Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eva felt the world narrow to the press of his chest and the steady strength of his hands on her waist that held her upright. A rush of warmth swept through her, and she marveled at how easily he made her knees tremble.
She had known want before in quiet, distant ways, but this was different, sharp and alive low in her belly. It startled her how safe and undone she felt all at once.
“Connor,” she whispered his name as he softly kissed her neck.
Her hands moved of their own will, sliding over the hard planes of his back, and she felt the strength earned by years of blade and battle. Beneath her palms, muscle shifted and flexed, solid and reassuring, as if he were carved from the very stone of his lands.
She traced the breadth of his shoulders, wide and unyielding, and thought that this was what a true warrior felt like. The thought made her breath hitch, and she leaned into him without thinking.
“When ye whisper me name like so, it makes me blood rise,” he growled.
Eva’s fingers found their way into his long hair, and she felt a shiver answer the touch in them both.
She liked the contrast of it, the softness threaded through such raw power, and it made her heart race.
He smelled of leather, clean sweat, and the outdoors, and it wrapped around her senses.
In that moment, she understood why women spoke of warriors in hushed tones.
She drew back just enough to look at him, her cheeks flushed and her lips still tingling. In her chest bloomed a quiet certainty that frightened her more than the desire did.
“Show me the ways of woman and man, please,” she pleaded.
“Ye have a way of the tongue,” he smirked.
She was drawn to him, body and soul, whether it was wise or not. Eva thought, with a mix of wonder and fear.
She felt his fingers working the laces of her corset with a care that surprised her, each pull slow and deliberate as if he were giving her time to change her mind.
When the fabric loosened and parted, he asked, “What happened here, lass?”
A pale burn scar curved along her skin, stark against the softness around it. A scar she had forgotten until this moment.
Eva felt heat rush to her face, sharper than any desire, and she turned away as her hand flew up to cover herself.
She shook her head and said quickly, “It’s nothin’, just an accident when I was wee.”
Her voice wavered despite her effort to sound light. She took a step back, as if distance might erase what he had seen.
Connor reached for her wrist gently and stopped her retreat, his touch firm but not rough.
He lowered her hand and said, “Daenae hide yerself from me, Eva.” His eyes searched her face rather than the scar, as if the truth mattered more than the mark. “Tell me,” He said softly.
She swallowed and drew a breath, the memory rising unbidden.
“I’d been tryin’ to make stew for me family, too young to ken better, when the pot tipped and the fire caught me skin.” She laughed weakly and said she had wanted to be useful, wanted to help her mother and her wee brother. The words tumbled out, half apology, half confession.
As she spoke, Eva felt suddenly bare in more ways than one, her confidence draining away.
The scar had always been a thing she hid, a flaw she carried quietly.
In that moment, she felt ugly, marked, and foolish for thinking she could ever be desired without condition.
Her shoulders slumped as the thought settled heavy in her chest.
He lifted her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. “There’s nothin’ shameful in that,” he said firmly, his voice thick with feeling. “Ye were brave, even then.”
She tried to laugh it off, but her eyes stung, and she looked away again. “Bravery doesnae change how it looks, or how folk might see it.”
The words tasted bitter, shaped by years of quiet doubt. She braced herself for pity, or worse, polite silence.
Instead, Connor’s hand slid to the edge of her bodice, and he gently pulled the fabric aside again. He leaned down, slow enough that she could stop him if she wished, and pressed his lips to the scar.
The kiss was warm and reverent, lingering in a way that made her breath catch. Eva gasped, a soft sound of shock and pleasure mingled together.
He kissed it again, then once more, as if committing it to memory.
“This doesnae make ye lesser,” he murmured against her skin. “It tells me ye survived.”
His hands steadied her as her knees weakened beneath the weight of his words.
Eva felt something inside her loosen, a knot she had carried for years, beginning to unravel.
The place that had always filled her with shame now thrummed with sensation, warmth spreading outward.
She rested her forehead against his shoulder, overwhelmed and trembling. In that moment, she believed him.
When she finally looked up, his eyes held nothing but certainty.
He brushed his thumb along her cheek and said, “Every part of ye is bonnie, scar and all.”
The truth of it rang through her, stronger than fear. Eva closed her eyes, letting herself feel wanted, wholly and without apology.
Connor’s mouth found hers again, slow at first, as if he were asking rather than taking. His lips were warm and sure, and the gentle scrape of his breath against her skin made her knees soften.
She lifted her hands to his chest, feeling the solid breadth of him beneath her palms, and marveled at how alive she felt.
“Ye undo me,” she whispered, the words trembling free before she could stop them.
Connor answered with a low sound in his throat, his brow resting briefly against hers as if he needed the pause.
“I’ve wanted this since the first moment ye looked at me like ye dinnae fear me,” he murmured.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing along her skin with aching tenderness. Eva leaned into the touch, her heart pounding as though it might burst.
He kissed her again, deeper now, and she opened to him without thinking, guided by instinct rather than sense. The feel of his mouth, firm yet unhurried, sent a shiver through her that reached all the way to her toes.
