Hawke: A Bad Boy Fighter Romance (With bonus book Sons of Flame MC) by Ashley Rhodes

I swallowed down. My free hand found his sac and squeezed what was inside, not too hard; enough to let him know I was there, and Jack laughed quietly and then gasped when I bobbed up, drawing my tongue along the length of him, and sank down again.
    It wasn’t fair, what he’d done to me so easily. I wanted to counterattack, to make him beg, to prove to him he wasn’t the only one that knew his way around this arena. I squeezed, and sucked, my tongue already sore from pressing against him inside my mouth, and I milked another drop from the tip of him and swirled my tongue and fist around the ridge of his cock-head.
    He pulled my hair. “Stop.”
    I didn’t; I sped up, tugged his balls, tried to force him over.
    “Naomi, stop,” he breathed.
    I had him to rights, I had him close; I wanted to win, to finish him.
    He pulled my head away. “I said stop, darlin’!” His voice was a quiet boom in the room. Both of us froze. I looked over my shoulder. I glanced at the clock. Fuck. Two minutes to my next appointment.
    Our eyes met. I glanced at the clock again. That second hand seemed to be suddenly moving faster than it should have.
    I’d seen Jack’s chart, all his blood work. I was on the pill. We had a minute and a half.
    I pushed my scrub bottoms and panties to my ankles, and scootched up to straddle his hips again. He opened his mouth to say something, to protest, but before he got it out we both covered one another’s mouths with a hand as I slipped him inside me. He was thick; it stretched, and stung for a heartbeat, but I was so wet, and he was so hard that I had him inside me in a few short seconds and squeezed him. Jack gasped under my hand.
    I rose, and fell, the slight curve of him driving into me, hitting that almost painfully sensitive spot inside. I rose and fell, putting more of my weight against his mouth, and his eyes burned up at me, glazed and full of lust and demand.
    He let go of my mouth, and I had to bite my lips to keep from moaning when his fingers dug into my hips and with one grunt after another he thrust his hips up, slamming into me until he was into a rhythm that had to be getting him close again. When I felt him swell, he slipped a hand to the front of me and found my aching nub with his fingers and attacked it again. I thought I would taste blood from biting down on my own lip so hard, panting through my nose.
    We were racing. The clock, one another. God, he filled me up, and he was sweating and I must have looked like hell but I was as determined to make him come as he was to hammer another orgasm into me, and I couldn’t tell who was going to win but I glared down at him and hated that he could do this to me but was already looking forward to next time and wanted to leave the kind of impression that would haunt him in his dreams when I was gone.
    And then his eyes fluttered, and rolled, and his body tensed and he bit the palm of my hand that was still covering his mouth, and slammed into me hard enough to leave a bruise while his fingers pinched me, hard, and sent me flying.
    I felt him explode inside of me, his cock swelling and throbbing once, twice, three or four more times, a counterpoint to the series of quiet explosions that hammered into my midsection and radiated out into the rest of me until I was falling forward and lost.
    Jack held me tight, gasping breaths. “Shit,” he said. “Holy shit… fuck me… ow… Oh, fuck… god damnit…”
    I had the sudden thought that he was still, somehow, coming inside me. When I moved, though, his hands shot up and gripped my arms and pushed me carefully, slowly away from him. “Ribs,” he grunted, barely able to suck in a breath.
    “Oh,” I said, reality gradually seeping back into me. “Oh, God, Jack… I’m sorry; fuck…” I slid off of him—his body jerked from the stimulation—and managed to struggle off of the side of the hospital bed. In my panic I pulled my panties and scrubs back up.
    We watched one another. Jacks’