Chapter Sixteen #3
Conan did laugh then. It was deep, warm, rich, and catching.
Mhàiri could not help but join him. He held her close.
Other men only thought they understood why he had broken down and asked her to marry him for Mhàiri was indeed beautiful and smart.
But she was so much more—a great lover, a beautiful person, and gifted artist who possessed a razor-sharp intelligent wit.
Even more importantly, Mhàiri was his best friend.
Life was so much more than the shallow things of beauty and sex—though making love to Mhàiri was one of the best things he had ever experienced.
But what he could not live without was her.
Her friendship. Her ability to make him laugh.
He finally understood his brothers.
He finally understood what it was to have a sonuachar. A soul mate.
Mhàiri closed her eyes as she felt his lips brush her ear, then slide to her neck.
She could feel Conan’s body and how it was strung tight.
He wanted to go slow for her. It had been weeks, and he wanted to make things perfect.
But in her mind, perfect did not involve slow.
Maybe later, but right now, slow and gentle was not what she had in mind. “Conan. I need you. Now.”
Her body arched toward him as his mouth slid down her neck again. His hand was on her breast, teasing her nipple through the material. She writhed and mewled as his fingers teased, pinched, massaged, and stroked her. “What do you need, a ruin? Tell me your fantasies, and I’ll make them come true.”
“You,” she whispered. “You are my fantasy. My complete fantasy. I just need you.”
Conan’s control snapped. His lower body hardened to the point of pain. He needed to touch her, all of her, to join with her and feel her all around him.
He stepped back and stripped off his leine.
Then she was back in his arms. His mouth descended as he went to work, undoing the laces of her dress.
He pushed the garment off her shoulders so that it fell to her waist and then pulled her close.
With a groan, he claimed her mouth and then traced the contours of her lips with his own.
Immediately, her lips softened and then opened for him.
The feel of skin against skin caused Mhàiri’s thighs to tighten, trying to bring him even closer. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders and the tender kiss became demanding. She quivered, and Conan pulled her up into his arms and carried her directly to the bed.
Slowly, Conan lowered her onto the blanket and worked the rest of her clothes off. She was beautiful and strong, yet still fragile against his strength. After seven weeks, his need for her was almost all consuming. He needed to regain control, prepare her, or risk hurting her with his lust.
Breaking off the kiss, he eased back, looking at her lying naked in a bed.
This would be the last night for a while either of them delighted in such comfort, and he intended for them both to enjoy it.
Running large, rough hands up Mhàiri’s quivering body, Conan shifted his gaze to her eyes.
They were locked with his, and he could read the passion and arousal in those green depths.
Mhàiri was on fire. Conan was gently stroking her skin, and she needed to touch him in return.
She ran her hand down his chest, tracing old scars made from mishaps in training and near misses in battle.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered in awe as she followed the silky trail of hair from his navel downward.
“Men are not beautiful,” he rumbled, his voice gravelly, but adoring.
“My eyesight is perfect and so is my perception. You are perfect, which makes you beautiful.”
Kneeling on the bed, Conan braced a massive arm on either side of her head, sinking down for another passionate kiss. “Mhàiri,” he groaned as he rolled, pulling her up and over him.
She moved to straddle him, pulling away from his kiss. Conan looked up at her with blue eyes as she knelt across his body. His gaze said that he wanted her now. His hands curled around her waist and then moved slowly down, kneading her thighs, spreading them wide so she straddled him.
Gripping her hips, he lifted her and then watched her green eyes grow hazy as he slowly lowered her, pressing against her entrance, demanding entry. She was so hot, so wet, his massive arms started to quiver. He didn’t want to hurt her.
Mhàiri groaned. Conan was heat sheathed in velvet. Her glazed eyes bore into his. Her hips circled, wanting more.
“Easy,” he groaned, sweat beginning to slick his chest from the strain of holding back. “It’s been a while. We need to go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Mhàiri was past all thought; only need ruled. “Conan,” she whispered and pulled him up into a wild kiss that had her wrapping her tongue around his. Then she impaled herself on him. He filled her.
His hips thrusted deep. He closed his eyes as her tightness surrounded his thick shaft.
Mhàiri rocked against him, pulling him deeper into her.
Conan sat up, pressing his face between her breasts.
He moaned. The sound vibrated through her chest. Mhàiri let her head loll back.
She could feel her hair hanging down her back and across her buttocks.
Conan took one of her nipples in his mouth again and brought the pink tip to its crested peak.
He matched her rhythm with gentle tugs of his mouth.
The sensation seemed to spiral away from her, pulling her down and lifting her up at the same time.
Mhàiri shuddered, rocking against him harder.
Then she drew his face up to meet hers and kissed him aggressively.
Her tongue explored every hot secret place in his mouth, pulling his ecstatic moans into herself.
Mhàiri dug her fingers into his hair, holding him close to her. Conan’s hands curved around her buttocks, dragging her tighter, faster, and harder. Mhàiri threw her head back with a stunned cry. Freezing, Conan held her still, fearing he had hurt her.
Bringing her head forward, Mhàiri locked passion-filled eyes to his and demanded more while trying to grind her hips into his. “Oh, God, please more!”
Easing his grip, Conan allowed Mhàiri to set the rhythm.
Holding on to his shoulders, she circled her hips, building the tension to an unbearable level.
