Chapter 30
The air between them crackled with tension, such that she could almost see lightning. Her heart thundered in her chest like a wild drumbeat.
What madness had seized her to demand that?
She had just burned the robe. She had just sworn to leave him behind. Yet here she stood, with her body pressed against his, having made a shameless request that she refused to take back.
“I want ye,” she had whispered, the confession slipping past her lips like a heavy secret. “I want ye to take me tonight… before I leave by midnight.”
His arms had encircled her waist then, squeezing her gently. His jaw had clenched, and his eyes had churned with conflicting emotions.
William blinked slowly now, his mesmerizing brown eyes locking onto her own. He was searching, weighing, looking almost confused. As if a battle was unfolding in his head. She could see it so clearly, like a push and pull against whatever invisible chains bound him.
But above it all, she felt the truth. It was right there against her thigh. His arousal. It grew inch by inch, mirroring her own. Except hers was more a wetness pooling between her thighs, making them clench involuntarily.
Aye, I must be possessed by a wicked spirit, for I crave him like air.
Or perhaps her heart was simply foolish, that traitorous thing.
Still, her words hung in the air.
William said nothing, and his silence felt more like a torment. His hold on her tightened further, as if he was on the very edge of making a decision. One foot in suddenter, the other in retreat.
Her breath grew shallower. She could feel her body stir with each second. Although she wouldn’t beg, not outright, she would tempt him. She would lure him. Break him as he had broken her resolve time and again.
Gathering her courage, she rose on her tiptoes. Her hands pulled him even closer, before she moved her lips to the shell of his ear.
“Please,” she breathed, her teeth grazing his tender flesh.
Instantly, William sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers dug into her hips, sending a thrill through her. His length throbbed harder against her belly. Her mouth watered as she imagined tasting him.
The proof was unmistakably there. He wanted this. Needed it, even if he refused to admit it.
That bolstered her courage.
She trailed her lips down his ear to the curve of his neck, breathing in his scent. It was intoxicating, headier than any liquor she had ever tasted.
When he didn’t move, she flicked her tongue, tasting the salt of his skin before sucking on it gently. He tasted divine, like forbidden fruit she had been starving for.
Her core grew slicker, demanding his touch. All she could think about was how desperately she wanted him to carry her away and ruin her in the sweetest ways imaginable.
She sucked harder on his skin, her hand pulling back the collar of his shirt for better access.
William couldn’t help it this time; he trembled against her.
“Sorcha…” he groaned.
The sound provoked her, tested her limits, made her grip him tighter.
“Please,” she murmured against his neck, her voice husky with need. “Take me. Stop holdin’ back. After tonight, I will never see ye again. I will disappear…”
Despite her promise, William still held back. His gaze was fixed on her, as if she were a priceless artifact, too rare and fragile to claim.
He was clearly weighing his options, but she wouldn’t yield. Not now. Not when her body screamed for him, for the one night that would etch him into her soul forever. Even if she had to disappear in the morning.
Holding his stare, she let her hand wander. Her fingers trailed over the hard planes of his chest, then across his ridged abdomen, then down his waist to the bulge in his trousers, curling around it.
William didn’t pull away. However, his breath hitched, his pupils dilating with raw need.
“Stop denyin’ that ye want me too,” she whispered, more like a challenge.
She squeezed him gently, and he throbbed against her.
“If ye truly daenae want this…” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over his neck. “Tell me to stop.”
With that, her fingers slipped beneath his trousers. Her hand wrapped around him, coaxing a low growl. It only egged her on.
She began to stroke him, her heart pounding in a frantic rhythm. Up and down, her thumb circling the sensitive tip, massaging gently.
“Sorcha…” he groaned again, louder this time.
His head dropped to the crook of her neck. He breathed in her hair, his hands roaming and kneading her backside roughly, making her shiver.
Aye, break down those damn walls.
She stroked him slowly, sensually, drawing circles that coaxed more growls from him. He trailed his nose from her hair down her neck, his warm breath tickling her. He tasted her, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her neck. She was divine on his tongue and he couldn’t get enough of her.
The sensation was electric. In that instant, she knew that whatever had held him back before had shattered like glass under pressure.
He grabbed her face roughly, pulling her impossibly closer and crushing his mouth against hers.
The kiss was all-consuming, as if she were the air he needed to survive. He devoured her, his tongue claiming every corner, stealing her breath, her senses, her very soul. Impatient yet gentle. Aching yet tender.
Sorcha couldn’t tell where she ended and where he began; she was overwhelmed by carnal hunger. He kissed her fervently, stepping forward until her back met the cool stone wall.
He sucked on her lower lip, before his tongue darted out to lick it, as though questioning her audacity to tempt him. He seized her wrists in his large hand and pinned them above her head. His other hand gripped her jaw, angling her head to his.
He took her soul in that moment, his lips moving to explore every inch of her.
Her eyes fluttered shut when he nuzzled her, whimpering as he sucked and licked, arching against him.
His mouth then moved lower to tease her nipples through the fabric of her gown. His hand released her jaw to gently squeeze her breast, tearing another whimper from her throat. But her hands remained trapped, helpless to do anything but feel.
