Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1) (29 page)

Now, this elevator ride is never-ending. The need coiled inside me is driving me to the brink of madness. It has been months, and I still haven’t felt Savage inside me. The man is hung like a horse—I’ve seen, felt, licked, and sucked the evidence.

His desire for me is clear.

But still…no sex.

I’m trying not to read too much into it, but something has to give. After he flat out rejected me after I threw myself at him in the sexiest lingerie I could find, I almost lost it.

Frustration isn’t strong enough of a word to describe how it felt, how it feels. I gave him the silent treatment for a couple days, but ultimately couldn’t bring myself to cut things off.  Not when he sent me his now-signature white roses.

The ding of the elevator breaks my train of thought, and I follow Savage down the hall to his door. I open it for him and Princess jumps up into his lap as soon as we walk in.

“Do you need to take her out?”

“No,” he says, picking her up and letting her lick his face, “Gabe sent me a text about fifteen minutes ago telling me he already took her when he got home.”

“Wow, Gabe beat us home? That’s gotta be a first.” I laugh and run my hand back through his hair. “Let’s go to bed.” He tilts his head into my touch and looks up at me with clear understanding burning in his eyes.

Thank God he needs this as much as I do.

“Excellent plan,” he replies, pulling my hand from his hair and kissing it. He orders Princess to go to bed and she scampers off across the living room to her bed in the corner. He follows me down the hall to the bedroom.

He disappears into the closet to get out of his tux while I slip my off my dress and head to the bathroom.

My heart races in anticipation of tonight. I’ve never been nervous for sex—ever. But tonight, with Savage, it’s different. It actually
means
something, and that is fucking terrifying.  I don’t know how I know it will be tonight, maybe it was the run-in with Becca, but deep in my gut, I know he knows it’s time.

Several deep, steadying breaths later, I emerge to find him already in bed waiting for me, a storm of desire in his gaze. I move toward the bed slowly, watching him watch me. The way his eyes roam my naked body sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine and causes my already needy body cry out for his touch.

“Have I ever told you how fucking beautiful you are?” he asks as I slide under the covers and press my body along his.

“Once or twice.” He drags me from his side until I am lying completely on top of him before he takes my face in his hands and angles his mouth over mine in a possessive kiss. He devours me, sliding his hands from my head down my sides until he firmly grips my ass, pulling me tightly up against his hard cock.

Our gasps mingle with our breath as the kiss deepens further, and I can’t seem to get close enough to him. I want to crawl inside of him, become part of him, let him become a part of me, even more than he already has.

I can’t imagine not having him, not having this, in my life. I thought I was happy before. I thought great sex was enough, but I was wrong. I need this. I need someone who wants me to be their everything. I need Savage.

His hand slips between our grinding bodies and glides down my belly until he finds my throbbing core.

“Oh, God, please!” I gasp into his mouth as he lingers against my flesh, barely skimming the surface, doing nothing but stoking the desperate need coiled inside me.

“Please, what? Tell me what you want, baby.” His husky voice vibrating against my lips resonates through my body. My clit pulses against the palm of his hand. I roll my hips against him, grinding against his palm, urging him to move and put me out of my misery.

“You,” I manage to gasp out as he slips his fingers inside me.

Finally.

I clench around them and he groans against my mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He slowly slides his fingers out, then thrusts them in again, beginning a steady rhythm I match with my hips. His palm grinds against my clit and he increases the pace. My entire body heats, my skin flushing and my head spinning, signaling my impending orgasm. Hot breath floats across my neck as he kisses his way to my ears, grazing his teeth over the lobe and finally sends my body spinning into an explosive orgasm.

His hand and mouth never still until I collapse onto him, panting against the damp skin of chest. He nuzzles in my hair, pressing his lips against my head and gently rubbing my back. His hard cock is pressed against my belly, and, as I regain my senses, I reach between us to grasp it, craving the hot flesh in my hand.

Just as my thumb slips across the wet tip, he grabs my wrist and rolls me onto my back. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I groan in frustration as he shifts me up against the headboard so he can drop his head between my legs. I comply, simply because he leaves me no other choice. His strong arms hold me down as he teases his tongue along my swollen and overly-sensitive flesh. I shudder and grip his shoulders, digging my fingers into the firm muscles as he probes inside me.

He doesn’t go easy on me, even though I know he is more than aware of how sensitive I am after I come. He draws my clit between his lips and sucks in time with my undulating hips. I grip his hair, tugging on it and pulling him closer, frantic for another release.

This one comes so quickly, it blindsides me, my world spinning out in a shattering of stars and flashes of light. I cry out his name, smashing myself against his face, riding out the orgasm until I’m so sensitive I have to push him away and beg him to stop.

I collapse against the headboard, and he nuzzles my stomach, kissing his way up to lavish attention to my breasts. His hot breath across my nipples makes me shudder against him, craving him inside me more now than I ever have in the past.

“You okay, baby?”

I manage to nod as he presses his lips to mine, the taste of my release still there.

