Chapter 20 #2
Alpin closed his eyes, his grip on her waist tightening until it bruised, holding her fast against the wind that howled off the dark water below.
The heavy oak door of the Laird’s chambers clicked shut, the sound echoing in the vast, stone-walled room.
Grisselle stood near the crackling hearth, its warmth a stark contrast to the cool night air clinging to her skin.
She watched Alpin turn the heavy iron key.
For weeks, they had circled each other, a dance of stolen glances across the great hall, hands brushing by accident in the narrow passageways, conversations heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
Tonight, the pretense was gone.
He moved toward her, his steps deliberate on the thick sheepskin rugs. The firelight carved his features in shifting planes of gold and shadow, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the intensity burning in his dark eyes.
He stopped before her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the scent of heather and leather and man that was uniquely Alpin. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The air between them was thick with a yearning so potent it was almost a physical presence.
His hands, rough and calloused from sword and reins, rose to cup her face. The touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the coiled strength she knew thrummed beneath his skin. His thumbs traced the high curve of her cheekbones, a slow, reverent exploration that sent a shiver down her spine.
Grisselle’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his touch.
His fingers slid from her face down to the neckline of her gown, finding the first of the small, bone laces.
He worked them with the same deliberate patience, his knuckles brushing against her throat with each pull.
The fabric loosened, then more, the cool air whispering against her heated skin.
She could feel her own pulse hammering in her neck, a frantic beat against his slowing, methodical movements.
When the last lace was free, the heavy wool of her gown sighed down her arms, pooling at her feet in a soft heap.
The firelight bathed her bare skin, and she felt a moment’s hesitation, a reflexive shyness. It vanished when she heard the low, guttural sound that rumbled in Alpin’s chest.
He looked at her as if she were a vision, something holy and wild all at once.
His palms covered the fullness of her breasts, their weight settling into his hands.
His thumbs circled her nipples, once, twice, and the sensation shot through her like a lightning strike.
They pebbled instantly, tightening into sensitive points that ached for more of his touch.
He groaned again, the sound a raw, primal acknowledgment of her response.
Her own hands were not idle. They moved to the thick leather belt at his waist, fumbling with the heavy buckle before it came free with a soft clink.
She tugged his linen shirt from the waistband of his trews, her fingers trembling slightly as she found the hem and pulled it upward.
He raised his arms, and she dragged the fabric over his head, tossing it aside.
Her palms flattened against the warm, solid wall of his chest, and he shuddered, a full-body tremor that she felt through her hands and deep in her own core.
She explored him, her fingers tracing the hard ridges of his pectoral muscles, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that narrowed down his stomach to disappear into the waistband of his trews.
The texture of it was rough against her sensitive fingertips, a stark contrast to the smooth skin beneath.
When her hand dipped lower, intending to free him completely, he stilled her. He caught her wrists in one of his large hands, his grip firm but not painful.
“Nae yet,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her ear.
He lifted her arms, pressing her wrists above her head against the dark, carved wood of the bedpost. The position arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward, making her feel vulnerable and exposed in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through her veins.
He lowered her then, his body following hers down onto the thick furs spread before the hearth.
The soft pelts cushioned their fall, a luxurious bed.
His mouth found her breast, his tongue swirling around one tight nipple while his fingers rolled and pinched the other.
The dual sensation was exquisite, a wet, hot pressure and a sharp, pleasurable tug.
She arched against him, a gasp tearing from her throat, her nails raking across the broad expanse of his shoulders. He didn’t flinch, only growled low in his approval.
He moved lower, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire down her ribs and the soft plane of her belly.
He paused to dip his tongue into her navel, and she squirmed, a breathy laugh mixing with a moan.
Then he settled between her thighs, his shoulders pushing them wider.
She felt the ghost of his breath, hot and moist, against the slick folds of her clit.
The anticipation was a torture, a sweet, agonizing torment.
When his mouth finally met her there, she cried out, a sharp, uninhibited sound of pure pleasure. His tongue was bold and knowing, parting her wet lips to find the swollen bud of her clit. He circled it with deliberate, maddening pressure, learning her shape, her rhythm.
Her fingers tangled in his thick hair, holding him to her as her hips rose off the furs to meet each stroke.
He worked her relentlessly, his mouth a perfect instrument of pleasure.
Two long fingers slid inside her, stretching her tight channel, and he curled them just so, finding a spot deep inside that made her see stars.
The combination of his tongue on her clit and his fingers stroking that hidden place was overwhelming.
“Alpin.” His name was a broken plea on her lips, a promise and a surrender all at once.
The tension inside her coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding to its breaking point.
His movements became more insistent, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers pumping deeper.
The world narrowed to the point of contact between his mouth and her flesh, to the heat building in her belly.
With a final, sharp cry, the spring snapped.
Her orgasm crashed over her in a powerful wave, her body convulsing, her inner walls clamping down on his fingers as pleasure flooded every nerve ending.
He rose over her then, his body a taut, powerful shadow in the firelight.
He settled between her thighs, the hard, thick length of his manhood pressing against her slick, sensitive flesh.
He didn’t enter her. Instead, he began to move, grinding against her, the shaft of his manhood sliding over her clit, still swollen and throbbing from her orgasm.
The friction was a new, exquisite torment, building a second fire even as the embers of the first still glowed. He braced his forearms on either side of her head, his forehead resting against hers, their breath mingling in the heated space between them.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice ragged.
Her eyes, which had drifted shut in bliss, fluttered open.
She met his gaze, and the raw, unguarded desire she saw there stole her breath.
Their bodies moved together in a desperate, slick rhythm, a dance of pure friction and heat.
His breathing grew harsh, ragged groans tearing from his throat with every thrust of his hips.
Her own sounds were a litany of soft moans and whimpers, the pleasure building again, impossibly fast.
She watched his face, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened as he stared down at her.
The pressure against her clit was relentless, a perfect, hard stroke that pushed her right to the edge again.
When her second orgasm hit her, it was sharper, more intense, a series of powerful, shuddering contractions that ripped a scream from her lungs.
As her clits spasmed against him, Alpin’s rhythm faltered. He drove against her one last time, a hard, deep grind, and then he was coming. A guttural groan was wrenched from his chest as his manhood pulsed, spilling his hot, thick cum against her belly in long, powerful spurts.
He collapsed against her, his full weight pressing her into the furs, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
They lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat and his seed, their breathing slowly returning to normal. The fire crackled, casting a warm, steady glow over them.
He shifted, rolling to his side but keeping an arm draped possessively over her waist. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her shoulder. In the quiet aftermath, wrapped in his arms and the scent of their lovemaking,
Grisselle felt a peace she had never known. They hadn’t joined in the way of a husband and wife, but they were bound as surely as if they had, their souls tangled together just as their limbs were.
For this one night, they were everything to each other.