Sinful Rewards 12 by Cynthia Sax

infected.”
    â€œYou’re a lucky bastard, Hawke.” The tattoo artist smiles, his face wrinkling even more. “It was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He salutes me and wanders toward a group of leather-clad men talking near the front reception desk.
    â€œHow is your finger?” I slip off Hawke’s lap, planting my ballerina flats square on the industrial-style floor. “Do you need help walking?” I hold on to him as he stands. “Should I get Mack or Demo?”
    â€œI’m okay, love.” Hawke chuckles, his right palm connecting solidly with my left, our fingers linking together. “If I can sew my own flesh wounds, I can survive a tiny tattoo.”
    I cringe, not wanting to hear about these previous injuries. “The skin around your tattoo is red.” I watch him closely as we walk toward an office, his stride shortened to match mine. He appears steady and strong, but I know how deceiving appearances can be. “I saw some beads of blood.”
    â€œThat’s normal with tattoos.” Hawke’s bare arm brushes against the sleeve of my blouse, the brief teasing contact heightening my awareness of him. “Ed is one of the best artists in the country. He’s very careful, hasn’t lost a customer yet.”
    His joke falls flat. “He won’t lose you.” When discussing my man’s health, I have no sense of humor. “I won’t allow that.”
    â€œI love that you’re protective of me.” Hawke squeezes my hand. “You’ll make a great mom.”
    â€œI learned from the best.” I only recently appreciated how truly wonderful my mom is. “Thank you for asking her permission.” He asked the wild woman of Happydale for my hand in marriage, treating her with respect, with sensitivity, with caring. “That meant a lot to her and to me.”
    â€œYour mom worries about you.” Hawke shrugs. “She deserved to know my intentions.”
    Mack approaches us, carrying a cardboard box. “Sir.” He holds out the package.
    Hawke is in no state to lift anything heavy. A part of me knows I’m babying him, overreacting to his tattoo, but I can’t help myself. Now that I love him and know he loves me, I won’t allow anything to happen to him.
    â€œI’ll take that.” I grasp the box. My name is on the plain white label. Excitement bubbles inside me. This is my reward.
    â€œIt’s for you.” My military man opens the office door. The space is meticulously clean, not one speck of dirt on the gray carpet or the vividly painted walls. The bright blue wooden desk is bare, the superhero red leather chair immaculate.
    â€œSit down.” I place the box on the desk and close the door behind us, blocking the outside world, creating a sanctuary for him and me. “I’m taking care of you today.” I’ll show him how deep, how true my love is.
    â€œBelinda.” I see the protest in his eyes.
    â€œI’ll treat you well, Hawke.” I undo my blouse slowly, slipping each plastic button through the finely stitched openings, revealing pale skin, the hint of curves, the white silk of my finest bra. “Don’t you want that?” I drop the garment to the floor, forcing myself to ignore the mess.
    Hawke sits with a thump on the leather seat, his mouth hanging open. “Hell, yeah.”
    â€œGood.” I unzip my black pants. “Because I want you.” I swivel my hips, dancing to a beat only I hear. “Badly.” The fabric lowers, lowers, lowers and then falls, forming a puddle around my shoes.
    â€œDo you see how wet I am?” I widen my stance, posing in my bra and panties, aware that a flimsy wooden door separates my near-nude form from the gazes of a dozen or more burly bikers. “Can you smell my hot pussy?”
    Hawke breathes deeply, his nostrils flaring, his eyes darkening to a brilliant blue. “You smell