She felt weak, light-headed, as he let the shirt fall to the floor before moving to the bed and dropping on it, lying on his back, his arms splayed at his sides.
His grin was wicked. A true, playful grin despite the hunger that filled his gaze.
“Here I am,” he invited her. “Take me as you will, Jess.”
Take him as she willed? Sweet Lord have mercy on her, she might not survive this one.
She kicked off the sneakers she wore, and watched as his eyes widened when she gripped the hem of her sweater. She tossed back a grin before pulling it up her body and over her head to reveal the light undershirt she wore beneath it.
She didn’t wear a bra. She hated them. The sleeveless undershirt was stretchy and snug and clearly revealed the hardened state of her nipples as she crawled up on the mattress beside him.
Damn, he was like this vision of male perfection. Whichever scientists had decided his genetics had known exactly what they were doing, Jessica thought in satisfaction as she sat on her knees and just stared at him.
She looked her fill, because looking at him could be as erotic as touching him. She could watch his muscles flex as though she were actually touching him. His face creased with a grimace, his jaw was clenched. He was so aroused. Ready for her.
It was a turn-on, she realized. Every move this man made, every word that passed his lips, was a definite turn-on.
“Are you going to stare all day?” he snapped. Not angrily. There was an edge of anticipation and impatience in his tone rather than anger.
“Maybe,” she drawled, though her hand lifted, almost of its own accord, her fingers trailing down the center of his chest to his hard stomach.
If she went much further, she’d be in his pants. It wouldn’t take no more than a breath to touch the hard crest of his cock. She could undo his jeans . . .
Jessica shook the thought off. That would be cruel. She didn’t want to be cruel.
“Lie down beside me, baby.” He turned, moving to his side as he drew her to the bed. “Let me touch you as well.”
Without kisses.
She would die for that kiss, she thought a second later as he rubbed his hard, bearded jaw against skin and moved over her as she lay back.
Her hands had a will of their own, touching his back, his shoulders, sliding over the tough, hard flesh and relishing the feel of strength beneath it.
She ached for the kiss she was denying herself, almost as though the mating heat had begun without it.
But that wasn’t possible.
Her eyes closed as he dragged the rough rasp of his beard over her neck, his heated breath a caress against her bare skin as she arched beneath him, her body demanding more.
This might not have been such a good idea, she thought. Maybe she should have given it more consideration. She was becoming lost in touching him, her hands moving down his back to the edge of his jeans, the temptation to delve beneath the snug band almost more than she could bear.
“I can’t kiss you. I can’t lick you,” he whispered against her shoulder, his lips barely feathering the sensitive skin there. “If I touch you with my tongue, the hormone will touch your skin. I could suck your nipples, and the need for more would burn inside you. I could lick down your soft belly, and your flesh would grow hot, your arousal would build.”
The whispered enticement as he brushed his beard against the exposed flesh above her breasts was almost more than she could bear.
“Can I kiss you?” Her nails scraped over his belt before she gripped his hip with one hand, forcing herself not to go lower.
Hawke paused. The thought of her lips against his flesh was both Heaven and Hell. The thought of her caressing him, licking him, had his dick throbbing like an open wound.
Sweet merciful Heaven, give him strength, he thought.
“Yes.” He almost hissed the word, because her lips were already at his shoulder, her teeth scraping over the flesh as he bit back a groan. Maybe it was a mistake to give her leave to caress him with her lips, because the pleasure was tearing through him, ripping through his senses and leaving him weak.
She bit him. The rounded curve of his shoulder throbbed as she nipped at it. Then she licked it. His hips jerked, grinding his cock against her thigh as he fought just to breathe.
How insane had he been to agree to this?
She panted against his shoulder. “It takes the hormone to start the heat, right?”
“Yes.” His damned tongue was filled with it, the glands so swollen they were painful, filling his own mouth with the erotic heat, making him crazy with the hunger that flooded his system for her.
“The hormone is in your kiss and your semen.” Her nails were raking his back.
Hawke stretched into the burning caress. God, he didn’t know how much more he could bear.
“I can kiss you.” She kissed his shoulder before her lips moved lower.
“God, yes.” He cupped the back of her head, holding her closer as her lips moved down his chest, her hot little tongue raking over a distended nipple as he felt his senses catch fire.
“We could play around for a while.” Her voice sounded desperate, almost as desperate as he himself was. “Help me, Hawke,” she panted. “Please.”
She arched to him, her thighs gripping one of his as she rubbed herself against him. The heat of her pussy through her jeans was destructive. He could sense the warmth, the slick dampness. She was so damned ready for him that the scent of her filled the air and left him feeling drunk on it.
“You’ll kill me like this,” he groaned, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Easing the undershirt up over her breasts, he revealed the delicate curves and the candy pink, spike-hard tips of her nipples. He wanted to lick them, suck them. He wanted to draw them into his mouth and fill his senses with the taste of her.
He used his fingers instead. Gripping the hardened little points between his index fingers and thumbs, he rolled them, stroked them, plumped them.
He watched, amazed, as she flushed from her breasts to her forehead. Red-gold hair spilled around her delicate features as her lashes closed over her eyes and her lips parted to draw in more air.
She was lost in the pleasure he was giving her. This was exactly where he wanted her, how he wanted her. He wanted her senses consumed by him, filled with his touch.
And Hawke realized he loved watching her reaction to him. If he had given in to the mating heat and taken her kiss, then he would have been denied the sight of her relishing his touch.
The mating hormone was pumping into his system, spilling from beneath his tongue as he fought to hold back his own lust for her. She wanted to touch. She wanted to love, he thought. But Jessica didn’t just want to be touched. She wanted to feel him, sense him. She wanted an assurance that what she would have with him would be enough to sustain a future together.
She had no idea. Mother Nature hadn’t made an imperfect mating yet. In all the years that the Breeds had been in existence, she hadn’t once created a pairing that hadn’t sustained, that hadn’t loved.
It was killing him, simply touching her like this, but he knew this was for their future. He couldn’t take from her. He couldn’t force the mating on her. Everything inside his soul rejected the thought. But he could tease her. He could entice her.
He stroked her nipples with his fingers, plumped them with his fingers. He cupped them, raked his palms over the tips, watched her face and the pleasure that suffused it.
It was almost innocent. Hell, it was innocent. She was a virgin. She came to him untouched by another man’s caresses, and he knew it. He knew her background, her history. She hadn’t played with boys. His serious, sober Jess had worked hard for a career, worked to escape the legacy her father would have drawn her into.