It was about me.
What I wanted.
My choice.
I took a deep breath, and the burning lessened. Hawke remained still above me, waiting. Tentatively, I lifted my hips against his. It stung, but not as severely as before. I tried it again. Hawke shuddered, but he didn’t move. Not until my grip on his shoulders loosened, and my breath caught for an entirely different reason. There was a burning friction, but it wasn’t the same. Muscles low in my stomach tightened as a ripple of pleasure skittered through me.
Only then did Hawke move, and he did so carefully, so gently that I felt tears prick my eyes. I closed them as I curled my arms around his neck, letting myself get lost in the madness once more, in the building crescendo of sensations. Some kind of primal instinct took hold, guiding my hips to follow his. We were moving together, the only sound in the room that of my softer sighs and his deeper moans. That exquisite, almost painful coiling sensation returned. My legs lifted of their own accord, curling around his hips. The pressure was building inside me once more, but it was more potent this time.
Hawke worked his arm under my head and curled his hand around my shoulder as the grip of his other hand tightened on my hip. He began to move faster, deeper, his thrusts stronger as he held me in place under him. I held onto him, my mouth blindly finding his as his hand slipped between us. His thumb found that sensitive area, and when his hips churned against mine in tight circles, the tension exploded once more. I cried out as the sensation whipped through me, more intense and biting than before. The release he’d given me earlier somehow felt like nothing compared to this. I was shattering into pieces in the best possible way, and it was only when the last wave seemed to have crested that I became aware of those intense golden eyes fixed to my face as he slipped his hand out from under me. I knew at once he’d been watching the entire time, and a breathy moan left me.
I placed a trembling hand on his cheek. “Hawke,” I whispered, wishing I could put to words what I’d just felt—what I was still feeling.
His features turned stark, and his jaw tensed, and then he…he seemed to lose whatever control he had left. His body pounded against mine, moving us across the bed. Under my hands, his muscles flexed and rolled, and then his head kicked back, and he cried out, shuddering.
He dropped his head to mine, to the sensitive space along the side of my throat. I felt his lips against my thrumming pulse as the roll of his hips slowed. There was a scrape of his teeth that sent a shiver through me, and then the press of his lips.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, our damp skin cooling, and our breathing slowing as I threaded my fingers through his hair. His muscles had relaxed, and his weight was on his elbows, but I slowly became aware of the tension in his body. It was the gift, slowly poking through my heady emotions.
Hawke’s lips grazed my cheek and then found mine. He kissed me softly, sweetly. “Don’t forget this.”
I touched his jaw. “I don’t think I ever could.”
“Promise me,” he said, seeming to not hear me as he lifted his head. His gaze snagged with mine. “Promise me you won’t forget this, Poppy. That no matter what happens tomorrow, the next day, next week, you won’t forget this—forget that this was real.”
I couldn’t look away. “I promise. I won’t forget.”
Chapter 34
Some hours later, a noise stirred me from sleep. I was on my side, and a long, warm body was wrapped around mine. One leg was thrust between my thighs, and I was tangled in arms. Although I was still half-asleep, every part of me immediately became aware of the unfamiliar sensations of being in someone’s hold. The feeling of skin against skin, the rough, short hairs against my flesh, the biceps under my head, and the warm breath glancing off my cheek. All of it was wonderful and new. Even with the cobwebs of sleep still clouding my thoughts, I knew this feeling wouldn’t be something easy to walk away from.
The last thing I remembered was lying facing Hawke, him toying with my hair while he told me how he’d gotten some of his smaller scars. Most of them had been earned through fighting, though a few were from when he was a reckless, adventurous child. I’d meant to share with him the truth about some of mine, but I must’ve drifted off.
Hawke shifted behind me, lifting his head as the sound came again. It was a soft knock on the door. Carefully, he slipped his leg out from between mine. He stilled for a second, and then I felt his fingertips on my arm. They coasted down and then over the flare of my hip to where the blanket lay. He tugged it up over my chest as he eased himself free, making sure the pillow had replaced his arm under my head. A sleepy, pleased smile tugged at my lips.