We toast my dad with plastic cups, sip at the champagne, and sit back on the blanket as we watch planes fly low overhead and then land with a roar. When I finish my bubbly, I set the empty cup on the blanket and lay back, tucking my hands behind my head. As I gaze up at the clear moon, I say, “Remember what we used to say about the moon?”
Hawke drains his cup and tosses it aside. He lays down on his side, propping up on his elbow and resting his head in the palm of his hand. He smiles down at me and says, “Our lunar connection.”
I nod with a grin. “When you were traveling with the Oilers and I was missing you, you’d call me at night and tell me, ‘Vale…look at the moon right now. It’s the same one I’m looking at. We are together.’?”
I’m surprised the words actually come out a little choked up over the sweet memory, and perhaps it’s just the emotion of this spectacular day, but I’m a little embarrassed when I slide my eyes from the moon to him. The shadows obscure most of his face, but I can see some of that emotion sparkling back at me.
He leans down and kisses me gently. When he pulls back, he says, “I was quite the romantic back then, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say with a giggle. “You totally got all my girly parts tingly with your words.”
Hawke gives a husky laugh and bends over to kiss me again. It’s deep and possessive, full of passion and desire. He moves straight past romantic and right into erotic territory with just a few skillful swipes of his tongue against mine. I can’t help the moan that pops out, but then again, I never could.
This fuels him on and makes him bolder. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my jaw. “I seem to remember you and I having a certain fondness for fucking in the great outdoors.”
“Yes we did,” I whisper as his lips go to my neck, my one great weakness to his powers of persuasion.
“Feeling adventurous?” he asks before scraping his teeth along my skin.
“Always with you,” I tell him with naked honesty. “Always.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and then his hands are everywhere.
First a firm grip to my jaw to hold me steady, followed by another deep kiss.
His body moves over me, nudging my legs apart. He settles on top, presses his hardness to me, and grinds while never taking his mouth from mine. The next few moments are defined by one very long kiss that has no breath in between but fractures into jolts of lust as his hands start to roam. Up my shirt, under my bra, squeezing and pinching.
My hands have no choice but to reciprocate. I stroke the long, hard lines of his back. Slip my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and dig them down into his ass. His breath fans out harshly as I rotate my hips under him, both of us wordlessly egging the other on.
Our touches become aggressive, almost frantic. Shoes get kicked off, buttons get popped, and clothes start to be shed. The crisp air is a welcome relief to my heated and sensitive skin, and when Hawke’s hand goes in between my legs, I arch up into him hard. With his fingers inside of me and his teeth to one of my nipples, my first orgasm crashes into me hard. My hands tear at his long hair, then press down on his head to hold him to my breast while my body shudders.
“So sexy,” he murmurs as he pushes up, both his hands coming to rest near my hips. He looks down at me and says, “Raise your legs, baby. Spread them wide for me.”
I obey and reach my hand down to circle around his long, thick erection. I rub my thumb over the tip, feel the wet, and guide him to me. With a loud huff of breath, Hawke pushes inside and I melt around him so we become one.
Slowly he moves in and out of me. One hand grips on to mine with fingers interlaced. His lips rest against mine, lightly brushing back and forth while his cock moves deeper and deeper.
“Feel good?” he asks, and it’s a stupid question. As if my moans and grunts aren’t enough of an answer, but he wants to hear it. He wants the validation.
“Feels better than anything I’ve ever felt before.” That’s the God’s honest truth. Right now, in this moment, something is different between us. Maybe it’s the tension of my dad’s illness being released, or that we’ve finally been able to move past the bitterness, but all of a sudden this feels new and monumental to me.
Hawke likes my answer, pumps hard into me a few more times, and then surprises me by rolling. His hands expertly grip my hips, slinging me on top and never losing a fraction of an inch within me. It takes me no more than a second to get my bearings before I start to ride him.
I’m not sure if my eyes are adjusting to the dark or I’m just seeing things clearer, but Hawke’s gaze upon me is intense with emotion. He bites his lower lip, his hands on my hips urging me to go faster and harder on him. He groans and grunts with every downward push, racing along with me on this highway of sizzling sex and lust.