"Belinda," Hawke murmurs, his deep voice pulling at me.

Unable to resist his unspoken order, I gaze upward. This is a mistake. His eyes have darkened to a brilliant blue, his arousal meeting, meshing with mine, and I know in this moment, I'm lost. He has me.

"Hawke." I part my lips, offering him everything. He's rough and tough, a big strong military man, a tattooed biker. I expect him to plunder, conquer, take.

Instead, Hawke carefully frames my face with his large hands, his calloused fingertips gentle yet firm, and he dips his head slowly, his gaze holding mine. My heart races faster and faster, my body trembles as though this first kiss is my very first kiss.

He skims his lips over mine, his touch as light as the sheerest silk, his breath wafting on my cheeks. My eyelashes flutter, the sensation sweet yet sensual, innocent yet decadent, completely unexpected and special.

"Priceless," he murmurs, and this is how I feel, priceless, designer, unique.

He dips his head again, follows the curve of my lips a second time, pressing harder, lingering longer. I open to him, inviting him in, needing more, and when he pulls away, I pursue him, prodding him with my tongue.

Hawke groans, the sound rumbling up his chest, through mine, and he surges forward, his grip on my face tightening. My body hums with approval as he pushes his tongue into my mouth. He tastes of rich dark coffee, and I shamelessly suck on him, tugging on his flesh, clinging to him.

A shudder shakes Hawke's shoulders, his reaction thrilling me. I cause him to respond this way. I shred his control.