“I’m a rough, harsh man, Calla, but with you, I’ll try to be gentle.”
I almost tell him I can handle rough, but I’m not sure I can. Not yet, and instinctively he must know that. His care and understanding only make me want him more.
He removes his jeans but leaves his underwear on. My eyes drop south anyway, and I can’t stop my mouth from falling open as I take in his size. A sliver of fear causes me to tremble, and he sees it and reacts accordingly.
“This won’t be like that night, Calla. Trust me.”
I do trust him, so I simply nod and let him help me remove my clothes, leaving me standing there in a bra and a pair of cotton panties. I can’t afford fancy underwear, and so the items he brought from my apartment are all very practical and unsexy. To Hawk, though, it doesn’t seem to matter. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel sexier than all those lingerie models who strut catwalks all over the world.
It occurs to me, not for the first time, or even the tenth, how bizarre it is that I’m attracted to the man who abducted me, but Hawk’s been nothing but kind and caring and generous, and I know, even before we’ve taken this next step, that if he does ever let me go, I’ll beg to stay.
His big hand curves around my face, and he uses his thumbs underneath my chin to tip back my head. I’ve been kissed before, but only by boys at my high school, and the experiences weren’t memorable. He didn’t kiss me, and I’m glad because the second Hawk’s mouth covers mine, I know I’m in the hands of an expert, and this is a kiss I’ll never forget. My entire insides turn to mush, and my legs struggle to hold me upright, so I do the only thing I can think of: I wrap my arms around Hawk’s neck and anchor myself there.
The clasp on my bra loosens, and Hawk slips the straps down my arms. He breaks our kiss, only to get on his knees and remove my panties. His eyes are locked on the dark patch of hair between my legs, and he strokes his roughened palm up the inside of my thigh. I automatically shuffle my feet wider, and he draws his finger through my curls, then pushes it inside me. I stiffen, expecting pain, but instead, the feeling is… incredible. Oh God, especially when he does that, where he curls the tip and touches something that makes me cry out in pleasure. I’m not familiar with my body. I’ve never really explored my sexuality, but damn this man knows everything. His thumb circles the cluster of nerves at the hood of my sex, and a strange swell begins to undulate through my abdomen. It peaks and I fall into bliss. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and as soon as it’s over and I meet his gaze and see his smile, all I know is I want to have that experience over and over again.
He majestically rises to his feet, and immediately, the space gets smaller. Despite having lived with him all these weeks, his sheer size still has the power to surprise me. He’s a dangerous man; I already know this. He’s killed a man, maybe more than one. He abducts women who are ultimately trafficked into a life of sexual slavery, regardless of whether they end up serving The Elite or working in a filthy brothel. But even though I’m aware of all these things, to me he’s just Hawk, a man who chose me and made me his in all ways except for one.
The one we’re about to embark on together.
Hawk encourages me to lie on the bed. Unlike the one in my room, his is king-sized, and it needs to be. He takes up at least three-quarters of the space. He looms over me, and I suddenly realize he’s removed his boxer shorts when his erection, thick and rigid and hot, brushes against my belly.
I risk a glance down. The head is purple, the skin stretched tight, a bead of moisture on the tip. But I’m not scared. I’m excited. I want this, him. I want to be with a real man, one who cares about me for me, not for my body.
He shifts, and I brace for him to push inside me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses me again, his tongue stroking mine, his hands skimming my sides, up to my breasts. He rubs the pad of his thumb over my nipple, and it feels so good I groan loudly, my back arching of its own volition. I’m reacting on instinct alone, my hips gyrating, seeking more friction, more heat, more of him.
“If this hurts, you tell me, okay?” he grits out, his jaw locked tight, signaling the immense control he’s exerting.
“I will,” I whisper.
He doesn’t go slow, and although there’s a sharp sting, it’s over before I can even react to it, leaving behind a wonderful fullness.
“Calla, you okay?”
“Yes. God, yes. Move, please.”
The smile he gives me fills my chest with pride. His mouth comes down on mine, and it’s different from before, more urgent and demanding, and I meet everything he asks of me, our tongues dueling, our bodies smacking together, our hips moving in perfect time with each other. My first
