29. The Stars Align #3
“I love how your thighs feel,” I whisper, my hand sliding seductively along her exposed flesh. “They’re so deliciously thick. And yer breasts… so full, so soft—they drive me wild.”
When she sighs, “ Finn ,” the sound is a plea and a command all at once.
I let my arousal, firm and insistent, pulse steadily against her centre. I hold her close enough to feel every beat of my desire, yet deliberately leave a trace of space to test the strength of her will.
“What I love most about yer body…” My voice is a slow, deliberate drawl, thick with intent, each word dripping with sinful promise, “is that ye’re strong—woman enough—made to take everything I’m about to give you…
every stroke, every shuddering breath. And I know, deep in my bones, I needna worry whether you can handle it. ”
I tilt her chin up, fingers firm, claiming her gaze, refusing to let her look anywhere but at me.
“You can handle it, right, Triona?” My lips brush hers, close enough to taste, never enough to satisfy. “You want to.”
She shudders, her breath catching, her fingers digging into my arms, grasping, pleading.
“Undress me, Finn.”
Her emerald eyes burn with a heat that steals my breath, her body already arching, offering—mine for the taking.
“I want you to see all of me.”
I stare, searching for even a hint of hesitation, but all I find is an unspoken plea—a trust so profound it shakes something loose inside me.
My hands tremble as I set her down, slow, deliberate, reverent, as if setting something sacred into place .
A wicked smile tugs at my lips, teasing despite the urgent fire licking beneath my skin. “I was just waitin’ to hear you beg,” I murmur before I dip lower, aiming to place another lingering, taunting kiss to the base of her neck.
She scoffs, the sound vibrating softly against my lips—a quiet protest, laced with amusement, edged with want.
But the moment my mouth grazes her skin, I feel her shiver, the teasing edge in her breath giving way to something deeper, something consuming.
I trail my mouth lower, my hands mapping the delicate curve of her spine, fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines as if committing her to memory—every reaction, every shiver, every soft intake of breath.
Slowly, she turns for me, and I reach for the ties of her dress.
I slide my fingers beneath the fabric, teasing over her shoulders, my knuckles ghosting down the length of her spine.
A shiver wracks through her, and I feel it everywhere—in the way her breath stutters, in the way she leans into me, trusting me to unwrap her like something sacred.
I breathe her in, dizzy from the sheer presence of her—of this moment, of everything we’ve fought to have. I continue to explore, revealing every delicate curve of the body that I only ever dreamed of laying bare for my eyes alone.
When the last barrier falls away, I step back, memorising her in this moment of raw, unguarded beauty. She’s luminous, like something carved out of light and shadow, and it’s so much more than I ever imagined.
“You are... stunning,” I finally manage, the words a whisper, thick with everything I feel. My hands ache to touch her, to learn her from memory and keep her safe in this moment forever.
She reaches for me then, pulling me back into her world, into her warmth, and I surrender to her completely. My hands find her again, and I vow, in the here and now, to show her exactly how much I adore every part of her—inside and out.
My mouth is on her an instant later, drawing a nipple deep. She cries out as her fingers find their way into my hair, pulling me further into her as I lap at her sweet flesh. My teeth and tongue playing her body like a finely tuned instrument.
I cup each breast, thumbs grazing the sensitive peaks until she arches into my touch, a wanton moan escaping her lips. She gasps as I roll the other nipple between my fingers, suckling and teasing until pleasure borders on exquisite pain .
I pause only long enough to lay her down on the bed with deliberate care; the mattress dipping beneath her as her body settles into the softness.
The sight of her there, framed by the flickering light and utterly captivating, washes away any hesitation that idles.
My hand lingers on her cheek, thumb brushing the flush of her skin, and I can’t help but marvel at her—at us—at the fact that this moment is real and ours.
Every touch, every kiss, feels like a promise I can finally keep. Her skin is soft beneath my lips, her breath hitching with every press of my mouth as I make my way lower.
I am insatiable.
Triona deserves to be worshipped, and I’m helpless to do anything but oblige. As I settle between her thighs, the heat of her need calls to me. She is so damned addicting.
I tremble in anticipation, wanting to make this as perfect for her as it will be for me.
My fingers brush against her centre, finding her wet and wanting.