Pulling her to his chest, he scraped his teeth along her lower jaw as he made his way to her swollen mouth.
Once there, his kiss imitated their bodies.
Mhàiri dug her nails into his shoulders and screamed at the feelings sweeping through her—tumultuous, turbulent, wild, and untamed. She was no longer with Conan in the solar, but soaring, spiraling, and spinning out of control as waves of pleasure coursed through her body.
Mhàiri fell limp in Conan’s arms. Her head dropped onto his shoulder. Conan held her, running a soothing hand up and down her spine. When her breathing settled, she lifted her head and looked at him with dazed eyes. Moving to kiss his lips, she realized he had yet to find his own release.
“Conan,” she whispered, moving her hips slightly. She ran her hands up his sweat-drenched chest and eased herself back. The small movement had him groaning.
Putting her hands on either side of his face, she looked deep into his wild eyes, “Take me, Conan, I’m yours.” She kissed him again and his last bit of control finally broke.
Twisting her under him, he then held himself above her, bracing himself on his knees, pushing her legs further apart.
He wanted to watch her face, watch himself as he slid into her, to see how much pleasure he could give her, how much love he could show her.
“A ruin, I cannot get my fill of you,” he whispered hoarsely.
His hand alighted on her breast, stroking her nipple between his fingers while his tongue feasted on her mouth.
Before long, he was driving into her, encouraged by her eager cries of pleasure. Her legs widened for him. Her back arched, causing her breasts to press against him. Her appetite for pleasure matched his own. Their hips were undulating in unison, their breaths mingling.
Mhàiri could feel it again, the hot pressure, molten lava building and building until her entire body was in danger of imploding.
He thrust it deep into her and suckled her at the same time.
She froze, her mouth open on a silent scream as she shattered once more.
Her body pulsed, hot, around him. At the same time, Conan’s body shook with a fierce tension until, finally, his relief came in abundance, pulsating through him like a hellish heartbeat.
He rested his forehead on hers as he tried to regain his breath. He had never experienced a release like that. Each time got better and better.
Finally, his body slumped beside her though he did not let her go. He pulled her against him, laying kisses on the top of her head and streaking his hand down her spine. She sighed with satisfaction, burrowing deeper into his chest.
“I have a confession,” he murmured into her hair. “I did not change my mind about marrying because you proved you could be happy with the life we are going to live.”
Mhàiri tried to pull back, but his gentle grip was uncompromising so she sank back into his chest. “Why then did you agree?”
“Because of that first night with you. It just took me a while to remember. When I held you in my arms and we made love, it was the first time in my life my mind had ever been calm. With you, like this, is the only way I have ever known true peace and happiness. I need you, Mhàiri.” He eased his grip then to look down into her loving gaze.
“I truly cannot live without you. If you were ever to learn how to draw a person’s soul, Mhàiri, and drew mine, you would discover that you were drawing yourself. ”
Mhàiri reached up and stroked his cheek. “You are mine, Conan McTiernay. All mine. Forever mine.”
Conan bent down and captured her lips in a soul-searing kiss. Both decided that sleep could wait a little bit longer.
* * *
“Would you stop moving?” Laurel hissed.
Conor squirmed and put his other arm behind his head. “I wouldn’t be moving if we were in our own bed,” he groused.
Laurel poked him in the side. “Do not talk to me about discomfort. You have never carried a McTiernay bairn inside you for nine months.”
Conor huffed. “Women always like to use that excuse. You’ve never been pregnant. You don’t know real pain until you deliver a baby. Back hurts, having to go all the time . . . we husbands are very aware that the end is no fun, but you’ve never run into battle with a blade either.”
“You and I both know that you find the administrative duties of leading a large clan much more tedious than battle.”
“I just hope Conan is appreciating this little present you gave him. I’m not happy that you are out here in a tent that was supposed to be for him. You and my child need to be in a bed. Warm. Protected.”
Laurel snuggled closer. “I am warm next to you. And I am protected when next to you.”
Conor shifted again, and Laurel fought the urge to slap him like she would a puppy and say “Settle!”
“How long do you think it will be before people will start to leave?”
Laurel sighed. Her husband longed for peace and quiet. He wanted his life back. “Fortunately for you, I think it will be rather soon. Your brothers want to get their wives home as quickly as possible. They will not want to risk having a babe during the journey.”
“That wouldn’t happen. None of them are far enough along.”
Laurel smiled and placed a light kiss on Conor’s chest. “Not if they take their time and keep the ride smooth. But all of them insisted on coming. Their wives know what they are and are not capable of. Not a single one would risk their child. I am not worried.”
Conor closed his eyes. “You can keep doing that,” he moaned as she swiped her tongue across his nipple. “And you better be right about everyone leaving. I miss you.”
Laurel suckled and then let her hand drift downward. “Once they leave, others who might have stayed will follow their lead. Especially now that we’ve run out of ale.”
“We didn’t,” he groaned as her fingers lightly caressed his shaft. “I saved some for us.”
Laurel smiled. “Then you deserve a reward.”
Her hand curled around him, and Conor was once again amazed at how much love he felt for his wife. And as soon as she was done with him, he would show her. “If Conan and Mhàiri find even the slightest sliver of the happiness I have found with you, they are destined for a long and wonderful life.”
Laurel could not have agreed more.