Chapter 22 #2
It shouldn’t have been erotic, but dear God, her white teeth nibbling at the flaky pastry and her tongue licking the errant crumbs from the corners of her lips was the most arousing sight he’d ever seen.
Slowly, one inch at a time, the space between them became narrower, until he was near enough to her he could have laid his head in her lap. What would that be like, to lie here with her warm thigh against his cheek while they listened to the sigh of the breeze through the trees together?
But he wouldn’t touch her. Of course he wouldn’t—
“Callum? Are you well? You’re so quiet.”
She reached for him with a hesitant hand, her soft fingers sifting through his hair, and that was all it took.
One touch, and his restraint crumbled like sand under the weight of the incoming tide.
He sat up, and the space between them disappeared as he gathered her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.
A lifetime had passed since he’d first kissed her.
Since then, he’d spent endless days longing for her, and endless nights dreaming of her taste, the hot, sweet glide of her tongue against his, and her soft whimper as he slid his hands into her hair to still her for his mouth.
Yet for all those lonely days between now and the first time his lips had touched hers, her kiss still felt like home to him.
He’d been waiting his whole life for her.
What a fool he’d been, not to realize it the first time he’d looked into her eyes, but then love made fools of them all.
If Keir were here, he’d laugh himself sick.
He’d say men were stupid about such things, then he’d slap Callum on the back and tell him to get on with it.
And so, he would. He could do nothing less.
Because it had been Freya, all along. For as long as he could remember, there’d been an empty space in his life. An empty space in his arms. An empty, aching loneliness in the deepest recess of his heart.
Even before he’d known her, he’d missed her.
But no longer. All those spaces were filled with her now.
It had taken him a while to find her, but she’d always been his North Star.
Freya didn’t pull away from him. She remained tucked against him, in his arms, a smile playing on her kiss-swollen lips. “My, we do look serious today.” She touched a teasing fingertip to one corner of his lips. “Such a glower, and on a lovely day like today, too.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertip. “Am I glowering?”
“Let me see.” She rested her palm on his cheek and turned his face to hers, her gaze roving over him. “Perhaps glower isn’t the right word, but for a gentleman who’s on a picnic, you’re terribly solemn. You have the sternest eyebrows I’ve ever seen.”
“My eyebrows?” He choked out a laugh. “I have no idea what you mean, Miss MacLeod. My eyebrows are perfectly jovial. Some might even call them whimsical.”
She threw her head back in a laugh. “Whimsical, are they? Very well, let me have a second look, then.”
He remained as still as he could while she pretended to study them, but he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his arm around her waist when she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to one, then the other.
“I don’t know that I’d call them whimsical, precisely, but they’re exceptionally handsome eyebrows. ”
“Are they, indeed? I confess I’ve never given them much thought, but it’s kind of you to say so. What of my nose, though? Are you at all fond of it?”
“Excessively fond, yes.” She dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s as straight as any nose I’ve ever seen. Quite classical, really, in the Greek style.”
“And my lips, Miss MacLeod? What do you think of them?”
“Well, Mr. Ross, now that you ask, I think them perfect. They’re much softer than I’d ever imagined a man’s lips could be, and quite my favorite part of your face.” She traced her finger over them, her eyes darkening, and then she moved closer, and closer still …
Her kiss was shy, sweet.
She sighed as he opened his mouth over hers, and he stole that breath from her and took it into his own lungs so he might have that tiny piece of her inside him. It was everything, her kiss.
Everything he’d ever wanted.
“Come here, love.” He wrapped both arms around her waist and eased her into his lap, holding her against his chest. A low growl rumbled in his throat as she twined her arms around his neck, his whispered name on her lips.
Callum, Callum, Callum …
He should release her. It was broad daylight, and he’d spread their picnic blanket right beside the folly, where anyone from the castle might stumble upon them.
Nothing was decided between them.
She wasn’t his. Not yet.
But she would be, and she already felt like his with her lips against his, her breath in his mouth, her fingers in his hair, and her soft, tempting curves pressed against his hard angles. All his hopes and his dreams, everything he had and everything he was, began and ended with Freya.
His heart belonged to her now.
So, he’d let himself have this. This silk of her hair sliding through his fingers, her tongue in his mouth, tangling with his. The delicious curve of her bottom cradled between his thighs, and her sweetness, her warmth and innocence clasped tightly in his arms.
All he wanted in the world was to stay here beside the pond with her and listen to the gentle splash of the water against the banks and feel the breeze against their skin as he kissed her. To stay here with her until the sun sank beneath the horizon, and the sky filled with millions of stars.
She’d point them out to him then, the North Star and Cassiopeia, and Draco, with his long tail.
Queens and kings and serpents, and a universe of possibilities.
She let out another soft sigh and dropped a tiny kiss on the edge of his jaw before she put some space between them with a hand on his chest. “I’ve never kissed a gentleman before. I mean, before that night in Kyleakin.” Her cheeks went pink. “I’ve never kissed any other gentleman but you.”
Possessiveness roared through him, hot and primal, his every instinct howling at him to take her lips again, and whisper that his kiss would be both her first and her last, but there would be time enough to reveal the wild, untamed part of him.
