Chapter 18
Eileen didn’t move when he said he would stay.
Instead, she leaned a little closer to him, her head resting against his chest, right over his frantically beating heart.
Archer froze, holding her in his arms like something precious and breakable. His hand slid around and into her hair, cradling her head as if shielding her from the world.
“Ye should rest,” he murmured, though he didn’t believe a word.
Neither of them moved.
The fire crackled low in the grate, filling the silence enveloping them. Then, she tilted her head back to look at him, and he was lost.
Her eyes searched his, full of something so raw that it stole the breath from his lungs.
Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, tugging him toward her.
It was all the invitation he needed.
Archer pressed his lips to hers slowly, as if giving her every chance to change her mind.
She didn’t.
Their lips met in a kiss so gentle, so reverent, that it undid him completely. He kissed her like a man starved.
He wanted every inch of her.
Eileen sighed into his mouth, her hands sliding up to cradle his face, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.
The soft sound she made when his tongue traced the seam of her lips broke something inside him.
He deepened the kiss, gripping her hips firmly against him.
She broke the kiss and leaned back, and he watched her, waiting.
“Ye have nay idea what ye do to me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Eileen’s lashes fluttered. “Show me,” she whispered back.
Lord above.
He kissed her again, harder now, devouring her mouth with slow, aching strokes, savoring every shiver that ran through her.
His hands mapped her body with infinite care—the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the elegant arch of her back. Each discovery was met with a worshipful kiss, a brush of his calloused fingertips, a low rumble of approval deep in his chest.
“Perfect,” he rasped against her skin, moving to her throat, her shoulder, the juncture between her neck and collarbone.
She tasted salty and sweet all at once.
“Every inch of ye,” he growled, his brogue thickening with every desperate kiss, “mine.”
Eileen whimpered when he nipped the sensitive spot just below her ear, her nails digging lightly into his shoulders.
“Archer,” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name.
“Aye, lass,” he muttered against her skin, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her gown, finding bare, silken thighs. “Say it again.”
Her breath hitched. “Archer.”
He groaned, pressing his forehead to her chest, overcome.
She wasn’t shy with him. She wasn’t pretending.
She wanted him.
Wanted this.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t worship her properly.
Slowly, reverently, he lifted her off his lap and laid her down atop the quilts as if she were spun glass, his eyes drinking in her flushed cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips, her mussed hair.
He sat beside her, trailing a warm hand from her knee up the outside of her thigh, worshipping her with his touch. When he reached her waist, he hesitated. Gave her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
Archer sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her under him—the simple linen shift clinging to every dip and curve of her body.
God help him.
He’d never seen anything so achingly beautiful in all his life.
“Ye’re killin’ me, lass,” he said, his voice thick, “and ye dinnae even ken it.”
She laughed softly, a breathy sound that turned his blood on fire.
Their mouths collided again, a desperate clash of teeth, tongues, and moans. Archer braced his weight on one forearm, the other hand sliding up her ribs, feeling her heart racing just beneath the thin barrier of her shift.
He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast through the fabric, taking his time, savoring her gasps and the way her body writhed beneath him.
He was utterly, completely obsessed with her.
Every touch, every sigh, every tremor was etched into his soul.
He kissed a path down her torso, his mouth branding a trail across her stomach and hips.
Eileen’s fingers tangled in his hair, her breathy whimpers sending him closer to the edge.
He wanted to bury himself in her heat. Wanted to claim her so thoroughly she’d never doubt for a moment that she was his—and he was hers.
But not yet.
Not until she begged him for it.
Not until she knew, without a shred of doubt, that he saw her. Wanted her.
He slid back up her body, covering her completely, resting his weight on her with exquisite control.
Their gazes locked.
Brown eyes full of trust.
Slowly, achingly, he rolled his hips against hers, letting her feel the hard proof of his desire.
She gasped, clawing at him, her back arching off the bed.
“Archer,” she breathed again, helpless, wanton and perfect.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to go slow.
Her breath came in soft, shallow pants against his mouth, her body trembling with need.
Archer pulled back just enough to look down at her, his gaze sweeping over her features, the wild mane of her hair across the pillows.
His hand slipped lower, dragging her linen shift higher up her thighs.
She gasped into his mouth as his calloused fingertips traced the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, featherlight at first, then firmer, more demanding.
Every muscle in her body coiled tight, anticipation prickling across her skin.
