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17. Secrets

He’s gone. He left for who knows how long. But, this is my chance.

I hold onto his door knob, tapping my fingers on it lightly. I know it’s a bad idea, but I want to see for myself who he is, and if he’s not going to tell me, I’m going to find out myself.

I need to know who I’m dealing with, I need to know who this man is that makes me feel the way that he does. I deserve to know the truth, don’t I?

I open the door and it creaks, startling me. I look back to the front door to ensure I’m still alone.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I enter his room.

It’s surprisingly clean for a guy. I’d expected a mess of strewn clothes, fast food wrappers, change thrown across the dresser, but no. Nothing like that at all. I walk past his dresser, touching his clothes he’s hung up. I grab the sleeve of one of his jackets and smell it. It smells like him, leather, cinnamon, and faded cigarettes. It makes something inside me flutter.

There are no pictures or wall hangings whatsoever, but this is a guy. He has a TV setup in the corner of his room, a nice flat screen with some random dvds in the cabinet below it. I make my way over to the desk. He’s got a nice laptop, it rivals mine to be honest. I pull open the drawers of the desk, seeing nothing inside, until I hit the last one on the bottom. There’s an old shoe box filling it.

I grab for it immediately, pulling it out and sitting on the floor next to it. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should put it away and leave his room immediately. This is an invasion of privacy. But, I can’t. I need to know something, anything.

I open the box. Inside there are a few court papers, documents I’m assuming are from his case, and beneath those there’s a small, stunning, silver cross pendant etched with a coiled design attached to a silver chain. I pick it up, rubbing my thumb over it. It’s beautiful. Looking back to the box I see a picture. Picking it up and inspecting it closer, I see a boy, probably about fifteen years old. The picture looks like it was ripped out of a newspaper. It’s all worn and in black and white print. The name beneath the picture says his name is Ben Collins. He’s a cute kid, looks to have blonde or light colored, shaggy hair and an amazing smile to match.

Who are you Ben Collins?

I put the picture back in the box where I found it, placing the pendant on top as I start looking through the court papers. Why is this all in here together? Just as I’m shuffling through the papers, about to read through them, I hear the front door open.


Placing the top back on the box, I throw it back into the drawer when Hawke walks in.

There’s nothing I can say that would make this alright. I’m busted, snooping through his stuff. My stomach sinks in embarrassment as his eyes narrow at me.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” he asks, eyeing my hand still on the drawer.

“I just wanted to know-”

“Know what!?” he snaps, interrupting me.

“Know what happened,” I whisper.

I get the feeling that whatever he went through hurt him worse than he’s letting on. He’s not the guy I judged when I walked in here. He can’t be.

His eyes soften for a moment, looking at the drawer, then narrow again as he looks back to me.

“Get the fuck out of my room. Now!” he demands.

“Hawke...” I say softly, getting up and walking towards him.

He raises his hands to ward me off. “Don’t.”

“Talk to me,” I whisper, touching his hands, making him wince.

He licks his lips, closing his eyes tightly then opening them to look at me. I see pain behind his eyes, a deep pain swirled into those mysterious eyes, right along with the teals, blues, and greens.

“Talk to you? For what? You don’t want to know this.”

“I do. I would understand.” I plead, dropping the hands between us, placing my fingers on his hard chest.

He acts like my touch burns him, wincing at the contact.

“Don’t do this to me.” his voice cracks and I feel the pain.

He needs to open up, he just feels like he can’t. His eyes tell me he wants me to know, but there’s a hesitation. I know he doesn’t think he can trust me. I haven’t exactly given him a reason to. But, he means something to me now, even if I don’t know what that is, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Who’s Ben?” I ask softly, looking up into his troubled face.

He glares past me at the wall, his mouth open as he runs his tongue along his teeth, trying to hold back the pain by mindless moving his tongue. The name affects him. It pains him deeply, I can tell by the way his hand curls into a fist at his side, the way his eyes wince to hold back the agony.

“Let me be here for you,” I whisper, dragging my fingers down his pecks slowly before wrapping my arms around him in an embrace.

I need to touch him, to comfort him. I feel like I’m the only person in this world who can and would understand him. And I desperately ache to show him that.

His breathing changes as his eyes close and his mouth drops open.

“You want to be here for me?” he asks with an edge, opening his eyes to look down at me, the look, darker than before.