Sliding my tongue along his bottom lip, I suck it into my mouth and he groans, shuddering against me. He wraps his arms around my back and rolls onto his back. I slide down and straddle him, pressing my drenched pussy against his cock and rock my hips.

His eyes roll back into his head and he digs in his fingers into my hips. I roll my hips again and his eyes fly open, raw need emanating in the blue depths. I lean down and kiss him, pouring my need for him into the act.

Yes. This. We both need this.

I shift forward until the head of his cock is resting against my core and rock against him again, catching his groan in my mouth.

He sits up so we are face-to-face. Reaching down, I grasp him and moan in appreciation at the thick, hot flesh in my hand. His cock bucks against me, his fervent kiss continuing while I position him at my entrance.

His heart races against my chest and his skin feels cold and clammy.  He’s no longer returning my kiss and is taking short, jagged, gasping breaths.

I pull back and find his eyes squeezed shut.  His cock deflates in my hand and I move quickly to capture his face between my palms.

Something is seriously wrong here.

“Savage, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move, other than to take rapid, shallow breaths. His entire body shakes violently. His arms tighten around me as he clings to me like a lifeline and his breathing nears hyperventilation.

Holy shit, he is having a full-blown panic attack.
 

He latches onto me, burying his face against my neck. I hold him close and his chest heaves. The cool clamminess of his skin against mine is unnerving. I’ve never seen someone like this.

Jesus, what the fuck do I do?

“Savage, baby, it’s okay, just breathe.” I try to soothe him, but I have no fucking clue what’s happening, what brought this on, and he’s completely unresponsive.

How the hell do I get through to him?

Asking him what’s wrong does nothing and he fights any attempts for me to pull away. So, I hold him, murmuring reassurances to him for what seems like an eternity while my mind races with every scenario that might have brought this on.

When I finally reach the answer, my heart freezes in my chest.

Sex. It’s sex.

Every single time I’ve tried to take it past fooling around and oral, he makes some excuse or distracts me. I had him practically inside me this time, and he’s having a meltdown over it.

Why? What did I do?

I search every moment we’ve spent together over the last three months for any explanation, but find none.

Eventually, his breathing slows and his body stops shaking. Even then, he maintains his iron grasp on me and refuses to respond to my increasingly concerned questions.

“Savage, what’s wrong? Baby, please talk to me.” I try to pull away again, but he clutches me tighter, preventing me from seeing his face. I don’t need to see it to know he’s crying. My skin is soaked from his tears rolling down from my collarbone onto my breast.

A man like Savage doesn’t cry. At least, not in front of someone. Whatever this is, it’s killing him. I’ve never felt so fucking helpless. There’s absolutely nothing I can do because I don’t even know what the problem is.

Minutes tick by with complete, unnerving silence in the room. His pain hangs heavy in the air but I can’t seem to bring him back from wherever he is.

Come on, Savage. Talk to me.

I beg. I urge him to tell me what’s going on. I try everything with no response.

When he finally shifts, slowly releasing his grip on me and leaning back, relief floods me.

Finally.

His eyes are vacant, red, and puffy, and he doesn’t seem to focus on me, rather, some place behind me in the room.

I take his face in my hands, turning him until his empty eyes meet mine. “Savage, tell me what’s wrong.” He shakes his head and drops onto his back, resting his forearms over his eyes without a word.

Seriously?

Despair and anger create a volatile mix inside me. I slide off his hips and kneel next to him, taking a deep, cleansing breath before I try again.

“You aren’t going to tell me what’s going on?”

No response.

His arms remain draped over his eyes, his body motionless, except for the now-steady slow rise and fall of his chest. I watch him, waiting for him to acknowledge me, acknowledge anything, but he doesn’t, and it becomes abundantly clear to me he has no intention of talking to me about what happened.

Why, Savage? What can’t you just fucking talk to me?

The realization has me clutching my chest against the pain of my heart being torn open. I bite back the sob that threatens to escape. Tears slide down my cheeks before I even realize I’m crying.

“Savage, please talk to me,” I manage to eke out before I sob, “I need you to talk to me.” He doesn’t budge, and as the pain of knowing he can’t confide in me overtakes me, I shift back on the bed, away from him. I slide off the mattress onto shaking legs and have to grab the bedpost to stop from falling forward as another sob echoes in the too-silent room.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet, I’m not even sure I really hear them. Wiping my eyes, I turn back to the bed and find him in the same position, but his arms have moved up, revealing his red-tinged, hopeless gaze. He looks completely lost, but he won’t take the lifeline I’ve repeatedly offered him.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Please, tell me what’s wrong,” I beg, not even bothering to try to hide my distress.

What does it matter at this point?

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he refocuses on me, I know I won’t get an answer. Gone is the Savage who always promised to be an open book, who always said he would be honest with me. All that’s left is a brick wall of silence.

“I’m sorry…I just…can’t,” he whispers.

I drop my head, close my eyes, and try to breathe through the heaving of my chest. When I finally look back at him, a single tear slides from his eye and rolls back down his cheek to his pillow. I know what I need to do, but the pain of actually following through with it may kill me.