Chapter 32 #3
Donall wheeled around at the thready female voice, but no one stood behind him. No old woman darted into the shadows to hide after warning him to go easy with his lady.
His lady?
Aye, his, and with the acknowledgment came a queer sound, almost a cackle.
Gooseflesh rose on the back of his neck. Looking about, he peered into each dark corner of the room but nothing stirred save the embers glowing in the hearth and the tail end of the night wind that had just swept through the chamber.
He’d surely heard the gusts.
As if to prove it, one of the shutters slammed back against the wall. Caught and tossed by the same sea wind whose high-pitched keening he’d mistaken for a meddlesome old woman’s advice.
Still…
He rubbed his nape, wondering.
He turned back to Isolde. “Do you still want this?”
“Of course,” she said and parted her thighs.
But it is you I want, not just this.
Donall started. Had she said that? Her lips were upturned in a smile, her eyes unafraid. Had the wind sought to bedevil him again? Nae, it’d surely been his blood rushing through his ears.
Either way, he joined her on the bed and settled himself between her opened knees.
He let his gaze glide over her, taking in her every lush curve.
Her shapely legs, the fullness of her breasts, the glistening tumble of her red-gold hair.
He especially admired the tempting bronze-colored curls at the juncture of her thighs.
He bent her legs, urging them wider until she was fully open.
Leaning in, he nuzzled his face against her, pressing his mouth to her sweetness as he licked and flicked his tongue over her.
Her taste, her scent, and the catch of her breath, sent urgent need thundering through him, stretching his already hardened length.
“Do not stop.” She looked at him, her eyes glittering in the dimness. “We must do this,” she added, clearly mistaking his reason for pausing. “There must be a-”
“You will have your bairn.” His heart thudded on the words. “We will do this until you quicken with-”
“And if you leave first?” Worry flickered across her face. “What then?”
I will return. I will ne’er let you go.
“You will have the peace you desire,” he said aloud, keeping the rest to himself.
The time for words was over, his need too urgent.
He could only kiss and rub his face against her, tamp down the urge to devour her whole.
She might be an earthy, passionate woman, but she was also pure.
He could tell by the wonder in her soft sighs, the startled surprise in her eyes as she moved her hips first in a gentle rocking motion, then in a more frantic rhythm.
Innocent attempts to bring her own need closer to the bliss he gave her.
And each time she tensed, her legs going so taut he knew her release neared, he gentled his kisses, reducing his slow wide-tongued strokes to soft, flickings of his tongue over her sweetness.
Only when she gripped his shoulders and lifted her hips, pushing against his mouth, did he draw the swollen little bud of her pleasure into his mouth, almost as if he meant to take her release deep into himself, into his soul.
In truth, he did want that, so he kept his entire attention on her, not relenting until she began to tremble beneath the steady onslaught of his lips and tongue.
When her passion crested, he replaced his mouth with his fingers. He stroked her gently, circling his fingertips over her hot, silken flesh. Keeping her need kindled, as he stretched out on top of her, and entered her with one swift stroke, plunging through her innocence.
He stilled, claiming her mouth in an almost savage kiss, his tongue thrusting between her lips, his heated breath melding with hers. He began gliding in and out of her and her tightness clenched around him as he gave her slow and steady strokes, long and deep, until he could hold back no more.
His seed poured from him in a white-hot surge that seemed to go on and on, plunging him into the oblivion of the most intense release he’d ever known.
As if from a great distance, he caught the softness of her breath, the light rustling as she sank back against the pillows.
He knew a great joy, for she sounded sated and content rather than in pain.
Then he heard nothing, the shuddering aftermath of his own release claiming him, pulling him down into a sea of dark drifting mists and the exquisite peace of holding her close.
And as they slept, their passion spent, their bodies and hearts entwined, somewhere far beyond Doon’s shores, a dark and thick mist descended upon MacKinnons’ Isle until not even a sliver of its stern-faced bulk could be seen.
The roiling sea mist hid the dunes and bays, the island’s sheer, rugged cliffs. Blackness that turned more eerie with every moment as it whirled and descended, even cloaking the strewn wreckage of the MacKinnons’ shattered galleys with an impenetrable shroud of gray, shifting fog.
Indeed, all that could be distinguished so far out to sea was a lone square-sailed ship bearing the MacLean banner, and moving steadily through the night, making its sad, slow journey home to Baldoon.