Page 11 of Hawk's Secret
I pushed my underwear to the side and sank down onto him.
We both stopped breathing. The stretch of him, the fullness, the way my body opened around him. Every inch of him. Too much, but also everything, and it was the only thing in the world that mattered. I stayed there for a second, my forehead against his, our breath mingling, feeling his hands grip my hips hard as if to anchor me into place.
Then I moved.
I rode him slow at first, deep rolls of my hips that made his breath catch and his fingers dig into my flesh. His eyes were locked on mine, dark, intense, watching me take what I needed from him. The intimacy of it was overwhelming. Face to face, chest to chest, his hands guiding my rhythm but not controlling it. I set the pace and he let me, and the power of that, of this man giving me the reins, made something in my chest crack wide open.
The pace shifted. I couldn't keep it slow, couldn't keep it controlled, because the urgency was building, the desperation, the knowledge that this was my goodbye rising through my body and turning into speed, into friction, into the obscene sound of him sliding in and out of me while I rode him with everything I had.
"That's it," he murmured against my throat. "Take what you need. I've got you."
The words undid me. I grabbed his shoulders, drove down harder, faster, chasing the pressure building between my legs. He reached between us, found my clit with his thumb, and the first stroke of it made me cry out so loud it echoed off the walls. He worked me relentlessly while I rode him, his thumb circling, pressing, his mouth on my neck, my jaw, whispering filthy, beautiful things against my skin that I could barely hear over my own heartbeat.
"Come for me, Bree. Let me feel it. Want to feel you come on my cock."
I shattered. It ripped through me, violent, total, my whole body clenching around him, my nails buried in his shoulders, a sound tearing out of me that wasn't a word, wasn't a name, was just raw, animal release. He followed me seconds later, his arms locking around my waist, his face buried in my neck, a rough, guttural groan vibrating against my skin as he came inside me.
We stayed like that. Tangled together, breathing hard, his arms around me, my face against his shoulder. I could feel his heartbeat hammering under my palm. Could feel him still inside me, softening, the intimacy of it almost unbearable.
He leaned back, pulling me with him, until we were lying on the bed, my body tucked against his, his arm heavy around my waist. The room was dark, just the moonlight through the window, and the silence was warm for the first time in weeks. His thumb traced a line along my hip, lazy, absent, the touch of a man who was completely at peace.
"Angel's called a lockdown," he said. Quiet. Casual. The way you share things with someone you trust completely. "We know there's a leak. Rook's close to figuring out where it's coming from. Might be a few late nights for me. So if I'm not around as much..." He pressed his lips to my shoulder. "It's not you. It's just club business. I'll still be here for you."
The words fell into my chest and detonated.
I lay there. His arm around me, his breath warm against the back of my neck, his heartbeat steady against my spine. The weight of his trust pressed down, solid, total. The trust of a man who had let me inside every wall he'd ever built. I could feel the warmth of him, the safety, the thing I'd been searching for my whole life without knowing it.
And the lie was there. Sitting between us in the dark, taking up more space than either of our bodies, poisoning everything it touched.
Rook's close to figuring out where it's coming from.
It was me. It had always been me. The mole he was hunting, the leak he'd been tasked to find, the threat to the brotherhood he'd dedicated his life to. Me. In his bed, in his arms, in his heart. The knife in his back, buried to the hilt, and he was lying there stroking my hip and telling me he'd be here for me.
The tape didn't matter anymore. The shame, the humiliation, Colt's hands on my face and his threats and his phone full of footage. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except that I was lying next to the man I loved and I was the thing that was hurting him and I had to stop. Right now. Tonight. No matter what it cost me.
I rolled over. Faced him. He was looking at me in the dark with those steady eyes and the warmth in them nearly killed me.
"I need to tell you something," I said. My voice shook. The tears barely held. "And you're going to hate me."
His expression shifted. Not suspicion, not yet. Concern. The slight tightening of his brow, the way his hand stilled on my hip.
"Bree."
"The leak," I said. "It's me."
Silence.
"I'm the one feeding the Jackals information. I've been doing it since I started at the bar."
I told him all of it. The words came out in a flood, unstoppable, every rotten detail I'd been hoarding for months pouring out of me like poison from a wound. Tyler, the party, the video filmed without my knowledge or my consent. Colt, Tyler's friend, a Jackals prospect who'd recognised me and seen an opportunity. The two of them conspiring, Tyler handing over the footage willingly, both of them climbing the Jackals ladder on the back of my humiliation. Colt showing up at my door with the video on his phone and an ultimatum. Get a job at Angel's Rest. Feed him information. Or the tape goes everywhere.
I told him about Lena. How I'd used her to get in, how I'd steered the conversation, how I'd planted the idea and let her bridge me into his world. I told him about the meetings, the car parks, the information I'd passed. I told him about the bruises, the ones I'd hidden under sleeves and makeup, Colt's handson my arm, my jaw, the way he squeezed harder every time I pushed back.
I watched his face the whole time.
The warmth drained out of his eyes. Slowly, the way colour bleeds from the sky at sunset. What replaced it was something I'd never seen in him before. Something cold. Something hollow. Something that looked like a door closing from the inside, quietly, deliberately, the lock turning with a sound only he could hear.
He didn't shout. He didn't hit anything. He didn't swear, shake me or raise his voice.
