His finger on her clit swept over, paused, and wiggled there, right on top, just enough to—

“Oh God!” Pleasure exploded through her in vast sweeps of sensation, roaring through her veins until she surely must glow brighter than the moon.

A minute…or many…later, she realized she was draped over him like a blanket. His right hand was still on her bottom, the left stroked slowly up and down her back.

“You’re mean.” She pouted. “I wanted to come with you inside me.”

“Then get off again.” His laugh was a raspy growl, so very sexy. “It’s a female perk.”

Oh. She’d managed two orgasms in the past. Before Obadiah. Rarely, but hmm. Anyway, even if she didn’t come again, she wanted him to get off.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he made a noise. “We go on only if you’re into it. If not, I won’t break.”

The man didn’t expect enough out of life. Not for sex, not for himself.

As tenderness washed over her, she kissed him, tracing the scar on his upper lip with her tongue.

When she lifted her head, his expression was unreadable. Like he’d pulled a plastic mask over his face.

“Hawk, what?”

“You don’t seem the type to hanker after a scarred-up merc. A sneering one.”

“I don’t think about you being a mercenary. Not when we’re like this.” She ran her hands over his chest and could feel the scars there too. Dear heavens, what he must have lived through.

But he’d lived.

However, the scars were not only on his skin, but in his soul as well. So she used the same words she might have for Aric. “It makes my heart sad to know you’ve been hurt.”

Shock filled his eyes.

She touched the scar at the corner of his mouth. “Just so you know, this only makes you look like you’re sneering when you’re not smiling. With even a tiny smile, it disappears.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t know what to say.

That made two of them.

Her lips curved. “I guess I’ll just have to get you smiling more, hmm?” To get a good start on that, she dragged his sweatpants down his ridged belly and off completely.

His cock bobbed up, and she had a momentary qualm. Could she do this?

“Sugar, we can stop. Or hands—”

“Aren’t we a pair, worrying over each other.” And wasn’t that what love was about?

Wait—no. She didn’t have that thought. That word didn’t belong in her vocabulary any longer, not when applied to an adult male.