Chapter 34 #2
And as he did, she clutched her skirts and inched them higher, then began moving her hips as Evelina instructed her, slowly circling her womanhood above him.
Chill night air kissed her exposed skin, the cold air not bothering at all because of the heat of his gaze, and the warmth of his hands moving up and down her legs.
“Higher, lass, I would see more,” he urged, his caresses roaming upward as well. His hands reached her then, and he let them explore, using his fingertips to stroke up and down the center of her. His light, questing touch fired her passion so that any remaining embarrassment spun away.
“Oh, my…” She gasped. “I cannot bear it…”
“Aye, you can,” he assured her – even as he let one fingertip dip gently inside her. “Just keep circling your hips, and feel. All you need to do is feel.”
“I am…” She closed her eyes, half maddened by the wondrous sensations, the tingling pleasure spun by his hands and knowing where he’d focused his gaze.
Need almost overwhelming her, she gave a little cry and yanked the bunched fabric up and over the tops of her thighs, gathering the whole of it around her hips.
Now she might as well be naked above him.
And – gods! – she didn’t care.
She wanted this pleasure, for herself and for him. So she held her skirts high, kept swaying. Round and round and round…
“You will end me…” Donall stared up at her, riveted, almost spilling himself. The fire’s glow slanted conveniently across her, gilding the vee of her womanhood to a gleaming bronze-gold, giving him a tantalizing view of all she could offer him.
“Circle, lass,” he said, so roused he hardly speak. “Move your hips slow and easy. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”
I could watch you forever…
The beauty of her intimate curls, her tender woman’s flesh, circling so provocatively above him. He couldn’t believe the force of his thirst for her. The raw, primal hunger building inside him, the urge to devour her whole.
The power of his love for her.
Knowing he was lost, hers so fully if only she knew, he again smoothed his hands up and down her legs, then once more slid his fingers across the softness of her curls before letting his fingertips return to gliding softly along her middle.
Again and again, he stroked her there until her sighs revealed her pleasure in his touch, in having him look upon her so intimately.
“You are so beautiful,” he told her, his words glazed with need.
And then he stayed her, grasping her thighs so that she remained poised above him, unmoving and still.
Biting back his own nearing edge, he skimmed his fingertips over her.
Stroking her softly, caressing and toying with her curls and tender flesh, then seeking the wildly sensitive spot at the top of womanhood.
This, he rubbed until her quickened breath and gasps of desire rose to match his own raging lust.
She cried out then, a raw and savage demand, an unrestrained melding with the night’s wild magic. She threw back her head, certain she might soon perish if she weren’t released from the tight knot of such exquisite pleasure beating at the very heart of her.
Wind, a loud and keening gale, raced into the chamber then, a surge of power so strong it knocked her legs from beneath her, toppling her to her knees.
There, where he needed her to be.
He cried out, the sound so fierce, so feral, Donall could hardly believe it’d been ripped from his own throat. Beyond control, he pulled her down to him and slanted his mouth over her feminine heat.
Pounding need consumed him. He licked and licked her, then opened his mouth over the whole of her, inhaling deeply, filling himself with her heady scent. He savored her as the prize she was, not stopping until she cried out as wildly as he’d done, her hips lifting as she ground herself against him.
Her legs began to tremble then, signaling the approach of her release. Already nearing his own, he touched his tongue to the center of her passion.
“You are mine,” he breathed against the swollen bud. Again, he drank in her scent, the fingers of one hand tearing at the cords of his hose as he flicked his tongue over and around her sweetness, teasing and drawing on her.
He fanned her desire, carrying her to the precipice of a fevered need so sweeping she couldn’t deny the possession he meant to take of her.
“You are mine,” he said again, half-crazed from the sleek heat of her female flesh, the heady musk of her arousal. “Dinnae e’er deny it.”
Aye, yours, he thought he heard her whisper, but the words lost shape, blending into a lusty, passion-tinged cry, when he grazed his teeth over the sensitive, tiny pearl, drew even deeper on her.
His own need cresting, he shoved at his hose, pushing them down just enough for him to move over her.
For him to take her, to make her his.
Rising up on his arms, he met her gaze, saw the same fever that consumed him mirrored in her eyes. He drew back his hips, then reached between them to position himself, but her hand nudged his away.
“Let me do this,” she begged, curling her fingers around him, easing him to her.
The gesture, the feel of her hand on him, so soft, warm, and determined, nearly undid him.
The last tenuous bands of his restraint tore free, and he plunged into her, claiming her with a wild and relentless force fitting of the dark, storm-swept night.
And she reveled in the feel of him. Of his hard length, thick and full, gliding in and out of her, possessing her as only he could. His strokes – masterful, slow, and knowing – laid claim to her heart with the same skill he used to carry her toward release.
And just when her need verged, he captured her mouth with his, and swept her over the edge so that she’d swear she was shattering, splintering into shards of pure, spinning bliss.
And still he moved in and out of her. Slow, smooth strokes.
Long, deep glides, until he jerked and then collapsed on top her.
Gradually, she drifted back from the whirling abyss he’d plunged her into, barely noting he’d rolled onto his back and held her cradled in his arms. The solid comfort of his body cushioned her against the floor rushes’ prickliness, also warming her from the chill air.
Contented, she snuggled closer, gladly resting her head on his shoulder. His nearness, the shelter of his embrace, lulled her into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
She didn’t waken until just before sunrise, and only then because of the insistent rustlings of a mouse in the floor rushes.
Not wanting to lose the sweet languor still enveloping her, she tried to sink back into the bliss of deep slumber. She rolled closer to the MacLean, the man she could no longer deny loving, wanting for her own. She did her best to ignore the pillaging mouse.
But the noise grew louder, the creature’s foraging more frantic.
Angry now, she pressed her face deeper into the cushioning warmth of the MacLean’s shoulder. His hair scratched and jabbed her, no longer silken and thick, but dry, coarse, and itchy.
Coming fully awake, she pushed herself upright on the bed of rushes.
The MacLean was gone.
Nothing remained of the wild, lust-ridden night save the disarray of the flooring, the wrinkles on her gown, and the opened shutters. No longer framing the night’s storm winds, the glistening-wet shutters now revealed a gloom-ridden drizzle.
A gray morning she shared only with the still-sleeping Bodo, and the mouse whose scurryings had disrupted her sleep.
She didn’t see the mouse anywhere.
But she could hear his rustlings. Scratchings now, ever louder and persistent.
Scratchings at her door.
Frowning, she pushed to her feet and straightened her rumpled gown as best she could. She ran a hand over her hair and then crossed the empty bedchamber, a slow, cold dread building inside her.
No one would come knocking at her door this early unless something bad had happened. And the stealth of the scratchings hinted at an even worse ill. Whoever had sought her out had news only she should hear.
Heart in her throat, she opened her door, somehow not surprised to see Evelina standing there, her eyes dark with concern, her face drained of color.
“He comes, my lady,” her friend whispered, grasping Isolde’s hand. “Balloch MacArthur’s galley has been spotted. He should lay anchor within the hour.”