Chapter 23 #2
She started to fumble at the laces to his braies then, but he stopped her, fingers fastening around her wrist. “We should stop there for the moment,” he said, voice strained.
“Or this will be over far too soon.” And with that, eyes glinting in the lantern-light, he reached out and began to unlace the front of her kirtle.
The warm, close air inside the forge—for despite that she hadn’t worked today, heat lingered in this place long after the fire went out—feathered across her naked breasts.
Then he bent his head, cupping them in his large hands and lifting them to his lips.
And then he began to suck, slowly and languidly, as he had on the summit of Ben More, not rushing now, but savoring her. “Christ, ye have beautiful paps,” he murmured against one of her breasts.
Warmth rolled over Brìghde. As inflamed as she was by his words, she was also a trifle embarrassed. “I’ve always thought my nipples were a bit big,” she murmured. “Out of proportion with everything else.”
He breathed an oath. “No, lass, they’re … perfect.”
And with that, he resumed caressing them, sucking, lathing each swollen peak with his tongue before grazing his teeth over the sensitive tips.
And by the time he was done, Brìghde had slumped back against the door, trembling.
His breathing ragged now, Greig took her by the hand and drew her with him away from the door to the bench, a few feet down from where the lantern glowed.
And then, in one swift movement, he slid his hands down her back, past where the material had bunched at her waist, and lifted her easily up onto the bench.
A sharp gasp escaped Brìghde. She wasn’t a small woman, yet he’d managed that easily.
Her heart started to pound then, as she realized the bench was the perfect height for coupling. Their groins were level now.
He hiked up her skirts then, parting her legs wide.
Her breathing caught, nervousness assailing her.
As much as she wanted this man, she was also aware that all of this was new. She had no idea how it would feel to be touched intimately by him, or to join with him. And despite her eagerness and boldness earlier, she suddenly felt out of her depth.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if she had been a fool.
To her surprise, he stepped between her spread thighs, his fingers tracing her jaw and raising her chin, so their gazes met once more.
“Tell me to stop,” he said huskily, “and I will. We don’t have to take things any further.”
Their gazes locked, and her nervousness eased. But suddenly, the thought of breaking things off, of ending this delicious exploration, made Brìghde’s belly twist.
No, she couldn’t.
She needed him to touch her.
She needed to know what being taken by Greig Maclean was like.
She wasn’t a fool. She understood they had no future.
But her craving for him overrode all else. She couldn’t turn away from this.
Aye, perhaps she might have regrets in the days or weeks or months to come, but she didn’t now. In fact, there was a part of her that thought she might die of wanting if she didn’t have him.
Wetting her lips with her tongue, she cleared her throat. “I don’t want to stop, Greig,” she whispered. “Do ye?”
He gave a shaky laugh, and suddenly the tough, cynical warrior she’d known over the past year disappeared. The vulnerability in those night-brown eyes nearly undid her. “God, I want ye, Brì,” he said, his voice rough now. “I have never wanted anything more. But I had to be sure.”
She reached up then, her hands sliding along his strong jaw. His short beard was surprisingly soft under her fingertips. She then traced her thumb along the swell of his lower lip, her breath hitching when he drew the tip of her thumb into his mouth and bit it gently.
No more words were needed now.
They’d made their pact.
A moment later, Greig lowered himself between her open thighs. He then pushed them apart even further.
His gaze scorched her, heat washing up from the cradle of her hips to her chest and then her throat.
Oh, Hades. This was intimate indeed; far more vulnerable than she was ready for. But she’d told him she wanted this, and she did. And so, she held fast under his scrutiny.
Greig bent his head then, brushing his lips along her inner thigh.
And then his mouth was there—right there, between her legs.
A heartbeat later, his tongue gave one slow, firm, deliberate stroke right down the center of her.
Brìghde couldn’t help it. She gasped a curse, bucking against him.
His hands tightened on her thighs, bearing her wider still. And then his mouth was devouring her.
Brìghde started to shake, her hands bracing hard against the bench, her head falling back as her eyes closed.
She was sure Duart’s chaplain would declare such an act a sin, but she didn’t care.
This felt incredible.
Aye, she’d touched herself sometimes over the years, exploring her quim with her fingers under the cover of darkness as she lay on her cot. It had felt good—sometimes so much so that she’d had to swallow her moans.
However, it was nothing like this.
This was wild. Raw.
And Greig’s tongue was relentless.
It wasn’t long before tension started to coil in her loins, rising like a swelling tide. And as it did, she pushed herself against him, angling her hips up to give him better access.
He slid his hands under her then, cupping her naked buttocks and hauling her closer still. And then, when he started to suck at the most sensitive spot between her thighs, the pleasure that had been swelling inexorably burst.
It stole the breath from her lungs. For a moment, she wasn’t in the forge—not in Duart—not anywhere at all. Just flying.
A hot, delicious sensation pulsed out in languid ripples that made her toes curl, made her arch up against him, her entire body shuddering as his tongue continued to flick and swirl.
He seemed determined to wring every bit of delight from her.
She had never felt anything like it.
Eventually, as she sagged back on the bench, panting and sweaty, he pushed himself up from between her legs, breathing hard, his cheekbones flushed.
Her kirtle and lèine were bunched around her waist, badly rumpled now, no doubt, but she couldn’t have cared less. Instead, she stared at Greig, marking how his gaze had hooded, the way his broad chest rose and fell shallowly, and his swollen, wet lips.
“Show me,” she murmured, her fingers trailing down his naked belly. “I want to give ye the same pleasure.”
His lips quirked, even as his gaze burned into her. “Ye don’t have to, lass. Ye—”
His voice cut off then as her hand palmed the tip of his erection.
It had swollen even further, the crown fully emerging from the waistband of his braies now.
It took little to free it.
And as she pushed his braies down over his narrow hips, his rod—thick and swollen, a vein coiling around its underside—reared up from a nest of dark curls.
“Show me,” she repeated firmly. “I wish to learn.”
He took a deep, ragged breath then and stepped back, grabbing her hand and drawing her off the bench.
“All right then, Brì,” he growled. “On yer knees.”