Chapter 32 #2
“By kissing me down there?” Mercy, she’d said it.
“No’ kissing.” He grinned. “Ravishing.”
“Oh, dear.” She felt her cheeks heat. But delicious little flames of pleasure stabbed her elsewhere. There where she knew he intended to put his mouth. “You are mad.”
“Aye, for you. I’ll no’ deny it.”
She took a backward step. “You cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Dear gods, she couldn’t think of a reason. Leastways one she was willing to say aloud.
“Sweet Isolde, I promise you this – if you do no’ enjoy it, I will stop at once.”
She considered. “I am not sure.”
“I am.”
“Faith…” Her heart knocked about in her chest, while the pulsing between her legs seemed to rebel, demanding she allow him to do such a wicked thing.
His smile deepened as if he knew. “You were made for this pleasure. Trust me.”
She raised her hands, shook her head. “If you do, should I allow it, well, then…” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I should bathe again.”
“Nae, you willnae.” He shook his head, the look in his eyes almost scorching her. “Push down the clothes, lady, or I shall do it for you.”
She curled her fingers into the bunched folds of her garments. But then she remembered Evelina’s emerald bauble.
Oh, no.
She’d forgotten the slim gold chain and large tear-shaped gemstone. A courtesan’s trinket, waiting to be discovered where it rested low on her abdomen.
Her last hope had the MacLean shunned her efforts at seduction. Evelina had sworn, if all else failed, the sight of the bauble so near to her womanhood would be rousing enough to stir any man.
Even a reluctant enemy laird such as the MacLean. She just hadn’t planned on him seducing her.
And now…
She dug her fingers deeper into the fabric still bunched at her hips. “I cannot do this after all,” she declared. “Can we not just kiss?”
“Kissing you is my intent.”
She frowned. “You know what I meant.”
“And you know what I am about to do.” He began lowering her gown, the chemise with it. His fingers brushed against her hips as he worked to release her grip on the bunched cloth. Each touch excited her, made her eager to move on with this. If only she hadn’t worn Evelina’s chain.
He dropped to one knee. “Come, lass, let me give you this pleasure.”
Isolde tightened her grip on the linen and silk. “I do not want to be kissed there.”
How shocking that she did.
Somehow her fingers gave then and her clothes dropped to the floor, pooling in a heap of swirled green and transparent gauze.
She wore nothing beneath.
Only Evelina’s bauble.
“Holy gods!” Donall froze, his gaze on the large emerald that dangled just above her feminine triangle.
His heart slammed against his ribs, his length now hard as iron. He looked up at her as he pressed his lips to the warm, silken skin of her lower belly in a searing, openmouthed kiss.
“By the gods,” he ground out against her soft curls. “What siren’s trick is this?”
He lifted the gemstone, holding back, for he wasn’t yet ready to touch the slick, silken flesh hidden beneath her soft, red-gold curls. For sure, he wasn’t yet going to lick her there – he’d lose himself if he did.
“So you do appreciate jewels?” He rubbed his fingers over the emerald’s smoothness, its satiny warmth. “Will you admit it?”
“I had reason to wear this one.” Isolde said the only thing she could as she looked down at him, saw how his face hovered so close to her femininity. Even the way his fingers moved over the emerald took her breath.
Touch me that way.
The throbbing of her secret place begged the wish and he must have heard for he released the emerald and slipped one finger between her thighs, trailed its tip slowly along her very middle.
“The stone, Isolde?” He glanced up at her. “Why did you wear it? What was your reason?”
She started to explain, but he touched her again, a jolt of sensation that stole the words. He used more fingers this time, gently stroking her most sensitive flesh.
“Tell me, Isolde.”
“It was a friend’s loan.” She leaned back into the bedpost, needing its support. “To push you past your limits should you shun my attempts at seduction.”
“Who could even think you’d need such help?” His hand closed over her, his grip firm. He palmed her, and the pressure increased the exquisite tingling at her center.
“Sweet lass, you fire my lust with just a look, one smile,” he said, dragging his hand from her. “When I kiss you and we share breath, the intimacy scorches me to the bone.”
“I feel the same.”
“So I have hoped.” He caught her up in his arms, and then he eased her onto the bed’s cool linen sheets. “We will seal your pact now,” he said, shoving down his hose so that he stood naked before her.
“You are beautiful,” he said, his hard length riding against his groin. “See what you do to me.”
To my MacLean heart.
He stepped to the edge of the bed and smoothed his hand down her side.
“Is this still your wish, my lady?” His fingers skimmed along her hip. “Speak now if it is not, for I cannot withhold myself much longer.”
She watched him, too awed to speak. She gazed in wonder at the dark masculinity of his male parts, at the length and thickness of his manly flesh. Marveled at how well formed and beautiful that part of him was, how incredibly exciting.
