From Blood and Ash: Chapter 33

Hawke didn’t respond, and I wasn’t sure if he’d even taken a breath, reminding me of the night of the Rite with us under the willow. That memory didn’t bring with it the sharp stab of pain.

Then he spoke. “I want nothing more than that, but I don’t think you realize what will happen if I stay.”

I felt a little dizzy. “What would happen?”

He turned then, his stare piercing. “There is no way I could be in that bed with you and not be all over you in ten seconds flat. We wouldn’t even make it to the bed before that happened. I know my limitations. I know that I’m not a good enough man to remember my duty and yours or that I’m so incredibly unworthy of you it should be a sin. Even knowing that, there is no way I wouldn’t strip that robe from you and do exactly what I told you I’d do when we were in the forest.”

Heat swept through me as I stared at him. “I know.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Do you?”

I nodded.

Hawke took a step away from the door. “I’m not just going to hold you. I won’t stop at kissing you. My fingers won’t be the only thing inside you. My need for you is far too great, Poppy. If I stay, you will not walk out this door the Maiden.”

I shivered at the bluntness of his words. They weren’t a shock, but his need was. I didn’t see myself as someone who could be the object of something so fierce. I’d never been allowed to.

“I know,” I repeated.

He took one more step toward me. “Do you truly, Poppy?”

I did.

And it was strange to know myself and be so certain when I’d spent so long not knowing myself—never really being allowed to discover who I was, what I might like or dislike, what I’d want or need. But I knew now.

I had known the moment I asked him to stay. I knew what the consequences could be. I knew what I was, and what was expected of me, and I knew I could no longer be that. It wasn’t what I wanted in life. It had never been my choice.

But this…this I wanted.

Hawke was who I wanted.

This was my choice.

I was reclaiming my life, and it had started long before him. When I demanded to be taught how to fight, and when I made Vikter include me when he went out to help the cursed. Those were significant steps, but there had been smaller ones along the way. In a way, they were even more important. I’d been changing, evolving just like the gift I was forbidden to wield but remained determined to use. It was in every adventure and risk I took. It was in my desire to experience what I’d been told was not for me.

That was why I’d initially stayed in the room at the Red Pearl with Hawke.

It was the way I’d met the Duke’s stare and smiled at him when I’d been unveiled.

It was when I’d spoke to Loren for the first time, and when I went out to the Rise. My evolution kept me quiet as the Duke delivered his lessons, and when I sliced Lord Mazeen’s arm and hand and head from his body, I’d been cutting through the chains I never chose to wear. I just hadn’t realized it then. There were so many little steps over the years and especially in recent weeks. I didn’t know when it had finally happened, but I knew one thing for certain.

Hawke wasn’t the catalyst.

He was the reward.

I lifted my surprisingly steady hands to the sash. I didn’t look away as I undid the knot. The robe parted and then slipped over my shoulders. I let it puddle at my feet.

Hawke didn’t look away for one second. He didn’t even blink as he stared at me, his eyes locked to mine. Slowly, his gaze traveled the length of my body. I knew there was enough light for him to see everything. All the dips and swells, the shadowy, hidden areas, and all the scars. The jagged tears on my arms and across my stomach, and the ones on my legs that looked like wounds from sharp nails but were proof that I had been chosen by the gods.

Because those marks on my legs weren’t from claws but from fangs that had ripped into my skin. I’d been bitten that night.

But I was not cursed.

Hawke wouldn’t see the truth in those scars. Two of those who knew were now gone, and only the Queen and King, the Duchess, and my brother knew now. For the first time in my life, I wanted to tell someone the truth behind them. I wanted to tell Hawke.

But now was not the time for that.

Not when his gaze was slowly tracking back to mine. Not when he was looking at me as if he were soaking in every inch of me. I couldn’t help but shiver when his eyes finally met mine.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick. “And so damn unexpected.”

Then he moved in that way that always made it hard to believe he wasn’t an Ascended. In a heartbeat, I was in his arms, and his mouth was on mine. There was nothing slow and sweet about the way he kissed me. It was like being devoured, and I wanted that. I kissed him back, holding onto him tightly, and just when I felt the touch of his tongue against mine, he pulled away.

Things became a blur then. His tunic came off with my help, and then his boots, and his breeches. I trembled at the first sight of him.

He was…beautiful.

All sun-kissed skin and long, lean muscles. His chest and stomach were defined by years of training, and there was no mistaking the power and strength of his body. There was also no mistaking how his life had left its imprint behind in the form of faint nicks and longer scars on his flesh. He was a fighter like I was, and now I truly saw what I’d been too nervous to notice before. His body was also a record of everything he’d survived, and the deeper, redder scar just below his hip on his upper thigh was proof that he likely had his own nightmares. It looked like a brand of some sort, as if something hot and painful had been pressed into his skin.

