“Christ,” she breathed.
She could barely be coherent through the waves of blinding pleasure.
Neil used his mouth on her like a man eating a ripe fruit, messy and hungry. He licked into her, his nose pressed against her. He found the little bundle of nerves and sucked, not gently.
Her thighs clamped around his ears, muffling the world outside the hall, and all he could hear was the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth working her and her ragged breath.
He slid a finger into her, then another. She was tight, hot, and slick. He curled his fingers, pumping slowly in time with the strokes of his tongue.
She was dripping, her arousal slicking his chin. He added a third finger, stretching her, and she let out a curse in Gaelic that might as well have been gibberish.
He could feel her body coiling, her belly quivering under his other hand. Her heels dug into his back, and the table legs screeched on the stone floor, a rhythmic scrape against her gasps.
“Daenae stop,” she moaned. “Daenae ever stop,”
He had no intention to.
His jaw ached, but the ache was good. It was a feeling. Her taste was all over him—in his nose, in his mouth. He pushed his fingers deeper, curling them, and his tongue continued to stroke her, fast and relentless.
Her body contracted one last time with a shout that echoed off the low ceiling. The sound was raw, like it was ripped out of her depths. Her walls clenched around his fingers rhythmically, pausing with a slick grip.
He kept his mouth on her, stroking her more gently a she rode out the wave of pleasure. Soon, she grew way too sensitive and gripped his shoulder hard, silently telling him to stop.He withdrew his fingers and pulled back.
She lay on the table, panting. The linen was warm where her hands had curled. A spoon lay on the floor, and a shard of porcelain glittered near a chair leg.
Neil stood over her, his chest rising and falling. His gaze flicked over her face, then away, then back. Something akin to satisfaction glinted there, but so did something akin to regret. He reached out as if to touch her cheek again, then paused, his hand curling around air.
Kristen tried to sit up, but her legs trembled. The edge of the table bit into her palms. He steadied her with a single hand under her elbow, firm and gentle. A simple touch, but it felt like a pack of needles.
She searched his face and could not find any mockery there. Instead, she found care and restraint. She found a man who had kept himself on a tight leash and had used that same control to make sure she did not fear him when every muscle in her quivered.
A sound rose outside the doors, followed by a shuffle of boots, a low murmur, then silence.
Kristen flinched before she could stop herself. The hall felt too large and too small at once. Shards lay on the floor, and candlelight danced across the walls. The table was hard and cold beneath her.Her breathing would not slow.
Neil did not speak. He stood close enough that the heat of his body warmed her knees through the soft fall of her skirts. He glanced over at the doors for a heartbeat, then back at her. His hands rose, slow and careful, as if he were approaching a skittish horse.
“Hold,” he murmured.
She went still. He reached for her bodice with steady fingers. He found the loosened laces and tied them, patient with the stubborn lace. He eased her shift where it had twisted, then smoothed the rumpled panel across her ribs.
She watched him, the dark hair tied at the nape of his neck, the set of his jaw as he worked like a craftsman repairing a thing he had no right to break.
“Ye daenae have to,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said quietly, “I do.”
His thumbs fixed her sleeves back into place, one after the other. He checked the knot at her waist and retied it.
His gentleness shocked her. Moments ago, he had sent cutlery flying. Now he was touching her as if she might bruise. As if bruising her would ruin him.
Was there ever a man more confusing than Neil Adair?
The corridor stirred and went still again. She drew air that tasted of ash and bread and the faint salt of his sweat. Her heartbeat slowed a little.Only alittle.
He finished with the last tie and stepped back, his hands lowering to the edge of the table beside her hip as if he needed wood to ground him.
“Kristen.” His voice had lost its edge. It sat low and steady in his chest. “I asked ye something before. Before all of this.”
