Page 87 of Isaac

Hawk nods and kisses the scar. Then he drops his mouth to my chest to the uneven skin where a knife ravaged it years ago and kisses it too.

I swallow past the knot in my throat, expecting this sickness that always engulfs me when another man takes control of my body to wash over me. But with him, it doesn’t happen.

There’s just this electricity, this invisible current of desire.

A moment stretches out like an eternity while he’s leaving a trail of kisses across my chest, slowly moving his mouth higher, across my collarbone to my jaw.

There’s a soft clink of the belt buckle.

I realize we’re past the point of no return. He’s hard. So am I.

"Bedroom," I command and take his hand.

He hums an affirmative.

We tumble toward the large staircase and upstairs, our erratic footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath our feet.

My heart is ready to burst in my chest from the intensity of the anticipation as we reach the master suite, pausing fora moment on the threshold to share another fierce kiss before entering.

I wanted to show him my house properly but it’s too late now. He’s steering me to the foot of the king-sized bed, his lips and tongue caressing my mouth in the most wicked way.

"Did anyone ever tell you you’re a sexy little thing, Isaac?" he whispers in my ear while I'm engrossed in a major battle with his apparently very stiff jeans.

His voice isn’t the voice that I’m used to hearing. It drips through my senses, richer and darker than usual. Almost like a forbidden fruit-flavored seduction.

"People have called me many names." I chuckle softly, finally winning the battle with his jeans and slipping them down his thighs. "But not that."

"Do you like it?" he asks.

I hesitate for a second, contemplating. The memories flood back: the endless taunting and cruel nicknames in the lockup. I push it all down and focus on the present, not wanting the past to ruin the present.

"I do," I tell him, tracing the lines of muscles on his chest with my fingertips. "When you say it."

"Okay," he murmurs. "Good."

"Are you going to finish the job you started?" I ask, guiding his hand to my belt buckle that he already unbuckled downstairs.

He quickly undoes the button and zipper of my pants, allowing them to fall to the floor. We're left standing in our underwear, our bodies a hair's breadth apart, our eyes locked onto each other's.

"Did you enjoy jerking me off last time?" he asks, his voice thick with lust.

"I did. I told you you have a great cock, didn’t I?"

"Can I have yours tonight?" He cups me with his hand through my boxers.

"Maybe," I hiss out. The contact, even with the fabric still separating us, has my mind spinning in thousands of different directions.

My hands shake as I reach for him, gripping the waistband of his own boxer briefs and sliding them down his legs. Our erections spring free, straining toward each other like magnets drawn together by some invisible force. The sensation of skin against skin sends shivers down my spine, awakening a hunger in me that has long lay dormant. So long, I forgot how good this can feel, how mind-blowing.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," I groan, wrapping my hand around both of our cocks. I need to take control while I still can, while I still am able to think through this. Even though I want him to be in control instead. I just can’t give it up. I'm not ready.

I stroke us together in a slow, torturous rhythm, searching for the right angle and the right pressure.

Hawk's breath hitches and he grabs at my shoulder with one hand and pushes me toward the bed. We fall down and he’s on top of me now, his weight—all lean muscle—is a little terrifying and my pulse ratchets up.

Hawk’s hips are grinding against mine in a blissful harmony as I continue to jerk us off.

His warm breath fans my neck and his teeth graze the tender flesh of my throat. He captures my lips once again, the hint of stubble on his face scraping against my jawline.

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