Suddenly, with a growl, he released her wrists. Then, he scooped her up in one swift motion, before throwing her over his shoulder as though she were a prize.
A prize he couldn’t wait to claim, to cherish and torment in the most carnal way imaginable.
The heavy oak door of his chamber shut loudly behind them.
Sorcha landed on the wide bed with a soft bounce. Her pulse roared in her ears as she propped herself up on her elbows, watching him.
William stood at the foot of the bed, looking every inch the Laird. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his shirt and took it off, revealing hard muscles adorned with smooth skin and faint scars. Every inch of him made her mouth water.
He tossed the shirt away, and it fell forgotten to the floor.
Her breath caught as his hands moved to the waistband of his trousers. The outline of his arousal pressed hard with shameless demand. Even clothed, he looked dangerous.
He turned fully toward her.
Sorcha was still dressed, her skirts gathered around her. His gaze roamed over her, more intimate than any touch. His dark brown eyes stripped her bare, trailing down her throat all the way to her clenched thighs.
She swallowed, her throat dry. Yet her courage rose with the heat within her.
“William,” she said, her voice velvety soft, “let me take yer trousers off ye.”
William froze. For a long heartbeat, he simply stared at her, as though the offer itself had hit him harder than any blade.
At his silence, Sorcha moved to the edge of the bed. She reached for him slowly and unfastened his trousers, letting them slide down his legs.
And there he was. Thick, heavy with need, the tip glistening in the low light.
The sight stole her breath. Deep hunger curled low in her belly.
“Sorcha…” It sounded more like a warning, as if he were about to lose control.
But she was already leaning forward.
Her lips pressed a tentative kiss to the tip. Then her tongue swirled around him, slow and deliberate, enjoying the way he throbbed against her. A low, broken moan tore from his throat.
She swallowed him deeper, her lips stretching around his girth. At first, she sucked him slowly. Then faster, hungrier, wanting to drive him mad as he had done her over the past few weeks.
She fisted his hand in her hair. Not to push her away or guide her, but merely to anchor himself.
Right as he swelled in her mouth, he bent down, and his length slipped free. She whimpered in protest.
Before she could catch her breath, his big hands gently pushed her backward until her spine met the mattress.
She gasped. But he was already spreading her thighs with reverent roughness, before dropping between them and burying his face in her core.
The first touch of his mouth was devastating. Hot. Wet. Worshipful. His lips wrapped around her pearl, sucking on it gently. His tongue fluttered against her, making stars twinkle behind her closed lids.
Her back arched off the bed, and she moaned as pleasure shot straight to her core. He groaned against her, and the vibrations sent a shiver up her spine.
“Please…” she begged, her voice raw and desperate. “Take me… take me… I want ye inside me…”
Her pleas seemed to break something inside him.
His tongue prodded her entrance. He thrust it in and out like a man starved, drinking her arousal. Every time she clenched around him, he growled low in his throat. Her hands flew to his dark hair and tugged on it, as though he might vanish.
“Daenae stop… Daenae stop…” she moaned, her hips rocking shamelessly against his face.
He obeyed as if it were a sacred command.
His hands moved to her skirts, lifting the fabric higher for better access. Sorcha helped him, tugging at the fabric until it was bunched around her waist.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it. His mouth was not enough.
She sat up, pulling back slightly. William lifted his head, his lips glistening with her arousal. His breath came in harsh pants, and his hair was disheveled from her fingers.
She met his gaze somberly—she was tired of all the games.
“Do ye want me?” she asked, her voice steady. “Or are ye here only to tease me and pretend that nothing happened by morning?”
The question struck him; she saw it in the way his eyes narrowed.
He didn’t answer at first, staring at her only. Then he lunged forward and claimed her lips with a kiss that stole the air from her lungs. It was deep, languorous, as though he were pouring his answer into her mouth.
Eventually, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.
“I daenae think I’d survive it,” he rasped, “if ye belonged to another man.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and a soft gasp escaped her. But he didn’t give her time to recover. He kissed her again, more reverent this time, worshipping her mouth the way he had worshipped the rest of her.
Sorcha wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. She felt him shift between her legs, lowering his weight onto her. Instinctively, she spread her legs wider in silent invitation, and she felt the tip of his length teasing her entrance.
She hugged him tighter, before whispering against his mouth, “Then make me belong to ye.”
The words had barely left her lips when he pressed into her. His tip stretched tender tissues that had never known a man before. Pain flared, but it tangled with pleasure so intense that her toes curled.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, urging him to sink deeper.
William slid another inch into her wetness, giving her time to adjust to his size. Slow, insistent thrusts against her inner walls, stroking her with fire.
He buried his face in her neck, sucking on her pulse, tasting her, breathing her in.
“William.” She moaned his name like a prayer, like it was the only thing that mattered.
She gave herself to him wholly, every trembling inch. When his head dipped lower to suck on her nipple, she thought she might shatter from the sensation.
Pleasure built higher and higher. And through it all, one thought burned brighter than the rest: she could not imagine leaving the castle tomorrow. Could not imagine never seeing him again.
For tonight, though, she would focus on one thing—loving him.