“I don’t feel calm.”
“Distracted, then. Close enough.”
I scoffed. “Is it? Well, let’s find out.”
I leaned back into his touch, brushing my lips against the angle of that chiseled jaw. He dipped his head, seeking more of me.
My hand found its way to his thigh. Even through the fine wool of his trousers, he was hard and tense under my touch. I traced a line along it, feeling him shudder against me.
He caught my hand in his, threading our fingers together. I could’ve sworn I was breathing harder than I had climbing those damned ropes, but his ragged breath matched mine. His lips met mine again in slow, savoring kisses.
His hands circled my waist, splaying wide and hot. I gripped him harder through his trousers and felt him groan into my mouth.
Perhaps in retaliation, he skimmed over my ribs and then cupped my breast through the thin cotton of my shirt. I raised my other hand to tangle in his dark hair, pulling his mouth to mine hungrily.
I didn’t even realize I’d released my usual death grip on the windowsill to touch him until I felt the cool air caress my skin as hishand worked up my shirt. The sensation reminded me of just how frightening this should be.
But I could have died today. It would do no harm to indulge myself in something I wanted, and I did always want Fieran. Perhaps if I gave in, the desire would become easier to control.
Perhaps.
He tangled his hand in my hair, angling my face up to give him better access. My heels slid over the window seat, restless as I sought more of his mouth. The two of us traded hungry, wild kisses. He rolled my nipple between his fingers, and it sent a hungry twinge through my body, but he didn’t do anything more. He just kept massaging my breast until I thought I’d go mad from the heat building inside me.
“What are we doing?” I whispered against his mouth.
“We can stop.”
“Forgetstopping. I don’t want to stop. I’m asking why we’re kissing like a couple of kids.”
He grinned. “And I’m supposed to resist loving you?”
“Shut up.”
His hand delved between my thighs, teasing me over the fabric, and if it were an apology, it was a good one. His touch was too light, so I grabbed his hand, pressing his fingers harder against my aching clit.
“You know what you want,” he murmured, his fingers curling in just the right places now.
His touch sent pulses of heat through my core, and I nuzzled his throat and his jaw, moving as I sought more friction. “More.”
He pushed my underwear down, his warm palm cupping me, his fingers stroking through my folds. My hips rocked up to meet him.
As he kept going, I made a sound I didn’t even recognize. His mouth covered mine, swallowing it greedily, as I rode his palm all the way to my release. I turned my head to one side, then the other, caught in the last wild beats of pleasure, as his fingers pumped steadily against my clit.
As I grew still and limp, his fingers relaxed, but he kept that possessive, intimate grip. His thumb curled across my lower belly, teasing me, and even though my clit was still throbbing and sensitive, fresh tendrils of desire began to root where he touched.
I let my head loll against his chest.
He brushed his lips softly against my forehead. “I’m proud of you.”
I jolted up slightly. “Why?”
My voice came out sharp, annoyed.
“Look,” he said, running his hand over my thigh.
The night had come completely. The sea was a black void far below.
At some point, as my thighs parted for him, my leg had slipped from the windowsill—on the wrong side. My boot dangled over that vast expanse.
