Page 21 of Filthy Love

He wanted a fuck.

He wanted a fight.

And not necessarily in that order.

But nothing whetted his tongue.

Nothing calmed the beast pounding in his chest.

All because that little bit had kissed the fuck out of him.

God. She’dkissed him. Let him into her mouth and she tasted as sweet as he remembered.

He’d kissed Gia once before. Only once and it was the start of his obsession.

The addiction beat alongside his heart in a staccato rap.

He thought about all the men who looked at her daily and wanted to kill them all.

Men were pricks. Him included. Him most of all.

She’d gone and made him so much worse by kissing him.

He was tortured by her taste and the feel of her soft scraping against his hardness.

And she didn’t have a clue how so much darker she’d made his madness.

“You have no fucking idea, little bit of a thing, so old are you that you know everything? So worldly with the round eyes and the way you see the good in everything, even me. Forget everything you fucking think you know. The second I was inside you people would know, you’d be different, they’d treat you differently, tarred with my fucking ruined brush, all the rumors flying around, people who had once been your friends because they’d know I had hands all over you. I don’t fuck like a gentleman, little bit, I fuck like an animal, that stains a little girl like you. You want pretty-fucking-romance, to show off a man to your friends, to go to parties with him on your arm, so fucking meek and boring, that’s not me, will never be me. I’m not normal, the wiring is not right in my head, and I’m not for you, walk away before I’ve had my mouth on that pussy and drank down your honey, because if you don’t and I taste you, I feel how it is to shove my cock as deep and as hard as I can inside you, it’s all over, you get me? You hearing what I’m telling you? Game over, ‘cause I don’t play by anyone's rules but my own and my rules are nasty, my rules are fucking filthy.”

The memory of the night he kissed seventeen-year-old Gia came back often. Most times when Hawk didn’t want her sweetness in his head. He reminded himself he was intentionally crude to her that night to shake her off, to make the stars in her eyes for him disappear. He’d stepped in and helped when a punk-ass tried to cop a feel of her. He became her hero. He saw it and still it hadn’t stopped Hawk from putting lips on her when he dropped her off at home. He told himself he’d looked out for her because of Rider. She was his sister and Hawk his friend. Naturally he’d stop an asshole from groping her. That lie kept him going for years. Not allowing the fact that he’d noticed her already, long before that night and wanted to do the same as a dirty, old pervert.

He’d never wanted anyone more to belong to him wholly, then and now.

Every dream.

Every fantasy.

Every whispered secret.

He wanted it all to belong to him.

Because monsters liked to own things. To make them as dirty as they were.

Krusher knocking on the bar brought Hawk’s attention up. He had a coffee in front of him and his phone waiting to hear from Lawless. “Best put your game face on, son.” The old man grinned a shit eating grin and Hawk scowled.

“You been on the mushrooms for breakfast, old man?” Damn fool always smiling like he wasn’t one foot in the grave. He watched him hobble out from behind the bar to scrub the other end with a rag. Hawk grumbled frustrated and popped up from his seat. “Where the fuck is your cane? I’m not catching you if you fall.”

Krusher huffed. “It makes me feel old. I don’t need it,” he hobbled some more. “Just a bad hip. I’ll walk it off.”

“You areold. Use the fucking cane.” Hawk found it behind the bar and thrust it at him. No idea why he cared if the old goat used it or not. Hawk wouldn’t pick the bag of bones up off the floor if he fell. Krusher huffed offended almost made Hawk laugh. “You never know, those aging bitches at your old people’s club might get a kick out of it, might get ‘em juicy and you laid, old man.” He offered and Krusher laughed, pointing a crooked, arthritic finger behind Hawk. “Speaking of. Good luck, son.”

What do you know. Gia walking in like a goddamn runway model.

Every heartbeat in his chest stopped.

Spit dried on his tongue.

His traitorous dick woke up and fought the zipper on his pants. Jesus. Christ. He took a seat and rested arms on the bar. With any luck she was here to find her old man.

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