Hawk by Abigail Graham Read Free Book Online

out my liver. To him , of all people. I had no idea they were even involved.
    Just thinking about it… ugh.
    While May showers, and she'll be at it for a while, I sit on my bed and try not to smell the pickle relish. Damn you, Hawk. The moment I'm alone, he creeps into the back of my mind and I feel my eyes burn. I can't blink away the blur and a tear itches down my cheek, cutting a hot line. I thought I'd cut him out, put him away, but I can't forget his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, his fingers inside me. It was so strange seeing him. So different, and yet exactly the same. One look and it comes flooding back to me, all of it, from the first time I saw him in third grade to the last day of our senior year together when he told me at lunch to wear something nice, he was going to pick me up at six.
    May finally finishes in the bathroom and calls out, "All yours," and I trudge inside.
    I take a towel, but forget my robe, and it doesn't hit me until I've already stripped down and locked the door. May left the water running and steam coats every surface, strokes against my body and heats my skin. I break out in a sweat again, itching my back and legs even before I slip under the hot stream and turn it up higher to flush away that relish smell. Water runs in hot fingers down my back, between my legs, soaks my hair and paints it down my back. Leaning on the wall, I let the spray flow over my head, drumming on my scalp.
    This house lacks nothing for luxury. I turn the water down just a tad and lift the shower head from it's cradle, it's on a hose. I spray under my arms and down my legs, hang it again and soap myself up. I'd stink even if I didn't smell vaguely of pickles. It takes forever to scrub the sour sweat smell away with the soap. When I lift the shower head again, I rinse off.
    I bite my lip, and swallow, shift my feet apart and slip it between my legs, spraying the water on my mound. I try not to do this too often but it feels so fucking good, it makes my toes rise from the floor.
    I feel… coiled. Somehow that release of tension I had this afternoon didn't really do the job. The memory of his touch lingers, but more of touching him. Feeling his skin under my nails as I traced out the fine lines in his tattoos. I didn't get enough. I want to see the parts that were hidden, the parts that reached below his waist and remained covered up by his jeans. I crouch and sit down on the tub floor and lean back against the wall and settle the shower head between my legs and let the water flow. A little twist and the water pulses, sending little shocks spreading through my body.
    I remember grabbing him and feeling his cock stiff, so urgent I could feel its shape even through denim, and the way he shuddered all over when I brushed his balls. I turn up the pulsing and the water goes a little faster, pulsing against me. I've never seen Hawk fully undressed. I think the closest I ever came was seeing him in swim trunks. He used to have tan lines in the summer- the outline of a tank top after he took it off. He did a lot outside, sometimes worked outdoor jobs in the summer. One year we both worked at Hertrich's Nursery, selling people plants and caring for trees. We were both bronzed by then.
    I miss his tan lines, but the tattoos turn me on somehow. I want to finish what I started, lay on top of him and study those tattoos inch by inch, ask him where he got them and why, what they mean. I can't stop thinking about the feeling of his cock under my hand. If he was here right now, I'd undo that belt and tug down that zipper and pull him free. As I imagine his shaft in my hand I slip a finger into my body and move it along with the rhythm of the water and crank the dial so it goes a little faster.
    Very softly I moan as I picture lying on top of him, pushing his jeans down while he wriggles out of them, feeling his cock against my stomach. I could feel how hot it was even through cloth, how thick and heavy. I can imagine sitting up