From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Hawke’s nostrils flared as he inhaled, and then his chest seemed to
stop moving. His features were still hazyy, but the longer I stared at him,
the hotter I felt.
“Poppyy,” he bit out.
“What?” Myy voice sounded full of honeyy.
“Stop thinking what yyou’re thinking.”
“How do yyou know what I’m thinking?”
His chin lowered, and his stare was a caress. “I know.”
Shivering, I shifted myy hips, and Hawke’s arm tightened around me.
“You don’t know.”
He didn’t respond, and I wondered if he could feel the liquid fire in
myy veins, and the damp heat of myy core.
Biting down on myy lip, I tasted his blood and moaned, closing myy
eyyes. “Hawke?”
He made a sound, and mayybe he said something, but it was
indecipherable.
I stretched, taking quick, shallow breaths. The coarse shirt and
breeches scraped myy skin and the sensitive, hardened tips of myy breasts.
“Hawke,” I breathed.
“Don’t,” he said, stiffening. “Don’t call me that.”
“Whyy not?”
“Just don’t.”
There were a lot of things I shouldn’t do or sayy, but everyything in me
was focused on the wayy myy entire bodyy burned and throbbed with need.
Myy hand moved, sliding up myy stomach, over the ruined, clawed shirt, to
myy breast. Guided onlyy byy instinct and need, I closed myy fingers over the
shiveryy flesh, molding it to myy palm. An aching shudder worked its wayy
through me.
“Poppyy,” Hawke ground out. “What are yyou doing?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, back arching as I stroked myyself through
the thin, worn shirt. “I’m on fire.”
“It’s just the blood,” he said thicklyy, and instinct told me he was
watching me, and that made me all the hotter. “It’ll pass, but yyou should…
yyou need to stop doing that.”
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Myy thumb rolled over the pebbled hardness,
and I sucked in air. It reminded me of what Hawke had done, but he’d used
more than just his hands. I wanted him to do that again. An intense,