That part of him was hers, just as every other part of him was, but she was innocent, and he wouldn’t frighten her for the world. “I see. Is that something you want? To kiss another gentleman?”
“No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just wondered if there’s something … that is, am I doing it properly?”
“You’re perfect, Freya.” If she was any more perfect, he’d disgrace himself.
He touched his fingertip to the tempting hollow at the base of her throat. His mother had insisted upon bundling her up until every inch of Freya’s skin was shrouded in thick layers of wool, but somehow she’d missed that tiny recess, and he laid claim to it now.
He stroked the soft skin, and her pulse fluttered under his fingertip. “May I kiss you here?”
“Yes, Callum.” She cradled his cheeks in her soft palms, her green eyes twinkling. “Indeed, I’ll be quite angry with you if you don’t.”
He cupped the back of her neck to hold her still for his kiss and brushed his parted lips over that fragrant oasis of skin. “So soft, Freya.”
Her hands slid into his hair. “Touch me, Callum.”
He groaned, tightening his fingers on her hips. He shouldn’t be touching her—not here, and not yet, when there were still so many unresolved questions between them—but after a lifetime of waiting for her, Freya was the one temptation he couldn’t resist.
His heart was beating in a wild tattoo against his ribs, and he couldn’t refuse her any more than he could order it to cease pumping the blood through his veins.
He wanted her too much. Her mouth open under his, her sighs and whimpers in his ears, his name forever on her lips. He wanted to see the flush of passion rise in her cheeks and hold her trembling in his arms as desire rushed through her, her blood singing with it.
He wanted to bring her to release, here and now, with the pale sun shining down on them, and the breeze cooling their skin. “Come closer, sweetheart.”
He steadied her with a hand on her back as she wriggled closer, her knees on either side of his thighs and her arms around his neck. “Yes, Freya. Just like that.”
She was open to him, her body his to command, her green eyes so trusting as they met his, and he wanted … God help him, he wanted everything with her.
But no, not yet. Not until she was his.
Until then …
He brushed his lips over hers, then let them trail down her neck, drawn once again to the delicious hollow of her throat, her pulse quickening under his tongue.
“Callum, I need …”
“I know, love.” He sank his hands into her curls and brought her mouth down to his. Her lips were warm, her tongue no longer shy. How easy it would be to let the world drop away! To let himself fall into her, to keep her here with him, wrapped in his arms.
He took her mouth again and again, his cock stiffening as she writhed above him, all her shyness falling away until she was meeting every eager stroke of his tongue. “Callum, I need you. Please.”
“Shh. I’ve got you, Freya. I won’t let you go.”
He panted against her neck, her breathless plea setting his blood on fire. It was intoxicating, knowing she wanted him as much as he did her. He could feel her body humming with it, hear it in every ragged breath she drew.
She fumbled with her skirts, hiking them higher, and he slid his hand up her calf to her exposed thigh, stroking her there. “You’re so soft here,” he murmured against her throat, his palm circling her thigh in a teasing caress before his hand drifted higher, then higher still.
“May I touch you, Freya?” He brushed his fingers over the soft curls between her legs, biting back a groan when he felt the dampness there. “Right here?”
“Yes, yes. Please.”
Her breath caught as he opened her with gentle fingers, parting her folds to find the center of her pleasure. Then he was stroking her with his fingertip, his breath hard and fast, another desperate groan tearing from his lips when she thrust her hips toward his hand
“Oh, I … Callum.” She was lost to him, and he was drowning in her soft cries and the exquisite slide of her hot damp folds against his seeking fingers.
He stroked her slowly, circling and petting her until she was crying out for him, her back arching with pleasure. Her head fell back, exposing her long white neck, and he scraped his teeth gently over her sensitive skin as his fingers quickened against her slick flesh.
He tormented the needy bud at her center with fast strokes, bringing her close to the edge of her release, her hips moving in rhythm with his fingers.
She gazed down at him, her cheeks flushed with passion, her green eyes wild. “I … I can’t … I don’t know what to do.”
“Nothing at all, sweetheart. Just let me touch you. God, you’re so beautiful, Freya.”
And she was, with her wild red curls and her eyes dark and hazy with desire. She undulated above him, incoherent pleas falling from her lips.
“Yes, that’s it. Take your pleasure, Freya.”
“Oh. Oh, please. Callum, please.” She tensed against him, her legs stiffening, then she let out a broken cry, her hands going still in his hair as she fell apart, trembling with her release. He gathered her close, his lips pressed to her neck until at last she sagged against him.
They held each other until she calmed, long, quiet moments passing with his arms around her and their breath mingling. His cock was swollen and aching, the tip weeping with need.
But he’d never been more satisfied in his life.
“Are you … was that all right?” He smoothed her damp hair away from her brow. “I didn’t … it wasn’t—”
She touched her fingertips to his mouth to quiet him, her forehead meeting his. “It was perfect, Callum.” A mischievous smile curled her lips. “Almost as lovely as Mrs. Doherty’s apple turnovers.”
“Almost?” He pinched her hip. “Minx.”