As much as I’ve wanted to deny what’s been happening over the last several days, no matter how badly I wanted to think it was all just lust, just incredible sex that brought about this attraction to him, I now know that’s a lie.
I’ve managed to fall for him and all his complications.
And that terrifying realization is the last one I have before my orgasm slams into me.
He continues to roll his thumb across my clit and pump up into me as my body convulses, my nails digging into his chest, my hips bucking wildly as I come. His grip on my hips tightens, and two harsh thrusts have him emptying himself inside me.
I collapse onto him, and he buries his face in my neck, reaching up to pull my braids free from the bun they’ve been tied back in. They fall all around us, and he brushes them to the side, twisting my face toward him so he can kiss me languidly.
It’s so easy to float in this warm, post-orgasmic haze, wrapped in his strong hold, our hearts beating rapidly against each other, and pretend there isn’t an enemy out there after the Hawkes.
Tomorrow, I’ll face that reality again.
But tonight, I’m going to fall asleep like this, with my guard down.
21
BISHOP
The soft sound of rain hitting the windows and the roof above me draws me slowly from a deep sleep. That blissful fuzzy darkness clings to my brain for a few minutes, and I stay completely still, luxuriating in the feel of Gage’s bed and inhaling his leather and spice scent that clings to the sheets along with the smell of us.
For the first time since the explosion, I wake feeling good, my body relaxed and sated. And I actually slept.
No nightmares.
No staying up all night worrying about what was happening outside this space.
No fear that I missed something and someone else paid the price for it keeping me awake.
All of it was somehow kept at bay while I slept beside the man who has changed my life so much.
I stretch with a groan and my body protests slightly, but it’s so much better than it has been the last several days. Instead of aching, angry muscles, only a dull throb between my legs reminds me of what Gage and I did last night.
A grin pulls at my lips, and I push myself up and scan the loft area.
He isn’t in the kitchen or sitting at the small desk, and through the open bathroom door, I can tell it’s empty, too. Which means he must be downstairs working on his bike.
That’s about all he’s done the last couple of days—worked on the Indian or stepped outside for long phone calls with Dad and Luca, and probably dozens of other people he wouldn’t tell me about.
I know he must have a computer somewhere down there, too, must be working on whatever tasks they’ve given him while he’s also acting as my babysitter, but he’s kept me well in the dark about it.
His promise that they would bring me in if there was something they couldn’t handle has given me a modicum of comfort, but I still want more.
I want to be involved.
I want to help.
And waking today feeling so much better than I have all week gives me hope that maybe things will be different. Maybe I can start getting back to my job, even if only gradually, at first.
Because the Hawkes can’t stay locked up and living in fear forever.
The girls are going stir-crazy, and the boys…
Given the texts I’ve received over the past week, they seem ready to bust out the pitchforks and go door to door looking for Satriano to get this resolved on their terms.
If something doesn’t give soon, there may be an all-out Hawke riot in the streets of New Orleans.
Which would be ill advised.
