“I fear naught but losing you!” He grabbed her hand and upturned it, kissing the soft warmth of her palm. “That, and . . . hurting you.”
“I know there will be discomfort.” She reached for him, curling her fingers around his need. “The greater pain would be missing it,” she said, squeezing.
It was more than he could bear.
“Then so be it!”
He made to gather her in his arms, meaning to carry her to the bed, but she dropped onto the spread plaid, lying back and opening her arms to him.
“Here, on your plaid.” She looked up at him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “I’d have you love me in the old way — in honor of our hills and the ancients so that they might bless our union.”
“You bless us, sweetness.” Ronan bent to tug off his boots, then shoved down his hose, kicking them aside. He stretched out alongside her, certain she was indeed his blessing.
He only hoped he could be hers as well.
But then she circled her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her and all thought fled. Only his need to bury himself deep inside her remained. Burning with it, he shifted, covering her body with his. He kissed her long and hard, almost spilling when she lifted her knees and clamped her legs tightly around him.
She rocked her hips, moving so that his hardness slid across her, the length of him pressing hotly against her slick, wet heat.
He reached down between them, seeking that place again, rubbing and circling until she began to tremble and gasp with pleasure. And always, he kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her deeply, sharing breath and letting his tongue tangle with hers until he could wait no more and a great shudder rolled through him, driving him dangerously close to losing control.
“Now, Ronan!” she gasped as if she knew.
“I must, lass.” He lifted up to look into her eyes. “I can stop no more.”
And then he plunged into her, her sharp cry muffled by his kisses. He froze, holding still for a few tight, agonizingly beautiful moments, then began moving slowly, filling her inch by inch until he’d buried himself so deeply inside her he was sure he’d brushed her soul.
“My Raven . . .” She raised her hips, intensifying their joining, then cried out when he lowered his head and began suckling her nipples as he started moving in and out of her.
Slow smooth glides, long and deep.
And still he kept a hand just there, his finger circling faster now, in sweet hot rhythm with his pumping hips. His strokes came harder and faster now, plunging deep, while the exquisite tingles streaming out from that other place dampened the dull pain inside her, spinning her closer and closer to a brilliant edge looming ever nearer each time his finger swirled over her.
Then his finger stopped circling and he cried out, a great stinging heat flooding her even as she sped over that glittering edge, shattering and spinning, her own cry blending with his as she slowly drifted back down onto his plaid and the night-darkened room once again took shape and form around them.
“Oh, dear saints,” she gasped when she could speak.
“Sweet lass . . . you are magnificent.” He’d stilled on top of her, but he rolled off her now, gently drawing her into his arms to cradle her against him. “But I am sorry for the hurt —”
“The wonder of it more than made up for the pain.” She twisted around to kiss him. “And I . . . I knew what to expect,” she added, sighing when he smoothed a hand down over her hip to toy softly with her damp maiden curls.
But then his fingers stilled and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing let her know he’d fallen asleep. Unfortunately, her arm had, too.
She frowned.
The sharp prickles jabbing up and down from her shoulder to her fingertips made it impossible for her to join him in his slumber.
Nor could she move, for her arm had somehow slipped beneath him and he looked so dear in his sleep, she couldn’t bear the thought of disturbing him.
So she lay as still and quiet as she could, her gaze on the moon-silvered window arch not far from where they lay on his plaid on the floor.
The only open window in the room, it let in a draught of icy air, the night cold chilling her and raising gooseflesh on her skin. But if she craned her neck just a tiny bit, she could see the moon through the arch.
Mostly hidden by wispy, wind-torn clouds, it sailed into view every once in a while and some strange something made her watch it.
The same something — she suddenly knew with surety — that was lifting the fine hairs on her nape and causing her gooseflesh.
It wasn’t the night cold at all.
