31 BREAKING THE SPELL
DEFTLY, brEE RELEASED his rod from its leather prison. The sight of his shaft, long and thick, straining toward her from a nest of dark hair made need twist deep inside her.
An instant later, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his rod, her other hand cradling his bollocks.
Mac Brochan gave a deep, sensual groan, and encouraged, Bree leaned in, capturing the swollen head of his shaft in her mouth. She then drew him in deep, sucking him enthusiastically.
The chief-enforcer cursed, his voice choked as he tangled his fingers in her hair, urging her on .
Molten heat flared between Bree’s thighs as she worked him, drawing him so deep that he hit the back of her throat. And she’d have taken him over the edge, let him spill in her mouth, if he hadn’t yanked himself back.
“Not yet.” Mac Brochan’s face was all savage angles now, his chest rising and falling sharply. Pulling Bree to her feet, he threw her onto the furs.
Sprawled there, her breathing now coming in ragged gasps, Bree watched her husband heel off his boots and yank down his breeches before kicking them onto the floor.
His shaft, gleaming in the firelight, thrust up proudly before him.
Bree swallowed a groan. The night of their handfasting, when she’d first set eyes on his rod, his size had cowed her. But now, the Ancestors forgive her, she wanted that inside her.
Later, they’d be enemies once more, but right now, she wanted to be his lover—to forget they were on opposite sides and that this could never happen again.
Crawling onto the furs, mac Brochan spread her thighs wide. He then caught her by the knees and pushed her legs back so that her torso was bent double, exposing her fully as he nestled the head of his swollen rod at her slick entrance.
And then, inch by inch, he sank into her.
As he did so, mac Brochan’s eyelids flickered, the muscle in his jaw flexing, before he ground out a curse.
Bree whimpered in response as he sank deeper, filling her, stretching her, until he was buried deep inside. Her husband stilled, his chest breathing hard, his heavily muscled, tattooed torso gleaming in the firelight.
Bree gazed up at him. He was quite simply beautiful, and until the end of her days, she’d never forget how good it had felt to have him buried to the hilt in her. And the fact that it would never be repeated made this moment even more vivid.
He rolled his hips then, and she lost all coherent thought.
Tension coiled in the cradle of her hips once more, although it started deep inside her womb this time. With each slow, sensual thrust, she angled her hips to meet him, opening herself up to him. Bree heard her own desperate groans now, echoing through the chamber, but didn’t—couldn’t—stop herself from making them.
This felt so good.
And then, to her disappointment, mac Brochan withdrew from her.
She cried out, clutching for him, but he merely turned her over, pulling Bree onto all fours—before he thrust into her from behind.
Bree whimpered. Oh, fuck . This angle was so different from the first, yet even more intense.
As before, he took her in deep, controlled thrusts. Leaning over her, his slick skin sliding against hers, he reached between her trembling thighs, opening her up with his fingers, and stroking her as he had earlier.
Bree gave a choked cry, her body shuddering now.
His touch destroyed her. She wasn’t used to coupling being this … raw . In the past, her encounters, although pleasurable, were a purely physical release. However, something about this man heightened everything.
He turned her inside out. He made her want the forbidden.
Bree tried to claw herself back from the edge—from giving in to sensation completely. It was dangerous; this coupling was a mistake. But right now, she welcomed the wrongness of it .
Mac Brochan slid his hand from between her slippery thighs then, and she whimpered in disappointment. But when he wove his fingers through her hair and drew her head back, causing her spine to arch, and pressing her core up against him, the whimper turned into a gasp. “Cailean!”
“Aye, wife ,” he ground out. He grabbed her hip with his free hand, and drove into her, so much harder now.
Hot, wet pleasure crested deep inside Bree. Shuddering and gasping, she bucked against him, enjoying how his hold on her hair tightened to the point of pain, and the dominance of his thrusts. He was making her his, and something deep in her soul sang for it.
Later, she’d regret this, would berate herself for letting lust turn her into a fool. But for the moment, there was only pleasure, only this wild need that wouldn’t be sated.
And with a sob, she gave herself up to it.
They didn’t speak for a while afterward.
To shatter the silence would be to break the spell.
Bree enjoyed the reprieve yet knew it couldn’t last. And as they lay there, she tried to put herself back together, to gather her wits and let the rawness of their encounter fade. Nonetheless, as she lay spooned against her husband in the flickering light of the dying hearth, the sweat finally cooling on their bodies, she relived their wild tumble, committing every detail to memory.
Surely, coupling isn’t always like this for the Marav?
It couldn’t be. If it were, they wouldn’t get anything done—instead, they’d spend all their time having orgies in the furs.
No, Shee or Marav, what she’d just experienced was special.
Don’t —she cut her thoughts off then— He’s the enemy .
Bree’s throat constricted. Aye, this didn’t change anything.
Before things had gotten out of control, he’d been questioning her—and he’d do so again. And when she continued to lie, for the truth could never be told, he’d drag her down to the dungeon and lock her up, leaving her to the High King.
Bree’s eyes fluttered shut. She’d been Mor’s best, but she’d made a mess of this job. The Raven Queen had made a mistake in sending an assassin to do a spy’s work. Bree hadn’t been prepared for Cailean mac Brochan. Right from the first moment she’d locked eyes with the chief-enforcer, she’d been doomed.
Behind her, her husband’s breathing was slow and even, yet she sensed that, like her, he hadn’t fallen asleep. He too was trying to keep hold of something impossible.
His arm looped over her ribcage, cradling her possessively, and Bree tried to ignore the tug deep in her chest. She didn’t want to like the feeling of belonging to him. It was an illusion. A lie, just like the rest of it. Their marriage was woven with gossamer threads.
Eventually, he pulled away from her, rolling across the furs and out of the sleeping nook.
Steeling herself, Bree pushed herself up into the sitting position, her heart thumping against her breastbone as she watched him silently dress.
This was it.
She could resist him, yet it was pointless. She would only be delaying the inevitable. And after what they’d just done, all the fight had gone out of her. A strange fatalism settled over her, a sensation that she’d never experienced before.
Swallowing, to loosen the tightness in her throat, she waited for the ax to fall .
Eventually, the chief-enforcer met her eye. His expression was veiled now, his gaze shuttered; it was impossible to guess what he was thinking or feeling. “I won’t be back tonight,” he said gruffly. “So … this is goodbye.”
Bree stiffened, confusion wreathing up. “Excuse me?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own; it was softer, huskier.
A nerve flickered in his cheek as he stared back at her. “It’ll take me until dawn to ensure everything is ready for departure,” he replied. “I’ll be away half the turn of the moon, at least … but when I return, you won’t be here.”
Their gazes fused, and as the moment drew out, realization dawned.
Bree’s heart kicked violently against her ribs. Shades, he was letting her go.
“You want me to leave ?” she asked, making sure she hadn’t misunderstood.
He nodded.
“You won’t come after me?”
“No.”
Bree’s breathing grew shallow. She wanted to ask him why, but something held her back. There was a glint in his eye now, a warning not to push any further. The chief-enforcer knew she was a liar and that she couldn’t be trusted—but he was prepared to look the other way.
This once.
He was offering her freedom, and she’d be a fool not to take it.
Swallowing the lump that now rose in her throat, Bree silently nodded.