Chapter 34 #2
He had spent their whole marriage deciding, withholding, commanding, retreating. She had spent it trying to read him from scraps and silences. Now he was here on his knees, in her Castle MacLeod, asking for belief like a man who knew he had no right to expect it and wanted it anyway.
That broke the last of her anger open.
She went down too, the hem of her skirt spreading around her knees on the floor, and cupped his face in both hands before she could talk herself out of it. His skin was warm, and his eyes closed at her touch for one second, and she felt that all the way in her heart.
Then she kissed him.
The first contact held weeks of pain in it. It held relief, too. He made a rough sound low in his throat and caught her waist, careful even in hunger.
Ava kissed him harder. She wanted no more half-measures.
No more waiting for the next wound. She wanted him to feel exactly what it had cost her to stay away and exactly what it cost her to come back to him now.
Slowly, he lifted her to her feet and walked her to the bed.
They didn't stop until the back of her feet hit the frame.
His hands slid up her back slowly, asking as they moved. She answered by shifting closer on her knees and parting her lips under his. The fire popped once in the fireplace. Outside the door, the castle kept its distance.
Ciaran drew back only far enough to look at her. “Ava.”
“Aye.”
“Are ye sure?”
She traced the scar at his throat with one fingertip and then laid her hand flat over his heart. “I am sure.”
That was all he needed.
He kissed her again, slower this time, and the pace undid her more thoroughly than force would have. His hands were firmer now as they trailed over her back with a slowness that made her almost groan. She felt every press of his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
He found the laces at her back without rushing.
Ava held still while he worked them loose, her face pressed into the side of his neck, her breath coming in short bursts. The dress gave, and he pulled it down her shoulders, letting the cool air kiss her skin.
She closed her eyes.
He let his hands do most of the work. His palms moved over her shoulders, her sides, the dip of her waist, as if he wanted to memorize all of it before he allowed himself to want more.
Ava felt heat gather low in her belly. She pressed closer and felt his breath quicken against her temple.
“Ciaran…”
“I ken,” he said.
His hand slid lower, and she felt him cup the heat between her legs through the thin linen of her shift. Her hips moved of their own accord, pressing into his touch.
He kept the pressure steady and slow, and she gripped his shoulders tight and said nothing. There was nothing left to say that her body was not already saying plainly. Even when he laid her on the bed.
When he slipped his fingers beneath the linen, she made a short, sharp sound.
He stroked her with intent, watching her face the whole time. She could feel that even with her eyes half-closed, the weight of his attention, the fact that he was taking note of every breath she drew and every shift of her hips.
Heat built fast, and she was close enough that her thighs had begun to tremble when he withdrew his hand.
Ava opened her eyes to find him looking at her with an expression that made her heart flutter.
She decided to reach for him this time around.
Her hand found his hard length through his trousers, and the sound that left him was low and primal. She worked her hand slowly and felt him stiffen against her.
“Ava.” Her name came out rough.
“Aye?”
His hand closed around her wrist and held it still. “Nae yet.”
He stripped the last of what lay between them until they were fully naked. Then he notched his full length against her entrance. She exhaled slowly at the weight of it.
He held himself there for one moment, braced above her, and looked at her face. “Are ye ready?”
“Aye,” she responded without hesitation.
When he pressed forward, she felt the stretch and sucked in a sharp breath.
He paused.
She shifted her hips slightly, and he moved again, deeper this time. She turned her face into his shoulder with a sound that she would have been ashamed of a week ago.
He stayed still, letting her adjust to his size.
God.
Then he began to move.
He was slow at first, each stroke deliberate.
Her hands found his back, and she held on while the pace built slowly and relentlessly.
She could hear her own breath break and hitch with each snap of his hips.
She tilted into him. He changed the angle, and she gasped and dug her fingers into his back.
“There,” she breathed. “There, daenae stop.”
He did not stop.
The room had narrowed to sensation, to his body and hers, to the heat building between them with nowhere left to go. She could feel him everywhere. She could feel the restrained force as well and the effort it cost him to hold back.
“Ciaran.” His name came out wrecked.
“Aye. Let go,” he murmured against her hair.
His pace quickened, and he pressed his forehead against hers. She looked up into his face and saw his self-control cracking at the edges, and felt her own break entirely at the sight.
“Ciaran!”
He drove forward once more, and his breath came out in a rough, broken sound against her cheek.
Ava felt the force of her own release tear through her at the same time she felt him shudder and grip her hard, both of them locked together for one breathless moment before it broke and rolled through them in long, pleasurable waves.
For a long while, neither of them moved.
She could still feel him inside her. She could feel his heartbeat where their skin pressed together.
Slowly, her fingers uncurled against his back. They lay together for a long while after, the bed tangled, the room warm, their bodies still joined. Ava traced a line across his chest with one finger and felt him shiver beneath her.
“I love ye too,” she said.
His arm tightened around her at once.
She tilted her head up to look at him. “But only if ye daenae mean to send me away again after I give ye a child.”
Something in his face changed, then softened. “I couldnae even if I wanted to.”
The answer made something in her settle rather comfortably.
Ava let out a breath and then froze.
Ciaran looked down at her. “What?”
Her eyes widened. “Our marriage.”
He went still.
“It is over,” she gasped. “The annulment.”
For one second, they only stared at each other. Then Ciaran’s mouth curved for the first time since he had entered the room. “Then we shall get married again.”
Ava’s breath caught.
“This time,” he added, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, “there will be nay blood on yer gown. And ye had better nae see me the night before, wife, or whatever ye are calling yerself until then.”
Ava laughed. A genuine laugh this time, soft and helpless and full of the relief she had thought she might never feel again.
“Ye certainly have a way with words, do ye nae?”
“That I do. Wife.”
Something about the way he said it made her laugh again.
He kissed her once more, smiling against her mouth.