“I am. I’m right here.”

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t help but press my entire body to him. He’s my magnet and I can’t do anything to repel him. I can’t fight it anymore.

“Then be here for me,” he says before grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me into his lips.

I moan into his mouth at the contact as his tongue brushes against mine. He’s pulling me backwards as he kisses me, until he hits the bed. He roughly pulls me onto his lap, hands grabbing for my sweatshirt, quickly pulling it over my head.

He kisses me with such a hunger, a need. He drags his tongue up the side of my neck making me bite my lip while a moan escapes me. I’m not even thinking anymore, only feeling.

“Fuck,” he breathes against me.

His tongue licks my bottom lip before entering my mouth again. I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands finding their way to his hair. I pull as our kiss deepens. He tastes so good, like a minty spice and his leathery scent fills my nose. He groans, lifting his hips to me. We’re out of control, in a lust filled hell. There’s no stopping this. I need him and I don’t know why.

I don’t have a conscious or clear thought in my head as his large hands scour my body, lighting up every part of me, his fingers undoing my bra and removing it before I remove his shirt. We’re on a crash course and nothing can derail us.

His hands cup my breasts as he groans in pure delight. I run my hands along the hard cuts of muscle covered in phrases and images that make him. He gently pulls my nipples between his fingers setting my insides on fire for him. He pulls one to his mouth, sucking and savoring it while releasing the sexiest growl from deep in his throat.

I push him back down against the bed, reaching for his pants to unbutton them. The look in his hooded eyes is wild. He wants me, needs me, as badly as I need him. He hisses as I pull the zipper down, the bulge straining against his jeans making me feel warm all over.

He grabs for my pants at the same time, lowering them as I step out of them quickly. Everything is happening in fast motion. It’s as if he knows, given a second to think, I’d stop this immediately. But I’m not thinking, not about anything but this feeling deep within me, a need for pleasure, a need for deep rooted connection, to him.

I dip my hand into his boxer briefs, watching his face change as I wrap my hand around him. He’s so warm, so hard, so big. He groans, throwing his head back as I begin stroking him. I can’t get enough of the faces he’s making, the erotic sounds slipping through his mouth. It’s intoxication and addicting. I want more. I crave him.

“Cole,” he groans. “Fuck.”

I’m fascinated by the sudden power I have over him. I continue stroking the length of him in my hand, marveling in his size before he grabs my wrist, stopping me.

“Come here,” he commands breathlessly.

He pulls me up to the top of the bed, laying me on my back, wearing nothing but the underwear I put on beneath my clothes this morning. His lips start on my stomach, planting kisses until he finds my breast. He licks my nipple, wrapping his mouth around it. That lip ring dragging along my skin, the look in his eyes as he peers at me through his black hair that’s fallen like a veil, slightly covering his vision, everything is churning my insides.

He leans over me, grabbing a condom from the shelf, looking at it, then looking at me with an unsure face.

“What we’re about to do is wrong.” He rips the condom with his teeth, spitting out the edge of the wrapper. “So, so wrong.”

I can’t focus on anything but him before me at this moment. His huge frame towering over me, watching him roll the condom on to his manhood as he looks at me like an animal. My pheromones are on fire for him. The desire radiating from his skin, exuding nothing but pure passionate lust from his eyes, from the way his muscles flex as he prepares himself for me.

He leans down, settling himself between my thighs.

“Please tell me not to,” he whispers against my mouth.

He wants me to stop him. He always does, but there’s no extinguishing this fire between us. It’s out of control and it needs to run its course, burning through everything until there’s nothing but ash left to settle.

“You have to tell me you want this,” he says cautiously.

I press my lips to his and kiss him before pulling back and reaching between us to remove my underwear.

“I need this,” I moan. “Please.”

I’ve lost all self control beneath him. Whatever regrets that will come with this will have to wait.

With him back between my thighs, he brushes himself against me, making us both suck in a breath, before angling himself to my entrance. We look into each other’s eyes as he pushes into me, achingly slow. My eyes wince as he slides deeper and deeper.

“Just a bit more,” he says in a strained tone, attempting to reassure me as he stretches me like I’ve never felt before.

He drops his forehead against mine once we are fully connected, stilling for a moment for me to adjust.