Her fingers slid up into his long hair, marveling at its thickness as she held him there. “Connor,” she breathed, his name a plea she barely understood.
He drew back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and intent, as though she were the only thing anchoring him.
“Say me name again,” he said softly, his voice roughened by want.
“Connor.”
When she did, he smiled, a flash of something fierce and possessive that made her breath hitch.
Connor’s fingers drifted down the side of her neck, leaving sparks in their wake.
Eva gasped at the simple touch, stunned by how something so small could make her feel so undone. She slid her hands over his shoulders, broad and unyielding, and felt the strength coiled there like a promise.
“I dinnae ken touch could feel like this,” she admitted quietly.
“Aye,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple, then her cheek, as though he were learning her by heart. “That’s what happens when ye stop fightin’ what ye want.”
His hand moved to her waist, resting there with deliberate restraint, and the contact alone made her shiver. Eva pressed closer without thinking, drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame.
“Daenae stop,” she whispered, emboldened by the way his body responded to her touch.
Connor’s hand slid down her arm, his fingers lacing with hers as if to anchor them both. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, reverent and unhurried, before guiding her to the bed.
“I willnae rush ye,” he said, his tone solemn despite the fire in his eyes. “But I cannae pretend I daenae want ye.”
Eva’s heart fluttered at the honesty in his words, and she nodded, unable to find her voice.
She sat back on the bed. His arm curved around her back, holding her close without trapping her. In that embrace, she felt safe and desired in equal measure as he placed kisses down her neck onto her chest.
But he didn’t stop there. Her eyes grew wide as he kissed down her body until he pushed her skirts to her waist. She wanted him to stop out of sheer embarrassment, but the desire was too strong.
He carefully pulled the layers of underthings off of her, leaving on her stockings that were tied with ribbon at her thighs. He placed a soft kiss on each ribbon.
Eva’s chest heaved up and down. Unsure of what to make of this man between her thighs, kissing her most intimate places.
His hand slid up and rested on her sacred center.
“Oh,” she gasped.
“Shh, ye will see, lass,” he said.
Eva felt the warmth of Connor’s thumb settle on her rosebud, steady and sure, as though he were afraid she might vanish if he pressed too hard.
His thumb began to work in slow circles. She let out a breath she had not realized she’d been holding. The simple intimacy of the touch made her knees soften again, not with heat this time, but with a deep, soothing pulse.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to trust the moment.
“That’s it. Let me pleasure ye,” Connor murmured, his voice low and gentle.
His finger moved with skill.
Eva gave a small, embarrassed laugh, “It tickles.”
“Let it be. Daenae fight it,” he replied softly.
As his other hand traced slow, respectful paths along her leg, Eva became acutely aware of every place he touched. The warmth of his palms seeped into her, loosening something tight and guarded inside her chest.
She rested her hands on his shoulders, grounding herself as sensation rippled outward.
“Yer hands are magic,” she said quietly, in awe.
“I could say the same of ye,” he said, his thumb moving faster as if to emphasize his words.
Her cheeks warmed at the movement, and she shook even as she smiled. She had never thought of herself that way, never allowed such thoughts to linger. That she could please a man like him.
“Ye daenae need to flatter me,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction as she could barely say the words.
Connor’s hands resumed their slow path, thumb pressing just enough to make her gasp.
“I speak only what I see,” he replied, his tone firm with certainty.
His fingers brushed lightly along her thigh, and he added, “Yer skin, smooth as porcelain, warm as the hearth, and far more precious.”
Eva’s breath caught at the words, her heart thudding hard as she absorbed them. No one had ever spoken of her like that, as though she were something to be treasured.
“Ye make it hard nae to believe ye,” she admitted, her voice soft and unguarded.
Connor smiled then, slow and tender, and his mouth came to rest at her sacred place. Eva gasped as her fingers pressed into his shoulders.
“Oh what are ye doin’, Connor?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’m obeyin’ yer order to show ye what a woman and man do,” he said.
With those words she felt his tongue do what his thumb had been doing. Massaging her rosebud. He flicked it back and forth on her as his strong hands scooped her bottom and drew her against him.
Eva wiggled in confusion. She didn’t understand this sensation that was growing between her thighs. She wanted to move away simply because it was too much. The pulsing grew and grew.
“I… somethin’ is happenin’ to me. I feel it inside me,” she said.
“Aye, give into it, lass. I want to taste yer juices,” he growled.
Eva felt her body tense. She squeezed her thighs against him as a sudden release shuddered through her.
“Oh, Connor. Connor,” she groaned.
He growled as he slowly licked her and drank her juices. Eva twisted the sheets in her fingers. Her body trembled. She had never known a feeling like this.
For a long moment they stayed that way, wrapped in quiet warmth and unspoken promise as he softly kissed her thighs.
Eva felt calmer than she had in years, her body eased, and her heart strangely light.
Whatever lay ahead for them, she knew this moment would linger with her. And for the first time, the thought of what was to come did not frighten her at all.
In fact, I want more.