Chapter 21 #2
She fumbled the bandage, nearly dropped it. “Erik—”
“Say it.” His mouth moved higher, found the spot below her ear that made her knees weak. “Tell me ye want me, Claricia. Tell me I’m nae imaginin’ the way ye look at me.”
The words stuck in her throat, tangled up with fear and desire and a lifetime of being taught how to be a noble lady. “I dinnae ken how tae dae this.”
He pulled back, just far enough to meet her eyes. “Dae what?”
“This!” She gestured helplessly between them. Then her hands were moving on their own, tracing the raven on his shoulder.
He caught her hand, pressed it over his heart where she could feel it thundering. “Feel that? That’s what ye dae tae me. Have done since the moment I met ye, except fer when ye kicked me,” he chuckled.
His laugh was low, wicked. His hand moved from her hip to cup her face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone.
“D’ye still want tae?”
“Nay. Now I want ye tae touch me.” The confession tumbled from her lips before she could stop it.
Erik’s eyes went dark, pupils blown wide with want. “Then let me touch ye. Let me show ye how much I’ve wanted this. Wanted ye.”
“Yer shoulder—”
“Will be fine.” He pulled her closer, until she was practically straddling his lap, her skirts pooling around them. “I’ve fought through worse. And I’m nae about tae let a damn scratch stop me from touchin’ me wife the way I’ve been dreamin’ about.”
His mouth found hers again, but different this time. Slower. Deeper. A claiming kiss that stole every thought from her head and replaced them with sensation—the taste of him, the heat of him, the way his tongue stroked against hers with confident expertise.
His hand moved to the laces at her back, fingers working with surprising dexterity despite his injury.
The laces gave way. Cool air hit her heated skin as he eased the dress down her shoulders, exposing the thin shift beneath.
His mouth followed the path of fabric, pressing hot kisses to her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast above the neckline.
“Ravishin’.” he murmured against her skin. “Ye’ve nay idea what thoughts ye stir in me, Claricia. How many nights I’ve lain awake, achin’ fer ye.”
His hand slid beneath her skirts, callused palm rough against the smooth skin of her calf. Claricia gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance as he stroked slowly upward, each touch deliberate, teasing, setting her nerves on fire.
“Erik…” His name came out strangled, barely recognizable.
“Aye, little bird?” His hand stilled just below where she needed it most, and the smug satisfaction in his voice made her want to hit him and beg him simultaneously. “Somethin’ ye want?”
“Ye ken what I want.”
His fingers traced lazy patterns on her inner thigh, so close but not close enough. “Say it.”
“I...” Heat flooded her face. She’d never said such things aloud, never even thought them in words, for she knew not that those sensations existed. “I want ye… tae touch me.”
“I am touchin’ ye.”
“Ye ken what I mean!”
His laugh was pure sin. “Aye, I dae. But I want tae hear me proper Highland lady ask fer improper things.”
“Ye’re terrible.”
“I’m patient.” His thumb stroked higher, brushing against the edge of her smallclothes. “And I’ll stay right here, touchin’ ye like this, until ye tell me exactly what ye want.”
She was going to murder him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.
“I want…” The words caught, shame and desire warring in her chest. “I want ye tae touch me there. Where ye’re nae touchin’ me now. Please.”
“There?” His fingers brushed against her through the linen, and even that slight contact made her gasp.
“Aye.” The word came out on a moan. “Aye, that’s—och…”
He’d slipped his hand beneath the fabric, callused fingers finding slick heat that made him groan low in his throat. “Ach, Claricia… Ye’re so wet fer me.”
She buried her face in his neck, embarrassed and overwhelmed and wanting more all at once. His fingers explored with confident gentleness, learning what made her gasp, what made her squirm, what made her dig her nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
His finger circled that sensitive bundle of nerves she’d barely known existed, and sparks shot through her entire body. “That’s it,” he murmured, watching her face like he was memorizing every expression. “Let yerself feel it.”
“I… och… I…” The admission came in gasps as his fingers worked magic she’d never imagined. “Erik, I dinnae ken—”
He kissed her softly even as his fingers moved faster, more deliberately. “Trust me.”
One finger slid inside her—careful, shallow, testing. Claricia’s hips bucked against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of whatever that building sensation was that felt like dying and being born all at once.
Och fer the love of all that is holy… what is happenin’ tae me?
She was burning. Coming apart. Flying toward something just out of reach that she needed more than air.
His thumb pressed against that sensitive nub while his finger moved inside her, and suddenly she was shattering—waves of sensation crashing over her so intense she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel, as pleasure rolled through her in devastating pulses.
“Erik!?” His name tore from her throat, half sob, half prayer.
His good arm came around her waist, holding her steady as she trembled against him. “I’ve got ye.”
She collapsed against his chest as her first orgasm ripped through her, leaving her boneless and breathless and utterly undone.
His hand withdrew from beneath her skirts, and she felt him press a kiss to her hair, then her temple, then her cheek—gentle touches that grounded her as she slowly returned to herself.
“That was…” She couldn’t find words. Couldn’t think past the languid warmth spreading through her limbs.
“Breathtakin’.” Erik’s voice held wonder. “Ye were breathtakin’.” He tipped her face up, kissed her softly.
Reality began filtering back in—what they’d done, how wanton she’d been, the way she’d practically begged him. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
“Dinnae.” He caught her chin when she tried to look away. “Dinnae be ashamed.”
“I just… I’ve never…” She gestured helplessly. “I didnae imagine—”
“It can be even better.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “When we’re both ready fer more.”
The promise in those words made heat pool low in her belly again despite the satisfaction still humming through her. “And ye?”
She could feel the evidence of his desire pressed against her thigh, hard and insistent.
“Och, I dae. I want ye.” His laugh was strained. “But taenight was fer ye. Fer showin’ ye that I can put yer pleasure afore me own. That when we finally join properly, it’ll be because ye’re ready. Nae because I couldnae wait.”
The selflessness of it made her throat tight. “Who would’ve thought. The Wolf can be gentle.”
“Dinnae let that get around. I have a reputation tae maintain.” He kissed her again, soft and lingering. “But fer ye? I’ll be whatever ye need me tae be.”
She rested her forehead against his, breathing him in—salt and leather and something uniquely him. “What I need is fer ye tae hold me.”
He shifted them both until they were lying on the bed, her tucked against his uninjured side with his arm wrapped around her. “I need ye tae ken that this,” he swallowed hard. “Meant somethin’ tae me, Claricia.”
She tilted her head to look up at him. “Truly?”
“Aye.” No hesitation. No doubt. “As real as anythin’ I’ve ever felt.”
“Even if I cannae forgive ye fer Logan?”
“Aye.” His hand stroked through her hair.
She thought about that—about the impossibility of what they were building together. About how wanting him didn’t erase the past but somehow made the future feel possible anyway.
She should argue. Should point out all the reasons it was madness. But exhaustion was pulling at her, and his heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, and for the first time since leaving Kintail, she felt something she’d thought she’d lost forever.
Completely safe.