Archer broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing hard. “Tell me if ye wish for me to stop, lass,” he whispered, his voice breaking. Every fiber of his being begged her not to say it.
“I would rather die than say it.” Her fingers clutched at his shoulders.
A low, tortured sound escaped him, half growl and half prayer.
He shifted lower, his mouth worshipping a path along her throat, her collarbone, down the swell of one breast. His hand slid higher between her thighs, parting them gently, reverently.
When his fingers found her, slick and hot and already aching for him, he swore low under his breath.
“So wet for me,” he groaned. “Christ, lass… ye are killin’ me.”
The first careful brush of his fingertips against her most sensitive flesh made her cry out softly, her hips bucking.
He chuckled against her skin—a dark, dangerous sound.
“Easy, lass,” he purred. “Let me take me time with ye.”
And he did.
Sweet, unmerciful Lord, he did.
He rubbed her gently at first, coaxing, teasing, his thumb gliding through the slickness, finding that spot that made her jerk beneath him with a desperate, little whimper.
“That’s it,” he crooned, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her ear. “Let yerself feel it. Feel me.”
Eileen had never felt anything like it before.
Every nerve sparked to life under his touch. Heat coiled low in her belly, spreading outward, building with maddening slowness as he worked her with devastating skill. He was patient, thorough, and utterly focused on her pleasure.
When he slid a thick finger inside her, her entire body arched off the bed, a broken sob escaping her lips.
“So tight,” he growled, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he moved inside her with careful precision. “So. Bloody. Perfect.”
He kept his thumb pressed to her clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that had her climbing higher and higher, her thighs trembling against his hips.
She clung to him, panting, moaning his name like a prayer, her body desperate, frantic, overwhelmed.
“Archer,” she gasped.
“Aye, that’s a good lass,” he murmured against her temple, pumping his finger faster, deeper. “Let go for me.”
She didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know what any of it meant. She just felt like she was on the precipice of exploding into a million pieces.
“Come for me, mo chridhe.”
The command, low and rough and utterly possessive, shattered her.
Pleasure detonated through her in a blinding, violent rush, stealing the breath from her lungs. She cried out, clinging to him as her body convulsed around his fingers, the waves crashing over her again and again, endless and devastating.
Archer held her through it, his body braced over hers, whispering broken, desperate things in her ear.
“That’s it, lass. Look at ye… so damned beautiful…”
Slowly, the tremors ceased, leaving her boneless and quivering in his arms.
He withdrew his finger with a groan, brought it to his mouth without hesitation, and sucked it clean with a low, savage noise that made her whimper all over again.
“I’ll never get enough of ye,” he said roughly, his green eyes blazing down at her.
Eileen reached for him blindly, pulling him down to her, needing the weight of him, the heat of him, the safety of his body covering hers.
Archer gathered her close, wrapping her in his arms and tracing lazy circles over her hip.
He felt her shiver and smiled against her hair.
“Did I ruin ye?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, thickened by his burr.
Eileen let out a shaky laugh, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “I dinnae ken.”
The low laugh that rumbled in his chest vibrated against her cheek, sending another shiver through her.
He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her temple, then another to the shell of her ear. His hand slipped lower still, kneading the soft flesh of her thigh, coaxing it over his waist.
Eileen gasped when she felt him between her legs—hard, hot, throbbing.
Archer groaned. “I’m mad for ye, lass.”
Before she could say a word, he rolled them gently, settling between her thighs once more.
He rocked his hips slowly, letting her feel the full length of him through the thin barrier of their clothing. The friction made her whimper, her fingers clutching his shoulders for purchase.
“Ye feel that?” he murmured against her lips. “That’s what ye do to me. Always.”
Eileen arched into him helplessly, her entire body alight with need once again.
Need.
Again.
Archer slid one hand between them, cupping her through the damp fabric of her shift, rubbing slow, firm circles that made her throw her head back against the pillows.
She could feel herself unraveling all over again, faster this time, with no defense against the relentless pleasure he was wringing from her.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Give it to me. Let me see ye break apart around me hand again.”
He kissed her fiercely then, swallowing her cries as he plunged his fingers into her. Working her higher and higher.
She was on the edge of sobbing and screaming with what she thought would be her very last breath, clinging to his broad back.
Archer drew back just enough to watch as she shattered around him. He swallowed every sound she made, his breathing harsh and ragged, fighting for air. Fighting for control.
“Mine,” he growled softly.