Chapter 13
Sorcha had barely finished speaking when the floor vanished beneath her feet.
Whatever she had uttered last had shattered William’s control. He had lifted her off her feet with effortless strength.
She yelped as he threw her over his broad shoulder. Her belly pressed against the hard curve of his shoulder, and her breasts squished against his back.
The position left her utterly helpless, utterly shocked.
“William, let me go!” Her fists pounded against his back, more startled than afraid.
William did not slow down. He did not speak. He smelled of leather and something unmistakably male, something that made heat coil in her chest.
“Put me down,” she snapped, breathless. “Ye’re overstepping!”
He said nothing, only kept walking. Then, without ceremony, he stopped.
One hand held her steady as he lowered her. Not to the floor, but onto the edge of a heavy oak table. Not gently. Not cruelly either. But decisively.
Her breath was coming fast now, her pulse racing. She was slightly dizzy. Her hair, which had been neatly pinned, came loose, spilling freely down her shoulders. She felt undone already, and he had barely touched her.
Fire crackled behind him as he stood between her knees. He claimed the space as though it had always belonged to him. One large hand landed on the table, trapping her. The other held her hip, caging her.
From that angle, he was all heat and shadow, looking like something dangerous carved of firelight and stone.
Her chest heaved. Her skirts shifted, exposing the bare skin of her thigh. And she was aware of it. Aware of the way his gaze dropped to her thigh for a fleeting moment before returning to her face.
The gallery, a room so large, felt smaller.
“Now, listen to me,” he rumbled, leaning closer. “As the Laird, and as long as ye’re in me castle, I willnae see Keegan come near ye again.”
Sorcha narrowed her eyes, summoning the stubborn pride she had left. “Ye daenae get to make rules for me,” she fired back.
But the protest came out soft, breathy. Her body refused to be calm. His nearness was scorching, leaving her wanting.
Her words had no effect on him. If anything, he repeated himself.
“Do ye hear me?” he asked, more sharply this time.
“Why do ye think ye’re in any position to say such a thing?” she demanded, lifting her chin. “Ye daenae own me.”
The words were meant to remind him of the boundaries. To make him step back. Instead, his mouth curved. Not into a smile, but into something darker. Something sensual and dangerous.
“If I have to own ye to get ye to listen,” he murmured, “then permit me.”
Her breath hitched, but before she could gather her thoughts, his mouth crashed onto hers. It was no gentle courtship. It was urgency and restrained fury poured into a single, devastating moment.
His hands rose to cup her face, holding her exactly where he wanted her, as though she might vanish if he loosened his grip a fraction. His lips were hard, demanding, tasting of whiskey and pure possessiveness.
Sorcha melted. A soft, helpless sound escaped her as every wall she had ever built crumbled. Heat flooded her veins, slick soaked her inner thighs.
She arched into him, pulling him closer instead of away. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples straining against the fabric.
Her entire world narrowed to sensation. To breath. To the way the kiss deepened. He consumed her, as if he were trying to erase the memory of anyone else ever standing where he stood now.
With a needy whimper, her thighs parted. William did not hesitate; he stepped between them, pressing his arousal against her damp center.
She shuddered, suppressing a moan.
When his mouth tore from hers, she barely had time to mourn the loss before he lowered his head to suck on her nipples through the fabric.
“Will…” The rest of her words faded into a moan.
Her hands found his hair, tugging on the dark strands. Not to guide him, but to keep him close. To beg him not to pull away. And then something seemed to snap inside him, as though the memory of her dancing with Keegan had resurfaced.
His hands trailed over the swell of her breasts, squeezing hard, before sliding lower until his fingers brushed the hem of her gown. She knew what came next, and the realization gave way to an anticipation that made her tremble.
She opened her legs wider, surrendering. Every bold word, every challenge she had thrown at him had faded beneath her desperation for him to have his way with her.
He growled as his fingers yanked at the hem of her gown, exposing her thighs fully to the cool night air. He pulled the fabric higher until it slipped off her head. Her breasts rose and fell with quick breaths, her nipples pebbling.
