Chapter Twenty-Four
Diarmid felt both better and worse after the night out with his brothers. It had been cathartic to speak with them about Cara. Hearing their reassurance that his growing feelings would pass with time, if he could only manage a few more days, took away some of his worries. But it did nothing to ease the growing ache in his heart as he realized the only woman he’d ever truly loved was going to marry another man.
He entered the guest hall with the other Fianna, freshly washed and returning his muck-covered clothes to the box in his room. He sincerely hoped Sitric paid the launderer an enormous bonus for all the extra washing the Fianna generated. Perhaps he ought to mention that to Illadan, in the hopes the guilt of it might finally end their runs through the bog.
As the men dispersed to their rooms to wait for dinner, Diarmid halted before his own door.
It was closed.
He’d left it open. He looked about to see if Conan or Dallan had set some sort of trick for him, but both of them had already gone. Deciding that perhaps the launderer or maid had closed it on her way out, Diarmid opened the door.
Nothing seemed amiss, so he shut it behind him, thinking to lie down until the bell rang for dinner. Before he’d taken two steps, Cara popped out from the other side of his bed, where she’d clearly been crouching.
“I couldn’t risk just anyone walking in and finding me here,” she explained when he frowned at her. “And I knew you’d not agree to meet me again.”
“Whatever this is,” Diarmid told her, “it’s a terrible idea.”
“Sitric as good as agreed to the betrothal today,” she said, sitting on his bed. As though the image of her anywhere near his bed didn’t drive him mad.
“I do not want all the sordid details of you kissing some other man.”
“I didn’t kiss him.”
“Then how did you get him to agree?”
“He didn’t agree, exactly.” Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, forcing Diarmid to move farther away from the temptress. “I felt so badly that all I could think about was you, that I told him he deserved someone who would smile with him. And then he said he expected that we would be getting betrothed.”
“Wait.” Diarmid ran a hand down his face. “You tried to tell him that you shouldn’t marry at all, and he decided that meant it would work?”
“Yes.”
Then her words sank in. Diarmid moved slowly back toward the bed. “You tried to refuse the betrothal?”
“He’s a kind man,” she replied. “I don’t want him to spend his life married to someone who doesn’t want him.”
Diarmid’s heart pounded against his chest as he neared her. He should end this now. Before he destroyed the alliance. Before he put her family at risk. Instead, he asked, “Who do you want, princess?”
Her eyes went cloudy, her breath heavy. “You.”
He should tell her they both had responsibilities, people who were counting on them. He should do anything except throw her down on that bed beneath him.
And yet, somehow, that’s exactly what he did.
*
His mouth crashedover hers again, his hands sliding with insistent pressure up her body to cup her breasts. Last time, his kiss had made her melt. This time, it set her on fire. She arched into his touch, wondering when she’d cease enjoying the feel of him above her.
That thought seized her, and she remembered being stuck beneath Torna—uncomfortable and in a good deal of pain once he’d entered her.
Diarmid stilled atop her, his eyes searching her face. “Are you alright?”
She swallowed down some of the panic. Diarmid was nothing like Torna. “I just recalled the last time I was in this position,” she whispered, mortified at her confession, “and it wasn’t a terribly pleasant experience. Torna—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, princess.” His husky voice stirred those butterflies right up. “First, that bastard has no idea how to pleasure a woman, as I’m about to show you.” His soft lips laid a trail of kisses from her forehead to her neck, his hands circling her nipples, sending a buzzing sensation straight to her core.
“And second?” she managed, her hands reaching for his broad shoulders.
“Never say another man’s name while you’re in my bed,” he growled. “Agreed?”
She nodded. “So, it won’t hurt?”
His wicked grin lit up her world, his eyes sparkling with mischief in their shared moment. “No,” his voice broke. “It won’t hurt.”
She took his stubbly face in her hands, the short hairs tickling her fingers as she pulled him back for another kiss. His hands unlaced her gown with expert swiftness, a fact she chose not to dwell upon. When he’d laid her bare, he pulled away, his hooded gaze raking over her lustfully.
Then he devoured her.
His mouth went to her breasts, his teeth gently tugging on one, stiffened nipple before bathing it with a wet kiss. Nothing she’d ever done with Torna had felt this incredible, had filled her with such aching desire—an ache that now pooled at the center of her legs.
As though reading her thoughts, Diarmid’s lips moved down the delicate skin of her belly. His fingers brushed the very place where she burned for him, teasing her. A soft moan escaped her as he massaged that sensitive area between her legs. She felt his smile against her skin, could see it in her mind’s eye.
He pressed a hot kiss to her hip before she felt him there. She was ready to sit up and protest, when he started sucking on her. Instead of a protest, she let out an oath that made him chuckle, the vibration of it only intensifying the pressure building within her.
Diarmid lifted himself up onto his forearms, looking like an absolute rogue. His wild, dark hair fell to his muscular shoulders in disarray, his gaze so hot it might have burned her. “You’re going to have to be quieter than that, princess.”
Cara was thoroughly ruined, she realized as she savored the rough sound of his voice. She’d only ever been in bed with two men, and there was no comparison to be made. She doubted there ever would be.
She gasped as his mouth returned to her, licking and sucking as his fingers slipped inside of her. The sensations that had plagued her every time she was close to him, the ache, the burning, the mounting pressure somewhere inside her built up until she was certain she would burst into pieces.
“Diarmid,” she cried, unable to comprehend what was happening. Just when she wondered when his sweet torment would end, she did burst, in a way she couldn’t even put to words. It was as though the whole world fell away, taking her with it, and when she opened her eyes an extraordinary sense of calm descended.
Then the dinner bell rang.
“I like the sound of my name on your lips,” he said, helping her up off the bed.
“What happened?” she asked.
That cheeky grin reappeared. “What’s supposed to happen every time you lay with someone.”
He helped her back into her shift and gown, turning her about so he could lace it for her.
“It happens to men as well?” Cara struggled to wrap her mind around this entirely new experience. “Did you feel it as well?”
“It does happen to men, at the end,” he explained. “This time I wanted to focus on you.”
“So you could have had it happen, but you didn’t? Did I do something wrong?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, locking their eyes. “You did nothing wrong. We would have had to do a whole lot more than that for it to happen to me, which is something I’m more than willing to explore later.”
“Why later?” That had been so incredible, she felt it only right that Diarmid should share in it with her.
“Because if we don’t get to the hall for dinner, you’ll get to explain what we just did to everyone else.”
The dinner bell. She’d utterly ignored it. Letting out another oath, Cara hurried ahead of him to the main hall.
And the man who believed they’d be getting married.