Chapter 19 #3
“I need to shower,” I say roughly, even as I pull her closer. “I'm covered in sweat and?—”
“I don't care.”
“Bianca—”
She kisses me. Actually initiates it this time, rising on her toes to press her mouth to mine.
I tense in surprise for half a second before I melt into her, my hands tightening on her waist, pulling her flush against me.
She gasps at the contact, feeling every ridge of muscle, every scar, every rapid beat of my heart. I'm covered in sweat and blood, and she doesn't care .
She's kissing me anyway.
When we break apart, we're both panting.
“You're making it very difficult to be a gentleman, lass,” I murmur against her lips.
“Maybe I don't want you to be a gentleman.”
Fire shoots through my veins. My cock hardens instantly, and I know she can feel it pressed against her.
“Don't say that unless you mean it,” I warn.
“I'm not ready for—” She swallows. “For everything. But I want—” She's blushing now, struggling. “I want to touch you. I want you to touch me. I want to know what this is between us.”
Christ, she's going to kill me.
I search her face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But all I see is want.
“Come with me,” I say, taking her hand.
I lead her back outside, where a sprinkle of sand still trickles from the break in the bag.
“I train every morning,” I tell her, positioning myself where she can see. “Have since I was fifteen. My uncle Tiernan taught me. Said a man needs to know how to fight to protect what's his.”
“Is that what I am?” she asks softly. “ Yours?”
I meet her eyes. I’ll tell her every damn day if she needs to hear it. “Aye. You've been mine since the moment I saw you, lass. It just took you six years to catch up.”
I turn and face the bag again.
“This is who I am,” I say between moves. “I fight because if I don't, I'll go mad. I fight because it's the only way I know how to cope with wanting you every second of every day and not being able to have you.”
“We’re all mad here,” she says with a smile. “Remember? And you have me now.”
I stop mid-punch, breathing hard. “Do I?”
“I'm here, aren't I?”
“For how long?” The words come out raw, vulnerable in a way I hate. “Until you get scared again? Until you realize what a monster I am?”
“You're not a monster.”
“I've killed people, Bianca. More than I can count. I've done terrible things, things that would make you run screaming if you knew.”
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't back away.
“Have you killed anyone who didn't deserve it?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Have you killed innocent people? Children? Women who didn't pose a threat? ”
“Never.”
“Then maybe you're not a monster.” She moves closer, and I'm frozen. “You're a weapon. There's a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” She traces the scar on my cheekbone, and I close my eyes at the gentleness of it. “Weapons can be used for good or evil. It's all about who's wielding them. Don’t you think I’ve learned anything reading reams of Arthurian legend?” She smiles. “That's not monstrous. That's?—”
“What?”
“Beautiful.”
Something snaps inside me.
I make a sound low in my throat—half growl, half groan—and then she's in my arms. I lift her clean off her feet, and she wraps her legs around my waist on instinct.
Perfect. She fits right here.
I kiss her desperately, hungrily, walking us toward the cabin. My hands grip her thighs, her arse, holding her to me. I could carry her for miles and never tire. I welcome the feel of her skin against mine, the reassuring beat of her heartbeat.
“Bianca,” I growl against her neck. “If you don't stop me now?—”
“Don't stop. ”
I press her against the cabin wall, my hips rolling against hers. She gasps, and I do it again, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. The hard length of my cock grinds against her through our clothes, right where she needs it.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, her head falling back against the wood. “Ashland?—”
“Feel that, lass?” I grind against her again, harder this time, hitting that perfect spot. “That's what you do to me. Have done for fucking years.”
Her legs tighten around my waist, and she starts moving with me, seeking friction. Christ, she's so responsive. So perfect when she whimpers and moans.
“That's it,” I rasp, adjusting the angle so I'm hitting her clit with every thrust. Even through our clothes, I can feel the heat of her. “Take what you need from me.”
She's panting now, little desperate sounds escaping her throat as she moves against me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her face flushed and beautiful.
“I can't—” She gasps. “Ashland, I'm?—”
“Go ahead, Bianca. Let me feel you.”
I grind against her harder, faster, watching her face as she falls apart. Her mouth opens in a silent cry, her whole body going taut in my arms as she trembles through it. I can feel her pulsing, even through our clothes, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to follow her over that edge .
“ Fuck …” I breathe against her neck, holding still as she comes down, her body still shaking with aftershocks. “You're so fucking beautiful when you come.”
She's trembling against me, and I can see her pupils still blown wide with want.
“That was—” she starts, but seems unable to finish.
“Just the beginning,” I promise her, even as my cock screams at me for relief.
“Not like this.” I pant, fighting for control even as every instinct screams at me to take her right here. “Not against a wall for our first time. You deserve better.”
“I don't care?—”
“I do.” I set her down gently but keep her caged against the wall, my arms on either side of her. “When I take you, lass, it'll be in a bed. Slow. Thorough. I'll take my time learning every inch of you. Make you come so many times you forget your own name.”
She's still catching her breath, her lips swollen, her hair wild.
“When?” she breathes out.
“When you're ready. When you can tell me you want this—want me—without a single doubt in your mind.” I trace her swollen bottom lip with my thumb. “I've waited six years. I can wait a little longer.”
“What if I'm ready now? ”
My smile is pained. “You're still processing. Still figuring out what you feel. And I won't take advantage of that, no matter how much I want to.”
And I do want to, so fucking badly.
“You're infuriating.”
“Aye. But I'm also right.” I force myself to step back, putting distance between us before I lose control completely. “Go get dressed, lass. I'll make breakfast.”
“Ashland—”
“After we eat, you're going to ask me every question you have. About the watching, the photos, all of it. And I'm going to answer honestly. No more secrets between us.” I let her see the seriousness in my eyes.
I turn and head inside before I can change my mind. Before I can throw her over my shoulder and take her to bed, like every instinct is screaming at me to do.
In the kitchen, I lean against the counter, my hands gripping the edge, breathing hard.
She called my violence beautiful.