant, hands reaching in the dark for my clothes because right now all I want is out of here and away from this mess. Hawke takes a step toward me. “Q, don’t you … Vince … FUCK!”
“I knew that she—”