“Ye’re stronger than ye think,” he said, his mouth near her ear.
“Ye sound certain o’ that,” she said.
“I’ve seen yer courage, lass. In the woods, in the halls of this cursed keep. Ye can dae it.”
Isabeau turned her head slightly, her breath brushing his cheek. “An’ what if I dinnae wish tae fight ye?”
Michael hesitated—a heartbeat of stillness, of wanting. Then his hand slid from her wrist to her waist, drawing her closer.
“Then dinnae,” he said.
The words were low, almost a whisper. Their faces were inches apart now, her heartbeat wild under his touch. He guided her again—a half-turn, a shift of weight—but the movement drew her against him fully. Her hands came to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.
The lesson faltered. The air between them thickened, pulsing with something that felt like both danger and homecoming.
“Michael,” she breathed.
He looked down at her, his eyes shadowed with restraint, his voice hoarse. “If ye stay, Isabeau, I cannae promise I’ll remember why this is wrong.”
“Then let it be wrong,” she whispered.
For a long, trembling moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled, the wind sighed against the shutters. Then his control broke and he reached for her, his lips finding hers, fierce and desperate and tender all at once.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and the world beyond the stone walls ceased to exist. Since the last time they had been together, neither of them had spoken about the act. Neither of them had dared, and Isabeau hadn’t dared let herself hope it would happen again either. But she couldn’t resist him, and from the looks of it, neither could Michael.
Now, his hands scrambled to remove her nightgown, his fingers agile and careful, but his movements full of urgency as he pulled at the fabric. Within moments, she was standing naked before him, the gown discarded on the floor beside her, entirely forgotten.
And before she knew it, Michael was on his knees before her, his lips finding the dip of her hip and pressing a soft kiss there. When he looked up at her, his tongue darting out to lick a hot stripe from the top of her mound up to her stomach, Isabeau couldn’t help but gasp, her core pulsing in anticipation.
He was teasing her. His touch was feather-light as he stroked her thighs, her hips, her stomach, his fingers barely touching her, but the touch making her skin erupt in goosebumps. He was so close to her; Isabeau could feel his warm breath fanning over her mound, and a plea lodged itself in her throat—though what she wanted to ask for, she didn’t know.
But then Michael leaned in, his tongue moving lower to lick a circle over her most sensitive spot, and Isabeau was immediately gone, surrendering to the unfamiliar pleasure. His lips closed around her, sucking gently, and her hand reached for him, curling around the back of his head, just so she could have something to hold onto as he began to lick her in earnest. Every moan he gave, every sigh reverberated through her body, increasing her pleasure until she was shaking in his grasp.
The gentle press of his tongue against her folds made Isabeau’s stomach tighten, pressure building quickly inside her. He mouthed at her like a man starved, licking around her folds, dipping the tip of his tongue inside her again and again just to hear her moan his name, just to have her fingers tug at the strands of his hair. Soon, her core began to pulse, a jolt of pleasure coursing through her every time the flat of his tongue pressed against her opening, every time he dragged it up to her most sensitive spot, until stars exploded behind her eyelids when she closed them firmly.
“Eyes on me,” Michael said, pulling back just long enough to grumble out the words before diving back in. Isabeau had no choice but to obey, watching him as he knelt before her, his mouth slick and shiny, his eyes wide as he took in every minute expression she made.
And when his fingers joined his efforts, two plunging deep inside her with ease, it didn’t take long before she finally came apart, shaking as he guided her through the aftershocks of her orgasm.
“Good lass,” he said, kissing his way up her body until he could claim her lips into a heated kiss. Isabeau, still plunged in the depths of her pleasure, was pliant in his arms as Michael carried her to the bed, ridding himself of his clothes quickly to climb over her.
This time, she could finally see him—all of him. His body was all hard muscle, the skin stretching taut over it. Isabeau ran her fingers over his chest, over the swell of his shoulders and his arms, over his back, her gaze drawn downwards until his manhood came into view—long and hard, curving towards his stomach.
At the sight of it, her mouth ran dry, and when Michael took himself in his hand, giving his length a few lazy pumps as he lowered his mouth to her breast, she couldn’t help but moan in anticipation for what was to come.
For a few moments, he was content to pleasure her like this, the wet heat of his mouth around her hardened nipple sending ripples of pleasure through her. But then, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Michael… please,” she said. “Please, I want ye.”
“How sweetly ye beg fer me,” Michael said, a mischievous glint in his eye as he pulled back, lining himself up with her entrance but not yet pushing in. “Tell me… how much dae ye want it?”
Isabeau blushed crimson, embarrassment taking over her. “Michael!” she chastised. “Please!”
“Please what?” he asked. “Ye cannae have what ye want if ye dinnae ask fer it.”
Isabeau gave him an incredulous look, but it quickly became clear to her that he wouldn’t give in—not if she didn’t give him what he wanted.
“Please… please, I want ye inside me.”
