Chapter 24 #2
His eyes searched hers, looking for something she wasn’t sure she could give. “Yer nae angry?”
“Nae at ye.” She pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, gentle this time. “At the situation, maybe. At whoever hurt ye badly enough that ye still carry those wounds. But nae at ye.”
“I want to make ye feel good,” Euan’s hands returned, one tracing the curve of her waist, the other tangling in her hair. “Let me do that for ye.”
“Make me forget,” she whispered against his mouth. “Make me ferget everything except this moment.”
He claimed her mouth again, deeper this time, slower.
One of his hands left her hair to travel downward, tracing her collarbone, her ribs, the curve of her hip.
His other hand reached for the door, opening it into her chamber.
He guided her inside, mouth never leaving hers, kicking the door shut with enough force to make her tremble against him.
They went toward the bed, and Moyra’s pulse hammered in her ears, anticipation and nerves warring in her chest. He followed her down, caging her in with his body without putting his full weight on her, bracing himself on his elbows.
“So beautiful,” he breathed against her throat. “So bloody beautiful it makes me forget every reason this is complicated.”
His mouth traced the line of her jaw, her throat, the sensitive spot behind her ear that made her gasp and arch against him.
One of his hands found the laces of her dress, tugging with an impatience that mirrored her own.
Fabric gave way, and cool air hit her skin, followed by the heat of his palm cupping her breast.
Moyra arched into his touch, her back bowing off the bed as his thumb circled her nipple, sending fire racing through her veins. She felt his intake of breath, heard the groan he couldn’t quite suppress when her hips rolled instinctively against his.
“Euan.” His name came out strangled, half plea, half warning.
“Aye.” His mouth found hers again, swallowing her sounds as his hands explored her body with careful reverence. “I’ve got ye.”
And she did feel safe—paradoxically so. Safer than she’d felt in months, despite the vulnerability of her position. More seen than she’d ever been, despite the layers between them still intact.
His fingers found the hem of her shift, tracing the skin beneath with devastating gentleness. She felt him hesitate, giving her one last chance to stop this before it went past the point of no return.
Moyra answered by hooking her leg around his waist, pulling him closer.
Euan made a sound low in his throat—half surrender, half warning—before his mouth claimed hers again, deep and consuming. The shift joined her dress on the floor, and then his hands were on her bare skin, mapping every curve with possessive intensity that made her entire body hum.
It was overwhelming. This was everything she’d been trying to avoid—the way he made her forget herself, forget her father’s threats, forget all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
There was only this moment, only the heat of his hands on her skin, only the way her name sounded when he breathed it against her throat like a prayer.
Then his mouth left hers to trail downward, and coherent thought became impossible. His lips closed around her nipple, and she cried out, her back arching as pleasure shot through her like lightning. His scarred hands held her hips steady as his tongue worked magic she’d never imagined possible.
“Please,” she gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, Euan.”
He raised his head, his grey eyes dark with want and something softer she couldn’t quite name. “Please what, lass?”
“I dinnae ken.” She honest, her body trembling. “Just—dinnae stop.”
He smiled against her skin, that devastating curve that made her stomach clench. “I’ve nay intention of stopping.”
His mouth continued its downward journey, tracing every rib, every dip and curve of her abdomen until she was writhing beneath him, desperate for more. His large hands held her hips with surprising gentleness, thumbs stroking circles that made her entire body ache with want.
When his mouth reached the place between her thighs, Moyra’s breath caught. She’d heard whispered rumors about such acts, crude jokes made by men who thought women weren’t listening. But she’d never imagined—
Her thoughts fractured as his tongue touched her, a single deliberate stroke that made her entire body arch off the bed. A sound she didn’t recognize ripped from her throat—something between a gasp and a sob.
“Euan—”
“Let me.” The words rumbled against her sensitive flesh, vibrating through her entire being. “Let me take care of ye.”
And then he was doing things with his mouth that made her forget everything except what she felt.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as wave after wave of pleasure built and crested and crashed through her.
She felt herself tightening, her body gathering like a bowstring drawn taut, her breath coming in desperate pants.
“Euan,” she gasped, his name the only word she remembered. “I—”
His answer was to intensify his attentions, to add a finger carefully pressing inside her, and that was it.
Her world shattered into a thousand pieces of light and color and sound, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain as she cried out his name and rode the waves until they finally subsided, leaving her limp and trembling and utterly undone.
Euan moved back up her body, gathering her against his chest as she shook with aftershocks. His arms came around her, holding her together when she felt like she might fly apart completely.
“Alright?” His voice was rough, strained in ways that told her he was affected too.
“Aye.” She buried her face against his chest. “I think that’s... more than alright.”
His chest rumbled with laughter, but there was strain beneath it. “Ye’ll be the death of me, lass.”
Moyra pulled back just enough to see his face, really see him. The firelight from the hearth highlighted the strain in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. She’d found her release while he remained wound tight, controlled, still fighting the battle against his own desires.
“Ye didnae...” She let the sentence trail off, heat flooding her cheeks.
“I willnae.” His voice was flat. Absolute.
“Nae now. Today is about ye.” The look in his eyes said he was talking about more than just physical pleasure.
About healing. About taking back what had been stolen from her.
Today was about reminding her body that touch didn’t have to mean pain or confinement.
Today was about pleasure without price. About trust. His hands traced her spine, his touch gentle despite the tension still thrumming through him. “Just let me hold ye.”
And that that was almost more overwhelming than the pleasure itself. The quiet intimacy of lying tangled in his arms with no expectations beyond that moment. No strategies. No politics. Just a man holding a woman, helping her remember what it felt like to be whole.