Chapter 19 Meera
Meera
Great Hecate, this wolf tastes amazing.
Between frantic kisses—carnal dips of his lips and tongue across hers—Meera and Lowell tangled on the couch until his weight settled between her thighs. His mouth moved with a feral hunger that melted straight through her resistance.
This was madness. A game. A spy game.
And yet the danger of it thrilled her. Her scorn for cloak-and-dagger bullshit had disappeared. Maybe she was more of a Rider than she’d ever admitted.
He broke the kiss to reach for her shirt with his brows raised in question.
She hesitated, but then the whiskey sang: Too many clothes! She lifted her arms, shimmying to help Lowell remove her top.
He went utterly still. His expression, once teasing, turned reverent. He brushed a kiss across one dusky nipple. A sly lick. A powerful suck. Moving to the other, he suckled with low appreciative sounds. “Good thing you’re bonnie,” he rasped between licks. “’Cause you are daft.”
Her temper flared at the jab, but it sizzled away as arousal rushed through her. They were both under the spell—her magic, their lust. I should stop him.
Any noble impulses faded away when he snatched off his own shirt to reveal his muscular torso. His skin was tanned, his chest hair a crisp V the same hue as the thick black hair on his head.
When his hand went to the waistband of her pants, she caught his wrist, ignoring the whiskey’s pull. “These stay on.”
He rocked between her thighs, his hard length dragging against the seam until she gasped. “I canna get a babe on you.”
“I’m aware,” she said tightly, her power kindling.
He jerked above her as if he’d felt the blow of it, his lids going heavy. “Virgin, no?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“It’s exactly my business.” His green eyes gleamed. “When you’re ready, I’ll be the one to claim that. You’ll give it to me.”
“Will I now?” She clapped his sides with her generous thighs—hard. Outrage snapped through her, but the ache between her legs only deepened.
He growled. “You drive me wild, you ireful witch.” He thrust his narrow hips, and the head of his pulsating cock emerged from above his waistband. He leaned down to kiss her, his chest hair tickling her dampened nipples.
As he coaxed her with his tongue, he rode that massive shaft directly over her clitoris, swollen flesh across swollen flesh. Great goddess, that pressure. Every motion ratcheted up her fever, already pitching her toward the precipice.
She suspected her response to him would go unequaled with other men over her entire life. Which brought more frustration. More anger. More power. Her hands clutched his back, glowing with witchlight.
Breaking away from her lips, he said against her throat, “Something is different with you. Need more.”
She gasped with disbelief. “You tell all your lovers that!”
He drew back, looking stunned for a heartbeat—then grinned crookedly. “Scoff all you like, so long as I get more of you. More of that whiskey-wetted tongue.”
Their mouths crashed together again. Their kiss turned desperate, their grinding frenzied. She loved his pained groans as he fought to hold out and the wolfy way he cupped her breasts—as if someone would take away his new toys.
The sound of their panting filled the room. The couch creaked under them. Her magic coiled tighter, volatile. Her sex got so damp she must have been soaking through her pants.
What if meek Meera was throwing one over on him? The idea made her more aggressive. She pulled his hair and nipped his neck as if a different woman inhabited her body. Gone was her shyness and even good sense. “Lowell!” Her voice cracked. “About to come. They’ll hear—”
Before she could cry out, he clamped a large palm over her mouth. Silence, witch. The gesture was protective and primal.
Rapture overwhelmed her. Her body arched, shaking beneath him, pleasure exploding behind her eyes. She screamed again and again into his hand, the sound swallowed by his skin. Lost, she mindlessly licked a callus…as her core clenched and clenched…and her orgasm dripped white-hot.
He rasped, “Sink those kitten claws into my back, and I’ll come so hard for you.”
Still flying, she dug her fingers into his sweat-slicked back, nails biting along his spine.
He muffled his own yell with his shoulder as his body jerked between her legs. His ejaculation took him violently, his seed spilling between them, hot and slick, marking his chest and hers…
They collapsed into each other. Breathless, stunned. The madness had faded, their anger dissipating as they both lay sprawled.
“What the hell just happened, woman?” he muttered, voice low, almost dazed. “You’ve warped my bloody brain.”
Meera stared up at the ceiling, trembling. And you’ve warped mine. She felt as though something had been released—years of tension and loneliness and fear burning away under raw, unbridled heat.
But regret pricked through the afterglow. Her hopeless crush would only deepen, going nowhere. And what if he hadn’t covered her mouth? Would her neighbors have heard her shrieking with ecstasy? Was the pleasure worth her life?
“Look what you made me do.” Rising up on an elbow, he gestured down at his torso. Pearlescent seed glistened along his rigid muscles and across the head of his shaft, slipping down to his waistband.
That sight branded itself into her mind. Fantasy had become reality, but it was so much better than she’d envisioned. Filthy wolf, I could clean you up. Under her gaze, he pulsed again, and she sucked in a breath.
He gave a rough laugh. “Canna help it. I’ll be inside you soon, and I mean to stay there till dawn chases me away.”
Too much. Too fast. No future.
“Canna believe I dinna investigate this with you before.” He spoke as if they’d settled a future tryst.
“Let me up,” she said, wriggling out from under him. She climbed off the couch, snatching her shirt. She tugged it on over the slick warmth on her belly.
Lowell watched her, confusion in his expression. “Where are you off to? We’re just getting started.”
Her resolve wavered when she saw genuine concern in his eyes. Would it be so terrible to fall into those arms again?
Nettle slunk in, tail high, yowling her judgment. Meera glared at the cat, then at Lowell. “This was a mistake. I told you that I don’t want a one-night stand.”
Lowell rose and crossed over to her, peering down with surprising gentleness.
“Hey now, we can take our time. No rush, lass. We doona have to do aught more. Have another dram with me. We’ll talk again, now that we’ve gotten our first kiss out of the way.
” His charm was irresistible. “Just promise me we’ll see each other in the future. Tomorrow night even.”
She couldn’t promise. She wouldn’t!
Tenderness ablaze in his green eyes, he lovingly tucked her hair behind her ear.
Sweet Hecate, I might.
He smiled. “Aye, another date. You know, for our peoples.”
Her laugh came shaky but real. “For our peoples,” she echoed. The tension ebbed. The whiskey glow softened them both. But when she met his gaze again, something unspoken lingered there.
An awareness that this peace could never last.
She sighed and said, “We met in the middle, at least for a spell. If only our leaders could.”
“You remain unoptimistic?”
“I fear,” she said, looking into the firelight, “the next time they meet will be on opposite sides of a battlefield.”
Outside, the wind pressed against the walls of the toadstool cottage—like the forest itself exhaled in resignation.