Laoghaire put a hand to his mouth, silencing him. “’Tis better this way. We were strangers on our wedding night. And now we are not. Which is why I can now take pleasure in the marriage bed.”
Surprised by her candor, Galen slowly drew a finger along the curve of her bare breast. When he circled her nipple, the rosy-hued areola puckered around the hardened knot.
Laoghaire quickly responded to the gentle caress, her lips parting on a soft whimper.
Passion is the key to taming her, Galen realized, elated that he’d finally found a way to control his wild Highland bride.
Sliding his hand to the outer curve of Laoghaire’s hip, Galen palmed a snowy-white buttock. With a wolfish grin he pulled Laoghaire toward him and let her feel his arousal as he pressed himself against her belly.
Playfully pushing on his chest, his lady wife urged him onto his back. Smiling winsomely, she sprawled her upper body across his torso. Her long tresses blazed all about them, a shimmering flame to ward off the gloomy rain that was visible beyond the grotto. Wrapping a length of those coppery tresses in his hand, Galen rubbed the silky strands across his cheek.
She is right. ’Tis better that we waited. Now she is soft and willing, her passion freely given.
And yet, even though they’d partaken of that most intimate of acts, his beautiful Celtic wife was still a tantalizing mystery, one which he was determined to decipher.
With that thought in mind, Galen reached up to finger the blue stone that Laoghaire wore around her neck on a thin chain. “Why are you wearing this?” Strangely fashioned, the stone had a hole in the center of it. “It looks to be some sort of pagan charm.”
Laoghaire’s playful expression instantly vanished. “’Tis agloine nan Druidh,” she informed him, somewhat defensively.
“Agloine nan Druidh,” he repeated, wondering at the sudden change in her demeanor. “I do not know what this means.”
“It means Druid’s glass. ’Twas a gift from Laoghaire Odhar Fiosaiche.”
“Ah, yes,” he remarked, well recalling the name, having first heard it on the memorable occasion of their wedding banquet. “He was the Druid sorcerer who brought you into this world.”
“He was not a sorcerer!” Laoghaire exclaimed, as she pried the stone from his fingers. “He was—”
“A seer,” Galen said over the top of her objection. “And, yes, I know there is a difference.”
Laoghaire clutched the blue stone in her balled fist. “Then, ye don’t mind if I wear it?”
“It matters naught to me,” he said with a careless shrug. Although the strangely-fashioned charm obviously held some importance to her, he considered it a harmless trinket. “But if I were you, I would make certain our flabby-jowled priest doesn’t catch sight of your Druid’s glass. The Church frowns on both sorcerer and seer alike.”
“And what would the priest say if he discovered that we consummated our marriage in a place once sacred to the ancient pagans?” Laoghaire inquired with a teasing lilt in her voice.
Galen spared a quick glance at the mysterious symbols that covered the walls of the grotto. “I shudder to think.”
“Aye, I would have ye shudder . . . just as ye did when ye filled me with yer seed.”
Those highly charged words, and the erotic image they evoked, made Galen go taut and hard, filling him with manly satisfaction. His lady wife made no secret that she wanted him to once again mate with her.
Yea, I will rut on her. Rut on her until we are both rendered senseless.
Suddenly ravenous for her, the blood thundering in his veins, Galen wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Laoghaire’s warm, willing body. Making love to her had been akin to riding through a wild storm at full gallop, and he was now ready for a second charge. Acting on that impulse, he began to massage Laoghaire’s breasts, entranced by the stark contrast of his bronzed hands against her pale skin. When a nipple slipped between his fingers, Galen clamped his lips around it and nudged the hardened knot with his tongue.
Moaning softly, Laoghaire clutched hold of his shoulder.
Galen wedged his other hand between her legs and slipped his middle finger into her chasm. After plunging her several times, he removed his finger and carefully examined the residue that coated it.
I want to worship at her woman’s nave, which smells not of incense and beeswax candles, but of my must, my tangy seed.
“Yea, Laoghaire, you are wet andwarm and ready for me.”
That was all the warning Galen gave before he took hold of Laoghaire by the hips and hoisted her on the top of him.
Almost immediately her eyes went round with surprise. “We cannot mate with me astride ye like this.”
“We can if you get onto your knees and ride my rod as you would a horse,” he told her. Still gripping her by the hips, Galen urged Laoghaire to raise her buttocks. Once she had complied, he took hold of her right hand and wrapped it around his erection. At seeing her skittish expression, he said in a reassuring voice, “Take as much as you can and ride as fast or slow as you please.”
