From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,157

rubbing me in a way that caused my hips to twitch.

He dragged his hand up the front of the breeches. His palm brushed along the bare flesh of my lower stomach. Those long fingers settled over a throbbing point and moved in slow, steady circles. “I bet you’re soft and wet and ready.” His voice was a lush growl in my ear. “Should I find out?”

I shuddered, half afraid that he would.

Partly scared that he wouldn’t.

The friction of his fingers, the rough material against my flesh…and his words… Oh, gods, they were decadent, purely sinful, and I never wanted it to end.

“Would you like that?” he asked, and my hips rolled instinctively, seeking his touch. He made that sound again, that rumble of approval that was so raw and primitive. “I would do more than this.”

Eyes open only a slit, I watched the not-too-distant shape of one of the guards slowly patrolling the north-facing side of the camp, my skin and body flaming with forbidden heat as my hips moved again. This time, it wasn’t only a reaction I couldn’t control. I moved them purposefully, rocking them against that slow, steady circling of his fingers. I reveled in the spike of aching, biting pleasure that followed.

I shouldn’t allow this. Not even in the privacy of a room, and surely not where someone could just turn around. I imagined if they paid close enough attention, they’d know that something was happening. I was almost positive that the guard closest to us, the one I watched even now, was Kieran. He seemed as alert as Hawke.

This was wrong.

But how could it…how could it feel so right, then? So good? I was becoming a being of liquid, pulsing fire, all due to just two long, graceful fingers.

“You feel what I’m doing, Poppy?”

I nodded.

“Imagine what my fingers would feel like with nothing between them and your skin.”

I shuddered.

“I would do this.” His fingers pressed in, a little harder, a little rougher, and my legs jerked. “I would get inside of you, Poppy. I would taste you. I bet you’re as sweet as honeydew.”

Oh, gods….

I bit down on my lip as my grip eased off the blanket. I reached down, placing my hand over his forearm. He stopped. He waited. Wordlessly, I lifted my hips to his hand as my fingers dug into his skin. The ache was becoming unbearable.

“Yes,” he breathed. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered, forcing the word out past my lips.

His fingers started moving again, and I almost cried out. “I would work in another finger. You’d be tight, but you’re also ready for more.”

My breath was coming out in quick, shallow pants as I felt the tendons in his arm flex under my hand, as my hips moved in the same circles he was making against me.

“I would thrust my fingers in and out.” His lips brushed the skin just below my ear. “You’d ride them just like you’re riding my hand right now.”

That’s what I was doing, shamelessly so. Clutching his arm, I rocked against his hand, chasing that unbelievable tension that kept building and tightening.

“But we won’t do that tonight. We can’t. Because if I get any part of me in you, every part of me would be in you, and I want to hear every sound you make when that happens.”

Before I could even feel disappointment, before I could truly process the silky promise in his words, he shifted his hand lower, pressing his fingers against the very center of me while his thumb rolled over the part that throbbed. There was nothing slow about his movements then. He knew exactly what he was doing with all that swirling, inescapable tension. Hawke shifted beside me, somehow, working his other arm under my shoulders. He hauled me flush against his front, and I was no longer just moving against his hand, but against him, the rolls of my hips erratic and sharp. Soft, low moans escaped my lips. I felt trapped, wonderfully pinned between his hand and the hard, unyielding length of his body. Something…something was happening. It was what his kisses and brief touches before had hinted at and promised. My body suddenly went as tight as a bowstring taking aim, and my lips parted a second before Hawke folded his hand over my mouth, silencing the moan I wouldn’t have been able to suppress. His hot mouth moved against the side of my throat, his lips, his teeth. There was a wicked sharpness—

The tension