She wasn’t given a moment. His lips crashed back onto hers. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tangling with hers.
Whatever had come over him had increased tenfold. His movements became even more punishing, promising even more ruin.
Her breathing grew labored. His hands slid up the smooth skin of her thighs, and he groaned deeply with each stroke.
The sound made the heat between her legs pulse harder. Her fingers curled into his hair; she desperately wanted to be punished.
For talking to Keegan? For dancing with him? Her stubborn self had never imagined welcoming discipline.
William’s right hand slid higher, up her inner thigh, until his thumb found her damp folds. The shame of his discovering just how badly wanted him was nothing compared to her desperation.
The first press against her aching pearl coaxed a moan from her.
“William…”
She could cry out his name a thousand times, and it would never be enough. He didn’t respond. In fact, he drew slow, deliberate circles around her pearl.
Her back arched, her throat thickening with tears. He knew exactly how to touch her, exactly how to break her. This was no tender gift. It was a reprimand for her defiance.
William kissed her again, sucking hard on her lower lip while his finger teased her entrance.
Undo me, Sorcha begged silently.
As though her plea had irritated him, he broke the kiss. He ran his eyes over her, taking note of her messy state. She couldn’t even hide it. The shaky breaths, the lustful glint in her eyes… she couldn’t pretend they were pretense.
“Now, have I made meself clear? Did ye hear me?”
She did hear him, but the sensations coursing through her had stolen her voice. The rough pad of his thumb was tormenting her most sensitive place. All she could offer was breathy moans.
William slid his finger inside her. Her hands flew to his shoulders at the invasion, and she cried out, the sound bouncing off the walls.
He groaned in response, his free hand tangling in her hair. He forced her to stay still as his finger slid even deeper.
Sorcha cried out louder, her back arching off the table. She had never been touched like that before. Each push came with both agony and pleasure. The moans she had been caging spilled freely now, echoing in the air.
“Do ye hear me?” William demanded again, his voice rougher.
Her answer was a breathless whimper.
His thumb found her pearl again and rubbed it, while his finger slid deeper into her wet heat.
It was too much. Too perfect. Pleasure built inside her, the kind that threatened to shatter her senses. The kind that made her breath come in ragged sobs.
“Aye…” Sorcha moaned breathlessly, wanting more.
But then, just as her pleasure was about to peak, he withdrew. Completely.
Her eyes flew open as cold air rushed in where his hand had been. She shuddered through her denied release, her body screaming for completion.
But what stood before her was a ruthless man who wore nonchalance like a second skin. Cruel. Deliberate.
William stepped closer, grinding his hardness against her sex. She swallowed thickly at the pressure. He leaned down and gently tugged her lower lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to sting.
“I willnae ask again,” he murmured against her swollen lips. “Did I make meself clear?”
She knew what he was doing, but she was far too desperate to care anymore. Too vulnerable. She could still feel the hot throb between her legs.
Keegan didn’t matter anymore. Nothing else mattered but William finishing what he had started.
Her pride crumbled like ash.
“Aye,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Aye… I… I heard ye.”
Dark satisfaction twisted his mouth, like a predator savoring its prey’s surrender.
Before she could draw in another breath, his hand was back between her legs. Two fingers plunged deep into her slick heat this time.
He wasn’t punishing her anymore. Instead, he stroked her like his sole purpose was to pleasure her. His fingers pumped into her, making her cry out. His thumb found her pearl again and rubbed it fast.
Eventually, pleasure crashed over her without mercy. Loud moans spilled out of her as she shuddered against him.
When the final tremor ebbed, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear.
“Good lass,” he murmured, his tone almost tender.
Then he stepped back, letting go of her.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. Within seconds, the heavy oak closed behind him.
Sorcha remained sprawled on the table, her legs still spread, her skin damp with sweat. She could still smell him; his scent filled her lungs with every breath she drew.
“Good lass.”
The words echoed in her mind.
He had gotten what he wanted. Yet, all she could think about, all she could breathe, was him.