Chapter Nine
“You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens and crowned with the stars.”
Laria whispered a moan, her arms wrapping around Cyrus’s shoulders as her aching pelvis rubbed against his erection under his plaid.
Cyrus swallowed her sound, and their kiss was instantly open and wild.
She raked fingers through his hair as he guided her head to a slant, sealing their mouths together.
Their untamed words had been the kindling, and Cyrus’s sinfully delicious promise had set her on fire.
Sensation ricocheted inside her. He wanted her—and not for shelter or food or protection.
He wanted her for the pleasure they could bring out in each other.
The heaviness of Laria’s responsibilities eased from her shoulders.
Just for the hour. She would be irresponsible and let his touch and talent sweep her away from all her worries.
Like they had in her old bedchamber when they’d come together like fire and water, sizzling and steamy.
She rucked up his plaid to slide her hands along the tight muscles of his backside and squeezed.
Good Lord, the man had the perfect arse, smooth and full of power.
Cyrus molded her against him, lifting her to cradle his fully risen jack in the V of her legs.
He lifted under her, rubbing her against him, and sensation burned through her loins, making dampness gather there.
Her body remembered him, and his touch opened her to him.
The coolness of the night air hit her back as he untucked her tunic and slid his hands in strong caresses along her spine. He worked her tight muscles while plundering her mouth, and her legs all but buckled with the release of the tension that seemed her constant companion.
He backed her against a wide tree trunk, letting it hold her up.
Her hands moved back under his plaid to the space he’d left between them, and she wrapped around the thickness of his long jack to stroke up and down the length.
He groaned softly before his mouth left hers to travel a path of kisses and nibbles along her skin to her neck.
She tilted her head back to rest on the tree.
He whispered in her ear. “I won’t take ye in the dirt, Laria.”
“Take me in the dirt, Cyrus.”
He pulled back to study her face. Her hand was still wrapped around his jack. “’Tis not right to—”
“I live in dirt.” Her hand indicated the tree.
“I live in trees and streams and wildflowers and caves. I don’t have the luxury of a bedchamber anymore.
” She tugged his tunic out of the top of his belted plaid and slid her palms up the chiseled planes.
“So take me here. Make me forget the need for four walls and plush pillows.”
The skin of his chest was warm, and her fingers explored the contours of it through the sparse hair. “I would have the stars in the night sky as my ceiling, the spongy moss as my bed, and your body as my blanket.”
She untangled the ties on her tunic, exposing her neck all the way across from shoulder to shoulder. The linen eased down until her breasts were free of the garment, standing pale in the moonlight where she leaned against the tree, the fabric protecting her back from the rough bark.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, cupping one in his hand. “Like full moons of milky perfection.” His thumb brushed against her pearled nipple. The sensation made her clench below as if a tether were tied between them and he was plucking it.
“Some worship the moon.” Her lips parted as he squeezed, sending sensation through her taut body.
“Then I worship ye, lass.” His dark head bent to pull her nipple into his mouth, and she heard her own shallow breath suck in.
His fingers plucked the laces of her breeches, slipping deftly into the space.
“Yes, Cy,” she whispered, thrusting against his hand as he rubbed her clit.
When his fingers sank into her at the same time he sucked hard on her nipple, her insides contracted.
His warm mouth moved to her other breast, and she bucked against his hand while he played her inside and out.
All she could do was hold onto his shoulders.
The cool night air brushed her legs as her breeches dropped all the way down, and she stepped out of them.
It had been years since anyone but herself had touched her intimately, and Cyrus Mackinnon knew how to do more than merely pinch and shove. He knew how to coax and press and rub in all the right spots.
Already, Laria felt her body coiling. “I can’t touch you,” she said through her heavy breaths. “I can’t reach you to—”
He released her nipple from his mouth. “Relax, lass. Let me help ye find yer pleasure.”
Closing her eyes, she palmed the swell of her damp breast and thrust against his fingers as they worked their magic between her legs. The tree at her back held her up as her legs weakened.
