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I had to leave.
“Goodnight, Poppy.” I did one of the hardest damn things I’d ever done and turned for the door. I made it halfway.
“Hawke?”
I stopped, even though I knew I shouldn’t. It was like her voice was a compulsion.
“Will you…?” Her voice strengthened. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
I shuddered to my bones. “I want nothing more than that, but I don’t think you realize what will happen if I stay.”
“What would happen?”
I turned then, and I could see her pulse thrumming in her throat from where I stood. “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.”
The chest of her robe rose with a sweet, sharp breath.
“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,” I told her. “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.”
And that was the godsdamn truth. Despite what I knew. Despite my lies. Despite how she deserved so much fucking better than me. I would take her.
Poppy’s stare met mine. “I know.”
I sucked in a breath. “Do you?”
She nodded.
“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,” I promised, blood thickening. “My need for you is far too great, Poppy. If I stay, you will not walk out this door the Maiden.”
Poppy shivered. “I know.”
I’d moved without realizing it, taking too many steps away from the door—away from what was right—and toward her—toward what was so damn wrong. “Do you truly, Poppy?”
She didn’t speak as she held my heated stare. Instead, steady hands lifted to the sash at her waist, and everything in me stopped and then sped up as she undid it. The robe parted, revealing a sliver of the inner swells of her breasts, a glimpse of her stomach, and the shadowy paradise between her thighs.
Then Poppy let the robe slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor.
I wanted to be a good man who would walk away from what he knew he wasn’t worthy or deserving of. The kind Kieran believed I was. The type I had been raised to be. But I wasn’t a good man.
I was just hers.
THIS IS REAL
Poppy hid nothing as she bared herself to me, even though she trembled. Even though no one had seen her like this. She was that brave, that bold, and I was rooted where I stood, my heart thundering in my chest as my gaze left hers, following the sweet flush down her throat.
I’d seen a lot of bodies. Women. Men. Slim ones. Round ones. Those in between. Bodies that were smooth and absent of perceived flaws. Others whose flesh reflected a life lived. I’d seen bodies I’d completely forgotten, but I knew I’d never seen anyone like her.
Poppy had to be a goddess.
Because, my gods, she was absolutely breathtaking—every bit of the unending, lush softness of her curves. The fullness of her breasts and their deep rosy tips. The slight indentation of her waist and the way her hips flared, the lushness of her thighs and the hidden valley between them. I saw the scars she’d told me about before—the marks Craven claws had left behind on her strong forearm, the softness of her belly, and the ones on her inner thighs, and they too were beautiful—a testament to her strength and resilience.
“You’re so damn beautiful and so damn unexpected.” I rasped as I lifted my gaze to hers, more eloquent words failing me because looking upon her felt like both a sin and a blessing. A reward I had not earned.
But one I would take.
I moved faster than I probably should’ve, but I wasn’t thinking. I’d stopped the moment she undid that sash on her robe. I wrapped her in my arms, and then I took her mouth. There was nothing gentle in the way I kissed her. All my hunger and want came through.
And then I lost myself in her.
Poppy reached for my tunic at the same time I did. It hit the floor as I kicked off my boots. My breeches went next, and then there was nothing between us.
I stood where I was, letting Poppy look her fill, and she did. Her gaze traveled slowly over my chest and stomach, then lower.
“The scar on your thigh,” she said, staring at the faded brand. “When did you get it?”
“Many years ago, when I was dumb enough to get caught,” I said, brushing several strands of her hair back. Normally, I hated when someone mentioned the brand or looked at it, but with Poppy? I didn’t care.