“The scar on your thigh,” I asked. “When did you get it?”

“Many years ago, when I was dumb enough to get caught,” he answered.

It was so weird how he sometimes talked as if he’d lived dozens of years longer than I was sure he had. I knew that, for some, a year could feel like a lifetime. My gaze strayed, and my eyes widened.

Oh, my.

I bit down on my lip, knowing I probably shouldn’t stare. It seemed indecent to do so, but I wanted to.

“You keep looking at me like that, and this will be over before it starts.”

Cheeks heating, I dragged my gaze away. “I…you’re perfect.”

His expression tightened. “No, I’m not. You deserve someone who is, but I’m too much of a bastard to allow that.”

I shook my head, unsure how he couldn’t see that he was deserving. “I disagree with everything you just said.”

“Shocker,” he said, and then he curled his arm around me.

In a heartbeat, I was on the bed, and he was above me, the rough hair of his legs abrasive against mine in the most surprising, pleasant way. But the feel of him against my hip caused a nervous swallow, and also brought a reminder of a very real consequence that could come from this.

“Are you—?”

“Protected?” His thoughts obviously following the same path as mine. “I take the monthly aid.”

He was talking about the herb that rendered both males and females temporarily infertile. It could be drunk or chewed, and I heard that it tasted like sour milk.

“I assume you’re not,” he added.

I snorted.

“Wouldn’t that be a scandal?” he said, skimming his hand along my arm.

“It would.” I grinned. “But this…”

Those eyes met mine. “This changes everything.”

It did.

It really did.

And I was ready for that.

Hawke kissed me, and I wasn’t thinking of anything beyond how his lips had an almost drugging effect. We kissed until my heart was pounding, and my skin hummed with the pleasure of it. Then, only when I felt breathless, did he begin to explore.

His fingers trailed over every inch of exposed skin, and when his hand moved between my thighs, I cried out, quickly discovering that what he’d done with his fingers in the forest, over my breeches, was absolutely nothing compared to his skin against mine.

He worked his way down, using his mouth and then his tongue to follow the path his hands had blazed. He stayed in particularly sensitive areas, wringing sounds from me that made me briefly wonder just how thick the walls were, and then he lingered over the scars on my stomach, kissing them, worshipping them until I was sure that he didn’t find them disturbing or ugly in any way.

But then he moved lower still, past my navel.

My heart stopped as I felt his breath against where I ached so fiercely. I opened my eyes to find him settled between my legs, his golden gaze locking onto mine.

“Hawke,” I whispered.

One side of his lips curled up in a wicked, smoky half-grin. “Remember that first page of Miss Willa’s diary?”

“Yes.” I would never forget that first page.

Then, his gaze remaining on mine, he lowered his mouth.

My back bowed at the first touch of his lips, and my fingers dug into the sheets at the glide of his tongue. I thought my heart might stop, that maybe it already had. The riot of sensations he conjured up seemed unfathomable until that moment. It was almost too much, and I couldn’t hold still. I lifted my hips, and his rumbling growl of approval was nearly as good as what he was doing.

Gods…

My head fell back against the mattress, and I was aware that I was writhing, squirming, and there was no sense of rhythm behind my movements. But that sharp tightening deep inside me was coiling and twisting, and then it all unraveled, stunning me with its intensity. I might’ve said his name. I might’ve actually screamed something incoherent. I didn’t know, and it took what felt like a small eternity before I could even open my eyes.

Hawke lifted his head, lips swollen and glossy in the candlelight. The intensity in his stare scorched my skin as his gaze caught and held mine. He never looked prouder of himself as his mouth parted and the tip of his tongue glided over his lips. “Honeydew,” he growled. “Just like I said.”

My breath caught, and I shuddered. He didn’t so much move as he prowled up the length of my boneless form. I watched him, unable to look away as the hardness of his body caressed mine, unable to stop the shiver when the rough hairs of his legs tickled sensitive skin.

“Poppy,” he breathed, his lips touching mine. He kissed me, and my skin heated at his flavor, the taste of me and those strangely sharp teeth of his. My senses whirled at the feeling of him settling between my legs, prodding, pressing in just a bit. “Open your eyes.”

They had closed? Yes. They had. I opened them to see that one side of his lips was curved up, but the teasing tilt normally present was gone. He said nothing as he stared down at me, his hips and body still. “What?”

“I want your eyes open,” he said.

“Why?”

He chuckled, and I sucked in a gasp at how the sound felt with him so very close to where I throbbed. “Always so many questions.”

