Because he usually made sure to stay clear of her after a battle, just as he had tried to do this night. Her insistence, however, had pushed him too far. The need to ease her guilt was the only reason he had agreed to the arrangement.
When she reached his bottom, he pushed back against the wood. She had no choice but to remove her hand from the water.
“That is fine. I can do the rest myself.”
She frowned at him, the single torch casting strange shadows on her face before he turned away.
“Ye need help. I will help ye.”
He tightened his jaw, watching with horror as she soaped the cloth again. He was going to burst into flames at any moment. When she slapped the cloth against his chest, her eyes met his, an intimacy that pleased him for a moment—until he remembered that this was not to be. He looked away.
With a slower motion, she swiped the cloth across his chest. Her scent rising to him, he resisted the need to close his eyes in pleasure.
“I can do this myself.” He struggled to hide the arousal from his voice, trying for a firm tone. He refused to look at her, even when her hand slowed to a crawl. Even when her hand moved across his chest for the third time. Rubbing. Caressing.
He fought the need to look at her—and lost. Her eyes were fixed on the movement of the cloth across his chest. She appeared mesmerized at the sight of him. The soap made the motion a gentle slide. A thousand sensations prickled across his skin. And then, without planning it, he took his arm out of the water and wrapped his fingers around her neck, bringing her lips to his.
He was ready for her to slap him, but he couldn’t stop himself. Overcome with exhaustion and need, he hardly knew what he was doing. As if moving in a dream, the kiss he’d waited so long for happened with such slowness, every detail burned into his memory. Her eyes meeting his. Widening, but with pleasure rather than surprise. He definitely saw pleasure, just before they fluttered shut.
Her lips were as he’d imagined, rubbing across his in gentle exploration. He would have groaned, but feared the moment would be broken and she’d yank away from him. When the tip of her tongue slid against his lips, they parted and his moan finally escaped. His eyes flew open, but she did not pull back. Instead, she pressed herself against the tub, moving her tongue more fully into his mouth, its sweetness flooding his senses.
He forced himself to move slowly despite the pain in his groin, the unrelenting need for release. She was kissing him back! His Astrid was returning his kisses with sweet abandon! And things would never be the same.
The pleasure of Marcán’s lips on hers exploded inside her. It could not be more different from Pádraig’s kiss. This was a man holding back, in control, allowing her to move in whatever way she desired. This was a man who cared about her, and that knowledge gave her courage. When her tongue moved against his, he met her stroke for stroke, sucking her into his mouth to experience their joining more fully. His moan had set off not alarms but a deep well of need. A need that seemed right. A need that she knew he could see to when she was ready. It would be safe to open herself up. To open herself tohim.
A sudden chill caught her attention and she shivered, the drastic difference between the air in the hut and the heat rising up from her core, no doubt.
But Marcán broke the kiss, concern on his face. “Are ye cold?”
She smiled, her breath easing out between her parted lips. Pulling away from the tub, she stood. Her gown was soaked. She might as well be standing there naked, and Marcán’s hooded eyes were taking in every bit of her. She shivered again, not from the dampness, but from the look of longing on his face.
How easy it would have been for Pádraig to force himself on her. She could not have stopped him on her own. Her innocence would be gone now, ripped from her. Was it not better that she give herself willingly to a man who would treat her gently? One who cared for her?
Reaching for her hem, she doffed the gown.
His eyes locked onto hers and she could actually feel his desperation. Clothed in only her sleeveless undertunic, she urged him out of the water. The touch of his lips was tentative now, but she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. He was hard for her and she canted her hips to feel him more fully against her.
Marcán yanked back, his breath heaving with his struggle for self-control. “Astrid, ye do not—”
“I do. Stop being my protector. Ye are the one I need no protection from.”
“Aye, ye do!” His eyes were wide as he stepped out of the tub. “I am a man in great need.”
Her eyes drifted close at his words. A wistful expression. When she opened them again, he was hit by the intense power of her gaze. She wanted him. “Please, Marcán.”
He had never been in such need. And here the love of his life was offering herself to him. Her eyes assured him she knew what she was doing. A hiss escaped him as he struggled with himself. Her lovely body before him, all but naked, the material clinging to the breasts he’d only dreamed of until now, and the surprisingly dark patch of hair between her legs beckoning to him through the thin cloth. That was his undoing. He lowered his head as he gripped the underside of her breast, raising it to his watering mouth.
She gasped and he was lost. Both hands slid under the dampened garmentuntil her chilled skin was pressed against his palms. His tongue flicked against her nipple as he raised the material higher. His hands came to a sudden stop on her soft thigh. One hand came up to grip her other breast for his desperate mouth, but he realized he couldn’t move the other. He was unable to cover the short distance to touch her most intimate spot. It had been so long that he’d wanted her. He had never thought to be here. What if her need was not as great as his own? If Astrid did not want him, he had nothing.
With the smallest movement, he finally touched her. He was not disappointed. Near overwhelmed, he reluctantly released her breast to snuggle into her neck.
“Are ye giving yerself to me, Astrid?” His words sounded as desperate as he felt.
That her breath was as labored as his was a boon. Surely he could stop now and be satisfied until they were wed. When she widened her stance, his hand slid more fully between her legs. Pulling back, he gazed into her eyes, seeing only her passion. He stroked her, his fingers damp with her sweetness, and pressed his lips together as he entered her. And again. Her hips rocking with each motion. He tried to convince himself he could stop if she said the word. But she said nothing, so he asked her again.
“D’ye wish me to take yer maidenhead, knowing all that it would mean to me? Knowing all that it should mean to ye?”
She leveled her gaze at him, passion hooding her eyes. “No one else but ye.”
