Chapter Nine #3
Lowering his head, he inhaled the heady and lusty scent of her, listened to the erotic cadence of her heart beating urgently beneath her breast. The scent of her passion-i nfused blood was so strong it overtook all his senses.
He could no longer hear, could no longer see because of the passion that was blinding him.
He could only smell, and the erotic scent grew stronger and stronger until his own body was cloaked with it.
His hands, as if they had a mind of their own, reached for her bodice and pulled it down, revealing her breasts—swollen, heavy. Waiting for his touch. He lifted her, pulled the gown free from beneath, and sat her back on the bed, naked and beautiful.
Gently he pulled at the end of the cloth tying their wrists together, freeing them, then wrapped it around his wrist where he could see it.
And then she began touching him, rubbing her palms along his sensitive skin, loving him with gentle caresses.
Together they touched each other’s bodies, quietly listening to the hitching of breaths and the softness of their moans. When he cupped her breast in his palm, he felt the stab of need snake through her body down to the juncture of her thighs, where she was wet and smelling sweet for him.
“You need me,” he said as he nuzzled the tender spot beneath her ear. “I can feel it, that need.”
Her head tipped back and her hair fell down from its pins, spilling out behind her. Daegan had never seen a more erotic or beautiful sight than his wife beneath the moonlight, her eyes closed, her lips parted in ecstasy as he gently fondled her breast.
Needing to taste her, to feel her energy inside him, he took her breast into his mouth. Loving her slowly, he watched her uninhibited response. Seeing her arch, hearing her cry of pleasure made his blood roar in his veins, made the electricity in his body arc wildly.
His erection bobbed, seeking pleasure against her lush belly. He pushed once, feeling the swollen tip of him being cushioned by her soft skin.
“You’ve made me your disciple, muirnín. I’d follow you to hell, you know.”
“Make me your wife, Daegan,” she asked as she rocked against him. “Make it real.”
He followed her down as she slid her legs around his hips, opening herself for him—welcoming him inside her.
She was beautiful there: dark and wet, slick in the moonlight, ready for his penetration. He slid his thumb down her folds, feeling her slickness coating his skin. She writhed, widening her hips, lifting her bottom.
Her gaze found his and she smiled, opening her arms to him. “Come to me.”
In a moment of sheer weakness, he fell onto her, seeking her love. It was a possession he’d never experienced before. A passion he never could have believed existed.
He slid into her, slow and easy, watching the wonder on her face as he filled her full.
His hands came beneath her, cupping her bottom, angling her so that he could penetrate her deeper with each slow, measured thrust. And she took him in, her thighs clutched his hips, gripping him, pulling him farther into her.
In the quiet of his chamber, hidden away, they made love. There were no words. Only gentle caresses and the sighs of lovers whispered between them. It was magic, it was sacred, and Daegan knew, as he found completion deep inside her, that he had at last found his redemption—in his wife’s arms.
As the energy crested within Daegan, Isobel felt hers rise. She clung to him, holding him in, but then it left, that beautiful energy, and became something dark and cold.
“Cailleach!”
Daegan pulled away from her and reached for the dirk that was on the altar. Covering her with the blankets, he spread his arms wide, as if he was protecting her.
“You do not intend to use that sacred knife on me, do you?”
A woman appeared then, seemingly out of a mist. She was tall and shapely, her long hair silvery blond. She was stunningly perfect, yet cold as ice.
“You have made a grievous error by bringing her. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think to hide her from me?”
“Daegan, who is—”
The woman turned on her. “I am Cailleach, the Supreme Goddess of Annwyn. You, mortal, do not belong here.”
Isobel clutched Daegan’s arm. “I am his wife.”
Cailleach laughed. “He is Prince of the Sidhe. My consort. Not a human’s mate.”
Isobel started to retort when Cailleach held up her hand, and Isobel felt her mouth frozen. “Tell your mortal to hold her tongue, or I will cut it out.”
Isobel gave a strangled whimper and Daegan whispered, “Trust me, my love.”
“Now be a good girl and leave here,” Cailleach ordered.
“Do not harm her,” Daegan barked, “or you will do battle with me.”
The goddess gave him a look of pity. “Over her?” Her gaze flickered to Isobel and back. “She is nothing. She is not even pretty. You could have any female in Annwyn.”
“I want Isobel.”
“Well, you can’t have her.” Cailleach raised her hand and sent a pulse of pain through Isobel’s body. “Back to your realm, little mortal, with no memory of my prince.”
“No!”
It was Daegan’s voice and the last thing Isobel heard before awakening in her room.
It was Christmas Eve. The ball was under way, and she was late.