How aroused.
Never would she have guessed a man could grow so large. Her heart leaped, her own passion soaring. Just looking at him sent a thrill through her. His manhood was so long, thick, and visibly throbbing, which she suspected meant he wanted her, and badly.
She wanted him, too.
“Well?” he pressed, his lust winning the battle over his smitten heart.
Treat her gently, laddie, for she loves you.
Donall wheeled around at the thready female voice, but no one stood behind him. No old woman darted into the shadows to hide after warning him to go easy with his lady.
His lady?
Aye, his, and with the acknowledgment came a queer sound, almost a cackle.
Gooseflesh rose on the back of his neck. Looking about, he peered into each dark corner of the room but nothing stirred save the embers glowing in the hearth and the tail end of the night wind that had just swept through the chamber.
He’d surely heard the gusts.
As if to prove it, one of the shutters slammed back against the wall. Caught and tossed by the same sea wind whose high-pitched keening he’d mistaken for a meddlesome old woman’s advice.
Still…
He rubbed his nape, wondering.
He turned back to Isolde. “Do you still want this?”
“Of course,” she said and parted her thighs.
But it is you I want, not just this.
Donall started. Had she said that? Her lips were upturned in a smile, her eyes unafraid. Had the wind sought to bedevil him again? Nae, it’d surely been his blood rushing through his ears.
Either way, he joined her on the bed and settled himself between her opened knees.
He let his gaze glide over her, taking in her every lush curve.
Her shapely legs, the fullness of her breasts, the glistening tumble of her red-gold hair.
He especially admired the tempting bronze-colored curls at the juncture of her thighs.
He bent her legs, urging them wider until she was fully open.
Leaning in, he nuzzled his face against her, pressing his mouth to her sweetness as he licked and flicked his tongue over her.
Her taste, her scent, and the catch of her breath, sent urgent need thundering through him, stretching his already hardened length.
“Do not stop.” She looked at him, her eyes glittering in the dimness. “We must do this,” she added, clearly mistaking his reason for pausing. “There must be a-”
“You will have your bairn.” His heart thudded on the words. “We will do this until you quicken with-”
“And if you leave first?” Worry flickered across her face. “What then?”
I will return. I will ne’er let you go.
“You will have the peace you desire,” he said aloud, keeping the rest to himself.
The time for words was over, his need too urgent.
He could only kiss and rub his face against her, tamp down the urge to devour her whole.
She might be an earthy, passionate woman, but she was also pure.
He could tell by the wonder in her soft sighs, the startled surprise in her eyes as she moved her hips first in a gentle rocking motion, then in a more frantic rhythm.
Innocent attempts to bring her own need closer to the bliss he gave her.
And each time she tensed, her legs going so taut he knew her release neared, he gentled his kisses, reducing his slow wide-tongued strokes to soft, flickings of his tongue over her sweetness.
Only when she gripped his shoulders and lifted her hips, pushing against his mouth, did he draw the swollen little bud of her pleasure into his mouth, almost as if he meant to take her release deep into himself, into his soul.
In truth, he did want that, so he kept his entire attention on her, not relenting until she began to tremble beneath the steady onslaught of his lips and tongue.
When her passion crested, he replaced his mouth with his fingers. He stroked her gently, circling his fingertips over her hot, silken flesh. Keeping her need kindled, as he stretched out on top of her, and entered her with one swift stroke, plunging through her innocence.
He stilled, claiming her mouth in an almost savage kiss, his tongue thrusting between her lips, his heated breath melding with hers. He began gliding in and out of her and her tightness clenched around him as he gave her slow and steady strokes, long and deep, until he could hold back no more.
His seed poured from him in a white-hot surge that seemed to go on and on, plunging him into the oblivion of the most intense release he’d ever known.
As if from a great distance, he caught the softness of her breath, the light rustling as she sank back against the pillows.
He knew a great joy, for she sounded sated and content rather than in pain.
Then he heard nothing, the shuddering aftermath of his own release claiming him, pulling him down into a sea of dark drifting mists and the exquisite peace of holding her close.
And as they slept, their passion spent, their bodies and hearts entwined, somewhere far beyond Doon’s shores, a dark and thick mist descended upon MacKinnons’ Isle until not even a sliver of its stern-faced bulk could be seen.
The roiling sea mist hid the dunes and bays, the island’s sheer, rugged cliffs. Blackness that turned more eerie with every moment as it whirled and descended, even cloaking the strewn wreckage of the MacKinnons’ shattered galleys with an impenetrable shroud of gray, shifting fog.
Indeed, all that could be distinguished so far out to sea was a lone square-sailed ship bearing the MacLean banner, and moving steadily through the night, making its sad, slow journey home to Baldoon.