Cyrus kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, then up to her ear. “When ye find yer pleasure, I’m going to plunge into ye so hard and so far that ye’ll feel me in yer very soul, Laria.”
His words sent another jolt of carnal excitement through her, pushing her closer to the precipice. “Yes,” she hissed. Each of his rapid strokes inside and outside tugged her closer and closer until she felt everything within her tighten. “Oh God, yes—”
Cyrus’s mouth closed over hers as she climaxed, capturing her cry. He continued to stroke her through the first waves, and then—
The hard length of his jack thrust up into her, pinning her to the tree. She gasped at the raw pleasure of it filling her, stretching her, giving her something to cling to and grasp with her convulsing body.
Cyrus groaned against her mouth as he withdrew and thrust again, lifting her up on her toes. His arm went behind her to cushion her against the tree as his body took over, building a rhythm that barely let Laria catch her breath.
His mouth fell onto hers, their kiss as wild as their mating.
He growled, and his whispered words were so vivid and lurid that she trembled with the molten sensation that surged through her, like hot water sizzling up through her core.
Cyrus controlled her whole body then, and she gladly gave it over to him.
She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips as she clung to his shoulders.
His hands spanned her spread arse, keeping her riding him with increasing power for long moments of building pleasure.
“Oh God, Cy,” she cried, forgetting to keep her voice soft as she climaxed, her body convulsing around his jack.
He caught her mouth again, groaning into it.
His arms contracted around her, and he flooded her as he pounded into her greedy flesh.
Their heated bodies pressed together in every way they could, as if they truly were becoming one.
Laria had never experienced anything as overwhelmingly carnal before, and she was lost in the heat and release.
For the first time in months, she thought only of herself and her partner, only of the two of them and of that very moment.
She clung to him, never wanting to let go.
…
Cyrus held Laria as she slept with him under a wool blanket, the spongy moss cushioning them as well as any mattress.
After they’d finally disentangled themselves, she had retrieved several fulled blankets from a trunk left in the clearing before the caves.
’Twas a communal trunk for anyone to get more blankets if needed, and they left at least four behind.
Laria had said that blankets were the easiest things to sneak out of Tuath Tower.
Food was not usually difficult to steal because the kitchen staff was loyal to Sophie.
If Iain set guards in the kitchen, however, food would become sparse.
The sunrise shone through the fibers crisscrossing Cyrus’s face, and he pulled the blanket off their heads.
Golden sun shot through the tall, straight tree trunks.
The forest was alive with birdsong and the scamper of small animals hunting for their first meal of the new day.
A quick glance assured Cyrus that no humans were around.
Daingead. They were lying out there wrapped in blankets, easy targets for anyone hunting Laria and her group. The two of them were still naked and vulnerable. Although, if he were run through by a sword now, he could die knowing he’d experienced the best fok of his life.
It was more than carnal pleasure, although that had been intense.
The trust Laria had gifted him with her body had meant more than gold to him.
She was a woman who couldn’t afford the luxury of trust, and yet she’d given him complete access to her physical form.
She’d trusted him, but could he trust her?
He rubbed a hand down his face, wishing for a drink of cleansing water.
Maybe cold water would clear his head. Are her accusations against Iain true?
If they were, then Cyrus had wed his sister to a treacherous monster.
Grace would suffer as she aged. If the accusations weren’t true, then Laria and her Clan Hope were mad with suspicion, and she was encouraging them to live dangerously.
His breath halted when he glanced down to see Laria’s eyes open, studying him. “Does your sister have anything about her that is not perfect or beautiful?” she asked.
He sniffed a small chuckle. “Good morn to ye, too. Aye, I did sleep well.” He pulled her closer into him so that their naked bodies, surrounded by their combined heat, came together like they were meant to be joined.
She blinked. “Good morn. Yes, I did. Does your sister have any infirmities?”
He brushed the hair back from her face. It was warm, too, having been tucked under the blankets with them. But his smile faded. “She can’t see distant things with clarity.”
Laria’s dark brows pinched. “Tell her to keep that hidden from her husband.”