“You’re as perfect as I imagined,” he breathes, his eyes falling closed.

I’m stretching around him and pleasure begins shooting out everywhere throughout my core. I feel so full and so numb and so amazingly charged all at the same time.

“Hawke,” I breathlessly whisper.

His eyes find mine and something changes in him. “Cameron.”

I swallow, confusion hitting me.

“Call me Cameron,” he says, gazing from my eyes to my lips and back before winces his eyes tightly at the feeling of being inside me.

I’ve never felt so connected to someone than I do in this moment. It’s the most incredible sensation. I don’t know what to do with that.

“Cameron,” I breathe out.

He opens his eyes quickly at his name and I see him. I see his soul through those troubled eyes. He’s affixed to me now, just as I am tethered to him.

He begins moving out of me, as we stare at each other. He picks up the pace, almost synchronizing his motions with the increasing rate of his heart. I hold onto his neck, opening my hips for him as we connect again and again. The soft tenderness slowly changes into a forceful collision. If I had any self control left, I’d care about the sounds I was making, but I don’t. I moan and cry out as he thrusts into me, his hoarse voice and sounds filling the air right along with me.

He wraps my thigh up and around him, holding on tightly for leverage as he urges me deeper and deeper into the darkness with him.

His lips connect with my neck, right beneath my ear, his tongue darts out, alternating between licking and sucking motions before his other hand cups my breast firmly, then softly kneading it. Everything feels so perfect, like it destined to happen, it needed to feel this good just to solidify any doubts.

“You’re ruining me,” he groans against my lips. “Goddammit Cole.”

I feel myself begin to peak, the pleasure right in my grasp now. As if he can sense it too, he wraps his other hand around the back of my neck, holding me in place as he drives into me, watching my face closely, studying my eyes, my lips, the crease between my brows, as I lose control.

I cry out, closing my eyes tightly as I come undone like I never have before. I feel myself tighten around him, as hot waves of pleasure course through me. He doesn’t stop. He just keeps going, as I ride through the orgasm, feeling an electric pulse flying through me each time he fills me. It’s the longest, most amazingly feeling I’ve ever felt.

His head drops to my shoulder and his thrusts get sloppy and slower as my fingers grip tightly into the skin of his back. He finishes with a deep groan against my skin, the pants from his breath felt against my neck.

As soon as he finishes, I feel regret immediately. The tears well in my eyes as I stare at the ceiling. I can’t believe myself. Why?

He lifts his head, swallowing to catch his breath to look at me. He takes in my change of emotion, his eyes looking back and forth between mine.

“I told you. I told you to tell me to stop. I begged you,” he says, shaking his head as I begin crying.

“I know, I just-”

I don’t know what I’m feeling. I feel regret but not because I didn’t enjoy it. I feel regret because it was one of the most amazing feelings I’ve ever felt and I can’t process that.

He slowly gets off of me, running a hand through his hair. His face looks so hurt, so disappointed, but is he?

I reach out for him. “Hawke.”

“It’s fine. It meant nothing,” he says coldly, putting his pants back on.

My heart breaks in half. I just threw myself at him for him to tell me it was all for nothing. I thought it meant something. I thought we truly connected. I felt like he was opening up to me. But now that I can see more clearly, I can tell he used sex to avoid dealing with whatever I was chipping away at. I’ve ruined my relationship, for a quick fuck with the bad boy who got under my skin, the way he does with everyone. He’s right. No part of this was special at all.

“Cole, just leave,” he shakes his head, walking towards the door.

Panic hits me as I realize I’ve completely destroyed everything with two horrible, childish, impulsive decisions. I’m so hurt in totally different ways. I’ve just risked losing everything for someone who isn’t willing to admit that this was anything at all.

“Are you going to tell him?” I ask.

He looks down to the floor, raising his eyebrows almost in disbelief.

“No, Cole. I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he sighs, raking his hand through his hair again.

I walk past him, leaving the room and close the door as I do, but it creaks open a bit. I can see him through the crack. I watch him as he falls to his knees, his hands dragging down his face. He opens the bottom drawer to the desk, where the shoe box is. He places his hand on it to open it, then quickly shuts the drawer, kicking it in with a loud bang before resting his head in his hands.

Some secrets are buried so deep, that the only way to find truth is to discover the depths of the darkness yourself.

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