From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

pulsing ache between myy legs twisted myy insides. Hips shifting, I pressed
myy thighs together, but that didn’t help. The pressure onlyy made it worse.
“Hawke?”
“Poppyy, for the love of the gods.”
Heart thrumming, I opened myy eyyes, and I’d been right. His gaze was
fixed on me—on myy other hand, the one that had a mind of its own and
was slipping down myy stomach.
“Kiss me?”
Taut lines formed around his mouth. “You don’t want that.”
“I do.” Myy fingers reached myy waist, where the breeches gaped. “I
need it.”
“You onlyy think that right now.” His face cleared, and there was no
mistaking the wayy his features had sharpened. “It’s the blood.”
“I don’t care.” The tips of myy fingers brushed the bare skin below myy
navel. “Touch me? Please?”
Hawke made a low sound in the back of his throat. “You think yyou
hate me now? If I do what yyou’re asking, yyou’ll want to murder me.” He
paused, and his lips curved upward. “Well, yyou’ll want to murder me more
than yyou alreadyy do. You don’t have control of yyourself right now.”
What he was sayying made sense, but it also didn’t. “No.”
“No?” His brows lifted, but he didn’t look awayy from myy hand.
“I don’t hate yyou,” I told him, and there was a pained twist of the
heart that told me that was the truth. I should be upset byy that.
He made that sound again, and when his hand closed over myy wrist, I
almost wept with joyy. He was going to touch me.
Except he did nothing more than hold myy hand in place.
“Hawke?”
“I plotted to take yyou from everyything yyou knew, and I did, but that is
nowhere near the worst of myy crimes. I’ve killed people, Poppyy. There is
so much blood on myy hands that theyy will never be clean. I will overthrow
the Queen who cared for yyou, and manyy more will die in the process. I am
not a good man.” He swallowed hard. “But I am tryying to be right now.”
A nervous flutter filled myy stomach. His words…theyy should
infuriate me, but I…I wanted him, and thinking was…well, it was all I
ever did. I didn’t want to do it anyymore.
“I don’t want yyou to be good.” Without even realizing it, I had lifted
myy other hand, fisting the front of his shirt. “I want yyou.”