“I think you would be disappointed if I didn’t have any.”

“True,” he murmured, dragging his hand down the length of my neck and then lower. His hand curled around my breast.

“So, why?” I persisted.

“Because I want you to touch me,” he said. “I want you to see what you do to me when you touch me.”

A shiver danced over my skin. “How…how do you want me to touch you?”

“Any way you want, Princess. You can’t do it wrong,” he whispered hoarsely.

Uncurling my fingers from the sheet, I lifted a hand, touching his cheek. His gaze remained latched to mine as I drew my fingers along the curve of his jaw, over his soft lips, and then down his throat. I was still feeling too much for my gift to be remotely functional as I glided the tips of my fingers over his chest. His breaths pushed it against my hand, and I kept exploring, soaking in the feel of the taut, coiled muscles of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair below his navel and then lower. My fingers brushed silky hardness, and his entire body jerked. I hesitated.

“Please. Don’t stop,” he rasped, jaw clenched as his fingers stilled on my breast. “Dear gods, do not stop.”

I focused on his face as I touched him. There were so many tiny reactions throughout his entire body. His jaw popped, and his lips parted slightly. The lines of his face became sharper, and the tendons in his neck stretched as I curled my hand around him. He kicked his head back, and his large, powerful body trembled. I noted how rapidly his breathing had become as I slid my hand down to where our bodies were almost joined. He gave a full-body shudder then, and I was awed by how much my touch affected him. I tightened my grip, becoming more confident.

“Gods,” he growled.

“Is this okay?”

“Anything you do is more than okay.” His voice had deepened even more. “But especially that. Totally that.”

I laughed softly, and then I did it again, drawing my hand up and down his length. His hips moved then, much like mine had, rolling against my palm, against me. He made a sound, a deep, dark rumble that sent a flush of pleasure through me.

“You see what your touch does to me?” he asked, his hips following my hand.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“It kills me.” His head dropped, and those eyes… They seemed almost luminous as he stared down at me, and then his thick lashes lowered, shielding them from view. “It kills me in a way I don’t think you’ll ever understand.”

My gaze searched his face. “In a…in a good way?”

Hawke’s features softened as he lifted his hand to cup my cheek. “In a way I’ve never felt before.”

“Oh.”

He dipped his head, kissing me as he shifted onto his left arm. His hand left my cheek and slid down the length of my body until it was between us. “Are you ready?”

Breath catching, I nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The corners of my lips tugged up. “Yes.”

“Good, because I might have actually died if you weren’t.”

I giggled, surprised by the light sound in such a tense, important moment.

“You think I’m kidding. Little do you know,” he teased, kissing me again before he pushed in just a little bit. He stopped, making that sound again. “Oh, yeah, you’re so ready.”

My entire body flushed and trembled.

Hawke’s gaze lifted to mine once more. “You amaze me.”

“How?” I whispered, confused. I’d done almost nothing while he…he shattered me with the kind of kisses I’d only ever read about.

“You stand before Craven with no fear.” He dragged his lips over mine. “But you blush and shiver when I speak of how slick and wonderful you feel against me.”

I was definitely flushing even more now. “You’re so inappropriate.”

“I’m about to get really inappropriate,” he promised. “But first, it may hurt.”

I knew enough about sex to know that. “I know.”

“Reading dirty books again?”

A flutter started in my stomach and spread. “Possibly.”

He chuckled, but it ended in a groan as he began to move.

There was pressure and a moment when I wasn’t sure how he could go any farther, and then a sudden, sharp sting stole my breath as I squeezed my eyes shut. Fingers digging into his shoulders, I tensed. I knew there’d be some pain, but all the languid warmth turned to chips of ice.

Hawke stilled above me, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry.” His lips touched my nose, the lids of my eyes, my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He kissed me again, softly, and then rested his forehead against mine. A shallow breath lifted my chest. That was it. I’d crossed the final, forbidden line. There was no shock of guilt or burst of panic. Truthfully, I’d crossed that line when Hawke had kissed me before knowing who I was, and everything that led to this very moment had slowly erased that barrier until it no longer existed. There’d been no going back since the night at the Red Pearl, and this…this felt too right for it not to be, in some way, destined. I felt like I was supposed to be right here, in this very moment, with Hawke, where it mattered who I was and not what I was. It didn’t matter if the gods found me unworthy because I was worthy of this—of laughter and excitement, of happiness and anticipation, of safety and acceptance, of pleasure and experience, of everything Hawke made me feel. And he was worthy of whatever consequences came from this because this wasn’t just about him. I knew that from the moment I’d asked him to stay.

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.”