“Ye’re dripping for me.” She moans as I stroke her slick heat, thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at her centre.
She rocks against my hand, chasing the pleasure I draw out.
I look. Linger. Let the hunger rise until it’s unbearable. Until the aching, throbbing need to have my mouth on her is too much to deny.
“I need to taste you.” The words slip out, rough, ragged, dragged from the very depths of my hunger.
I let my fingers drift, featherlight, trailing up the inside of her thigh, her warm, flushed skin searing into my palms as she spreads wider, parting for me with a reverence that borders on desperation.
I grip the back of one thigh, fingers kneading, pressing, until I can lift one leg up, guiding it over my shoulder.
She lets me, pliant, eager, offering herself up so sweetly.
I graze my lips over her ankle first—soft, slow, worshipful—a teasing contradiction to the hunger burning in my veins.
I trace my way down, mouth dragging, teasing, along the delicate line of her calf, over the soft dip behind her knee. My lips part, tongue skimming just enough to make her squirm, to make her tremble in my hands.
“D’ye want it as badly as I do?” I murmur.
Her answer is in her body, in the way her thighs quiver, in the way her fingers fist the sheets, in the way a tiny, helpless moan slips out the second my lips move higher .
I drag my tongue slowly, tasting her, teasing her, letting her feel what’s coming before I ever give it to her.
“Want the warmth of my mouth?” I whisper the words against her skin, my lips barely brushing where I know she’s burning.
I press a single, wet kiss, then another, trailing lower, pausing when I reach the smouldering centre between her thighs, savouring the way her body quivers in anticipation.
The way her breath hitches as I hover there, so close to where she needs me most.
“Spreading you open… tastin’ you… pullin’ you apart with my tongue until you cannae do anythin’ but sob for me?”
She whimpers, her back arching. I press my mouth closer, close enough that she can feel every word I say, every breath that fans over her soaked skin.
“Say it, mo ghrá,” I breathe, dragging my lips up her inner thigh, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses until I can feel the heat of her core against my mouth.
Her answer doesn’t come out as a moan.
It comes in a wrecked, desperate plea. Voice shaking, her body already breaking for me.
“Finn—” she gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair.
“Ruin me. Make me scream, make me beg, make me yours .”
A low, guttural growl rumbles from my chest as I drag my hands down her thighs, spreading her wider, forcing her to open for me completely.
I lean in, my breath hot, thick, spilling over her sensitive skin, letting her feel the anticipation, the certainty of what’s coming.
Then, finally—I let my tongue drag through her slick heat. I give in, my mouth claiming her with an intensity that is as much about love as it is about need.
A gasp—sharp, breathless, uncontrollable—rips from her throat, her hips jerking up, chasing my mouth instinctively.
It’s the most tantalising thing I’ve ever heard, her voice wrapping around me like silk, stoking the fire already raging in my veins.
“You taste like wild honey,” I murmur against her. Her gasp is my reward. She arches into me, her hands tangling in my hair, urging me deeper, and I obey.
There is no part of her I won’t worship, no sound or sensation I won’t commit to memory. She is mine to taste, to love, to bring to the edge and beyond, and I intend to take her there again and again .
My lips find their purpose there, savouring the taste of her.
Her body responds to my every move in a way that fills me with a heady mix of pride and devotion.
My tongue dances against her clit, coaxing out melodic cries that only deepen my longing to give her more.
Every noise she makes is music, a song only I can play, and I give myself over to the rhythm of her pleasure.
“Please, Finn,” she begs. “I want to feel you inside me. Filling me...”
My tongue falters for half a second, the weight of her words like a lightning strike to my spine. Her words are almost enough to have me giving into my need to claim her, but the desire to coax every moment of pleasure out of her before the night is over is stronger.
I drag my lips up her thigh, savouring the way she trembles, and press a final, open-mouthed kiss over her pulsing heat before pulling back.
My eyes meet hers, and the flush dancing across her bare skin further fans the flames of my resolve. “Aye. I’ll give you everything. Every part of me. But I want you ready to take me in, and ye’re not there yet.”
She whines, frustrated.
I smirk. Filthy. Taunting.
I press two fingers deep inside her, and the way she clenches around me is enough to send a shudder down my spine.
She is silken heat, wrapped tight, soaked for me, her body welcoming me with a need that borders on desperation.