She couldn’t stop it; she couldn’t help herself. The pleasure that ran through her was overwhelming, entirely new, more than anything she could have ever imagined.
Isabeau’s fingers curled into Michael’s shoulders as she held onto him, her hips moving on their own accord to build up a rhythm that had her core pulsing with need. For a few moments, Michael only watched her, pulling back so he could see her flushed face, her lidded eyes, the way her lips had parted around a breathy gasp. Then, he gave Isabeau the kind of grin that made her wish she could hide from his hungry gaze.
But there was something about that gaze that she liked, too. Though embarrassment had flooded her cheeks, she still liked the heated gaze that threatened to bore a hole through her with its intensity. She liked the way Michael tilted his head back, pressing his thigh firmly against her core just to hear her moan, and then swallow that sound with a heated kiss. She liked the way his hand gripped the neckline of her dress, tugging it down demandingly, until the fabric finally gave.
Suddenly, her breasts were freed, her nipples pebbling in the chill. Michael looked at her like a man possessed—his eyes wide, his pupils swallowing the iris. When his hand closed around her breast, his fingers pinching her nipple gently between them, Isabeau couldn’t help but moan, surrendering to the sudden jolt of pleasure.
“I want ye,” Michael said, leaning in for another kiss. Isabeau could feel it—the hard length of his manhood pressing against her thigh, throbbing with every heartbeat. And even as she knew she shouldn’t, even as she knew they should show restraint, she couldn’t stop.
“Then take me,” she demanded, and in the span of a second, they were both too far gone to care.
With a strong hand, Michael grabbed her thigh and pulled it up, wrapping her leg around his waist. Like that, he could press closer, his manhood twitching against her core, her entrance slick with her desire. It didn’t take him long to draw himself out, the tip of his length warm and demanding as it pressed against her opening for the first time, her skirts gathered around her thighs, her entire body pulsing with need.
Michael entered her slowly, the gentle brush of his manhood against her walls stopping her breath short.
“Dae ye want this, fer I will stop if ye dinnae…” he said.
She gazed intae his eyes and whispered shyly, “I dae”.
At first, Isabeau thought it would never end—he kept pushing, deeper and deeper until she was filled to the brim, a little uncomfortable, until their bodies finally met in a soft press. And then, when he was finally seated fully inside her, they let out twin sighs, as if the act had filled them with relief.
It was a relief, of sorts. For Isabeau, it was as if a piece of her had always been missing and she had now found it.
Michael’s lips found her forehead, his arms wrapping tightly around her to hold her close. For a short while, neither of them moved, content to simply hold onto each other, connected like that. But then, Michael gave the faintest thrust of his hips, and they were both gone once more, moaning in unison as they kissed, Michael pushing.
Pleasure coursed through her with every thrust of his hips, the slick sound of their coupling, their breathy moans, her name on Michael’s lips like a prayer loud in her ears, urging her on. With every movement of his hips, her breasts swung freely, Michael’s gaze drawn to them before he looked into her eyes once more, their gazes locking.
“That’s it,” he told her, his lips hovering just over her own. “That’s it, lass… moan fer me. Show me how much ye like it.”
Even if she had wanted to, Isabeau wouldn’t have managed to stay quiet. Every thrust of his hips, every kiss he gave her, every press of his fingers into her body was more than enough to make her cry out in pleasure, her body nothing more than a vessel for it. Her walls parted with ease around him, the slick slide of hismanhood inside her making her core pulse and throb around him, the sensations building until she knew she wouldn’t last much longer.
“I wish I could be inside ye like this forever,” Michael told her, and his hands moved to her rear, holding her tightly to thrust faster, the sudden change in rhythm tearing a moan out of her throat. Like this, it didn’t take her long to reach her climax, her sensitive flesh overstimulated, her body filled entirely by him. She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she couldn’t stop, and she had never felt anything like it before.
As her orgasm coursed through her, she trembled in Michael’s arms, her walls clenching rhythmically around him. Soon, she was pulled into a deep, warm darkness, her entire world narrowing down to that one point where they were joined, where Michael was still thrusting, chasing his own zenith.
And it didn’t take him long to reach it. With a grunt of her name, he pulled back from her and spilled hot over her thighs, and Isabeau couldn’t help but suddenly feel too empty, her core pushing still around nothing.
In the aftermath, Michael pressed his forehead against hers, his breath coming in fast, shallow pants. But the smile on his lips was the warmest Isabeau had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but mirror it as he caressed her hair, his fingers threading through it.
No words were exchanged between them; none would suffice for what they had just shared. But Isabeau knew that nowsomething had shifted between them; something that could never go back to the way it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The sun was still high in the sky when they returned to Castle Inveraray, but the yard was slick with dew and mud, littered still with the ghosts of the recent battle.
And to Michael, it was a terrible reminder of how he had failed.
He dismounted in silence, handing the reins of his horse to a stable hand who dipped his head quickly but said nothing. Isabeau’s softthank yefollowed him, quiet and cautious, before she disappeared through the archway leading to the upper court without so much as looking back at him. It was safer that way—the fewer people saw them together, the easier it would be for them both to keep up pretenses. Still, he watched her go until the folds of her cloak vanished inside the stone building and, for a moment, the world felt colder.
Michael turned toward the training yard, the old habit of motion guiding him. His body ached from too many sleepless nights, from the weight of secrets and half-sworn vows, but he neededthe feel of a sword in his hand, the simple truth of the blade, the rhythm that dulled thought.
A handful of young guards were already there, their laughter thin and tired. Michael chose one of them, a boy no older than twenty, with wind-reddened cheeks and an eager grin, and beckoned him with a nod.
“Care fer a bout?”
The boy brightened, pulling out his practiced blade with a clumsy salute. Michael gave him little time to prepare before he attacked, the dull ring of wood on wood echoing off the courtyard walls. He let the first few strikes come easy, testing the boy’s stance. Then he quickened, forcing the rhythm until the boy’s breath came hard and uneven.
But it wasn’t the match that held his attention. Rather, it was the men at the edges of the yard.
