"The push-pull between Hawk and Onyx is interesting to watch. I loved the fireworks when Hawk has had enough... I enjoyed this addition to this series."
"...from the opening sentence to the end of the story, I was intrigued. Marteeka Karland made these two characters so likeable, especially Onyx, that I couldn’t help but smile every time she made Hawk squirm."
"With a sassy woman like Onyx and a man like Hawk, we can see Molotov Cocktail exploding in and outside of the bedroom. I love the characters and enjoyed this short, sassy story."
-- 5 Couples from Tash, Confessions from Romaholics
Wanted: Molotov Cocktail
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Marteeka Karland
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"It doesn't matter who I am." Onyx leaned casually against the bulkhead, never taking her eyes from Hawk. "What matters is that I've decided to make you my bitch. Do you think you can handle that?"
There was no way in the Universe Hawk would ever forget those words. They weren't the first Onyx had spoken to him, but they had definitely been the most memorable. Every day since then, she'd tormented him to no end. She didn't try to seduce him, only to play hard to get. She always gave the impression she was interested but in a way that made him feel she was the dominant. Hawk supposed most men would go along with it just to see what she'd do. Not him. He was a sexual dominant. Indeed, he was dominant in every aspect of life. He followed Yuri out of loyalty and respect, not because he couldn't lead on his own.
Now, Hawk gripped the controls of the heavily armed but disguised war fighter. They were deep in Consolidation space. Now was not the time for Onyx to be playing her games. The damned woman sat in the co-pilot's chair, looking at him. He hated it when she looked at him like that.
"Stop it," he growled, fiddling with switches that didn't need adjusting. Gods, he hated it when she sat there looking at him!
"Stop what?" The dark-skinned beauty merely smiled, shrugging her muscled shoulders. Onyx wasn't an ordinary woman. Hawk would bet his ass she was enhanced, and most people found her five-foot eleven-inch frame intimidating. He found her impossibly sexy. She was built to take a hard ride, the kind of sex he needed, craved. He hated that he found her sexy. Especially now.
"Stop looking at me." His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
"But there's..." She hissed the last syllable, letting it drag out. "So very much to look at." Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw she lounged in the seat, elbow propped on the arm, looking at him as if he were a prime piece of meat and she was starving, her gaze centered squarely on his lap.
He felt naked. Exposed. With her watching him with such scrutiny, he had the silly urge to cover himself. The fact he was six-foot nine and over three hundred pounds of solid, space marine muscle made the feeling that much more annoying.
As if her very presence wasn't tempting enough, she had to wear that leather V-cut vest that accented those temptingly full breasts. Lean, strong muscle sculpted her arms and leather-clad legs. He'd often fantasized about how hard those legs could hug his waist as he surged into her with long, sure strokes...
Fuck! How the hell was he supposed to concentrate?
"I don't know why you insisted on coming along. You've done nothing but sit there." For which he was thankful, though he'd never admit it. Had she actually moved about the small ship with him, they were liable to come into actual physical contact and then he'd have to fuck her. Hawk knew his abilities, and keeping his dick in his pants if she actually touched him was definitely beyond him.
"Oh, but I do so enjoy the view." Her voice was low, sultry. "Besides, I had nothing better to do. Pulling your team member's ass out of a hot situation seemed interesting enough. Yuri would never forgive you if you got hurt, and I can't have a little thing like bodily harm come between you and your best friend."
Hawk refused to rise to the bait. Staring straight ahead at -- well, nothing really -- he tried to simply ignore her. Maybe, if he were lucky, she'd go away.
He chanced a glance in her direction. Nope. Still there. And she was skimming the edge of her top with her fingers. Back and forth, almost absently. If it were his fingers skimming her top, he'd trace the swell of each breast before simply ripping away that infuriating, offending garment. He hated that stupid top. It revealed much more than it concealed, yet didn't reveal enough. There were only so many things a man could take, and Onyx seemed to be pushing every single one of his buttons as hard and as fast as she could.
Time passed. She didn't move. Hawk had relaxed somewhat, his raging hard-on now only a minor nuisance. They were almost to the station where Storm, his comrade and fellow marine, was being held. If their intel was correct, the station was one of many prisons constructed in plain sight. The outer rings of the station functioned as they were supposed to, housing shops, bars and overnight accommodations for deep space travelers. The inner hub, however, held closely guarded prisons where the captives were tortured for information before being exterminated. Hawk only hoped Storm could feed them enough accurate information to keep himself alive until he got there.
It was part of their private training when they were kids. Raised soldiers, Hawk, Storm, Yuri and Demetri had all gone through extensive interrogation resistance training. The Consolidation had long since discarded that practice in favor of explosive implants the soldier could detonate if he were captured with no hope of escape. The four of them had managed to avoid that particular device because they'd defected and gone rogue. Which, unfortunately, made them wanted men.
Hawk had just switched on the autopilot for the remainder of the trip, as the flight path had to be precise to the kilometer, when Onyx slid one leather-clad leg over his lap, straddling him so they were face to face. Her fingers traced the scars on his face. It was all Hawk could do not to flinch at her touch. Whoever said chicks dig scars obviously hadn't seen his. His skin was a criss-cross of fine white lines.
"You should smile more, you know," she said almost absently. "You really do have a handsome face."
When she slid her body so seductively against his, Hawk sank his fingers into her curves in a bruising grip. How much was a man supposed to take? She was practically begging him to take her!
She stared at him as if she were fascinated by him. Handsome, indeed. He was heavily battle scarred. There was nothing handsome about him and hadn't been since he was a youth. He was freakishly large, too. Women might find him an interesting pastime, or a dangerous warrior with whom to live out a fleeting fantasy, but no one thought him handsome.
Just as abruptly as she'd invaded his personal space, Onyx slid with cat-like grace from his lap. She flashed him a teasing smile before turning and going to the rear of the ship.