Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Michael.
The name I’d never allowed anyone but my wife to call me.
Chapter Sixteen
Tate
I waited a very long twenty minutes before I forced myself out of bed and padded over to the bathroom door. I felt childish with my ear up to the door trying to hear something…anything. I’d heard Hawke leave his bed, but hadn’t opened my eyes until I’d heard the bathroom door close. It wasn’t necessarily because I didn’t want to confront Hawke…no, it was more like I needed time to build up the suit of armor I would need to face him.
Because I had no doubt that despite our moving encounter the night before, Hawke had nothing but regrets. He hadn’t said that of course, and he hadn’t done anything overtly obvious, but I’d felt it in every touch, every move after he’d eased himself off of me. The guilt in his eyes had been a living, breathing thing and I’d known it had nothing to do with what we’d done.
Michael.
I’d loved saying it. I’d loved seeing the pleasure flood his eyes every time I had. I’d loved knowing I had a piece of him that I knew in my gut not everyone did.
But I hated that it was that part of the night before that he would have changed if he could. And I hated that I was being measured against a dead woman who’d clearly deserved to be put on any pedestal her husband chose to put her on.
After the epic climax, I hadn’t been able to move and I hadn’t really wanted to despite the cooling cum all over my chest and abdomen. But the second Hawke had drawn me to my feet and sealed his mouth over mine, my body had started to come alive again. We’d ended up taking another shower together, but unlike the night before, Hawke’s touch had been quick and efficient and while his movements had still turned me on, I’d felt all the warmth from my lingering orgasm fade and be replaced by a bitter cold that had been a thousand times worse than any I’d ever experienced before.
Because I was losing Hawke…again. Even though I’d never really had him.
After the shower, we’d dried ourselves off and I hadn’t gotten a chance to taste Hawke again because he’d turned his back on me and crawled into his own bed, leaving me to the cool, empty sheets of mine. I’d managed to fall asleep at some point, but my brain had seemed to be even more hyper aware of Hawke than it had been before because I’d woken up every time he’d shifted in his bed. I’d given up trying to fall back asleep a couple of hours earlier and I’d spent the time trying to listen to the sound of Hawke’s breathing to see if he’d found the peace of sleep.
Once he’d disappeared into the bathroom, I’d waited for the shower to come on. It hadn’t. And then my disappointment had started to shift to concern.
Thus the standing in front of the door with my ear pressed up against it like a little kid. There was no sound of running water or a flushing toilet and I debated whether or not I shouldn’t just seek the safety of my own bed. After all, did I really want to hear Hawke tell me last night was a mistake? Did I want to accept that the promise he’d made to me was one more in a long line of broken ones?
I didn’t.
But I lifted my hand and knocked anyway. Because I couldn’t keep guessing if Hawke’s interest in me was based on needing to slake some physical need or if maybe there was something more there.
I care.
Hawke’s whispered declaration sparked through me so when there was no answer, I knocked again and waited and then turned the knob.
He was standing in front of the vanity, his hands braced on the counter. He didn’t seem surprised to see me and he didn’t seem angry either. His eyes met mine in the reflection of the mirror and held me for a long time before he looked at his own reflection again.
I could see the remnants of shaving cream dripping off the parts of his face that weren’t scarred, but it didn’t look like he’d actually shaved. I moved farther into the bathroom and soaked in everything I could about him. He was wearing his athletic pants but no shirt. His right side was facing me and I could finally see that the burn scars went from his face and neck all the way down to his waist. In the reflection of the mirror I could see his tattoo on his other side and I sucked in a breath when I realized what I was seeing. What I’d thought were just strange words were actually words that were written in reverse so that they only made sense when viewed in a mirror.