Chapter 22 #2
A soft laugh escaped her, breaking the tension like light through clouds. "Ye think I scare easily, me laird?"
"Nay," he said, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. "I think ye're the bravest woman I've ever kenned. Which is why I'm asking ye now: are ye certain tae let me dae this?"
In answer, she took his hand and pressed it flat against her chest, letting him feel the rapid beat of her heart beneath her palm. "Daes that feel like uncertainty tae ye?"
His eyes darkened, a hunger flickering to life in their depths that made her breath catch. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers cascading down her spine.
"Then I will nae be gentle, lass. I've waited too long fer this."
The kiss that followed was nothing like the tender one beneath the honeysuckle.
This was a claiming—deep and demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a fierce possessiveness that made her moan against his lips.
His hands moved with purpose, finding the laces of her bodice and working them free with practiced efficiency.
The cool evening air hit her skin as he pushed the fabric aside, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a prayer, before his mouth descended on her nipple.
The sensation was electric—a sharp, sweet jolt that shot straight down to her core. He teased the hardened peak with his tongue, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to make her gasp, his hand coming up to knead the heavy weight of her other breast.
Nandag arched her back, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her as he worshipped her body with an intensity that bordered on desperation. She could feel the damp heat pooling between her thighs, her body aching for something more, something deeper.
"Fearchar," she gasped, her voice trembling. "Please."
He pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing as he looked at her. "Aye, lass. I ken."
With a swift movement, he stood and pulled her to her feet, his hands going to the waist of her skirt.
The heavy wool fell to the ground, followed quickly by her shift, leaving her standing naked in the twilight.
The cool air raised gooseflesh on her skin, but the heat in his gaze was enough to burn her alive.
He stripped off his own doublet and plaid, his movements hurried, almost clumsy in his haste.
When he finally stood before her, naked in the fading light, Nandag couldn't help but stare.
He was magnificent—broad shoulders tapering down to a lean, hard waist, his manhood thick and jutting out from a nest of dark curls.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the length of him, and he hissed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
He was hard as iron, hot to the touch, the velvety skin sliding over the rigid shaft beneath.
She wrapped her hand around him, marveling at the size and weight of him, and began to stroke him slowly.
"Christ, Nandag," he groaned, his head falling back. "Ye'll be the death of me."
She smiled, a surge of feminine power coursing through her. She stroked faster but his hand stopped her.
"Nae yet," he growled against her lips. "I want tae be inside ye when I come."
He lowered her onto the bed again. All she could think about was the emptiness inside her, the desperate need to be filled by him.
He settled between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her to meet him. He teased her entrance with the head of his manhood, sliding it through her slick folds, coating himself in her wetness.
"Look at me, Nandag," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want tae see yer eyes when I take ye."
She locked her gaze with his, her breath catching in her throat as he began to push inside. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that made her toes curl. He went slowly, giving her time to adjust to his size, inch by thick inch.
When he was finally seated to the hilt, they both let out a ragged breath. He felt huge inside her, filling her, stretching her until she felt like she might split apart. It was a delicious ache, a pressure that built deep in her belly.
He began to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, grinding against her with each thrust. Nandag wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper.
The friction was incredible, the head of his manhood dragging against that sensitive spot inside her that made her see stars.
"Faster," she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Fearchar."
He didn't hesitate. His rhythm increased, his hips snapping against hers with a wet, slapping sound that echoed in the quiet chamber.
The mattress beneath them rocked with the force of his thrusts, but Nandag barely noticed.
All she could focus on was the coil of pleasure tightening in her core, winding tighter and tighter with every stroke.
She could feel the tension building, a familiar pressure that signaled her release was close. He reached down between them, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing the tight bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts.
"Aye, that's it," he growled, his eyes never leaving hers. "Come fer me, lass. Let me feel it."
The combination of his thick manhood pounding into her and his own fingers on her clit was too much.
With a cry that was half-sob, half-moan, she shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her, her inner muscles clamping down on him like a vice, waves of pleasure crashing over her, leaving her gasping and trembling.
Fearchar groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as her folds spasmed around him. "I cannae hold it," he gritted out, his jaw clenched tight. "Nandag—"
With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her and let go.
She felt him pulse, hot jets of his cum filling her, marking her as his from the inside out.
He collapsed against her, his weight pinning her to the bed, his face buried in the crook of her neck as they both struggled to catch their breath.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths and the distant hoot of an owl. Nandag ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her release.
Fearchar lifted his head, his eyes soft as they met hers. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, before capturing her lips in a tender, lingering kiss.
"Ye are mine," he whispered against her lips, the words a vow. "Now and ferever."
Nandag smiled, her heart feeling so full it might burst. "And ye are mine, me laird."
He shifted, pulling her into his lap as he sat back, wrapping his plaid around them both to ward off the cooling night air. They sat there in the darkness, holding each other close, the scent of sex heavy in the air around them.