It didn’t take long for the sensations to build inside her, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess. Wetness gathered between her thighs, and the more Halvard licked into her, the more that pressure grew inside her, until she couldn’t take it anymore. The pleasure exploded, and Elsie reached her peak, her core throbbing, her entire body shaking with her release. Through it all, Halvard guided her through the aftershocks, gently dragging his tongue over her folds until she finally calmed, until the final waves of it subsided.
And then, he pulled back, releasing himself from the confines of his trews. Elsie’s eyes widened at the sight of his manhood, straining against his stomach, long and thick in his fist. She prepared herself for what was to come—though preparation for such a thing seemed impossible.
But then Halvard only knelt over her, his hand still working over his length, his fist pumping over his skin. Elsie watched, mesmerized, as the tip disappeared between his fingers, then reappeared, the quick motion of his wrist almost hypnotizing.
“Take me,” Elsie urged him, and Halvard’s eyes flicked up to hers, wide with shock.
And then?—
He stopped.
His lips hovered against hers, their breaths mingling, the air around them fever-warm and trembling.
“I cannae dae that, lass,” he said.
Elsie swallowed, eyes heavy-lidded, heart racing. “But I want this. I trust you.”
He closed his eyes in agony, as if it cost him everything to refuse.
“That’s why I need tae stop meself,” he said. His thumb brushed her lower lip, slow and tender and entirely sinful. “Nae now… nae yet.”
Her stomach fluttered violently at the raw honesty in his voice.
Elsie let out a soft exhale, and Halvard leaned back once more, finishing himself off in a few more pumps with a growl of her name. He spilled over her stomach, the sudden feel of it drawing a gasp out of her, and for a moment, all Elsie could do was stare up at him as she tried to catch her breath.
Afterwards, Halvard lay beside her on the bed, his chest heaving. She rested her hand over his heart, feeling its frantic pace match hers. “Don’t leave me,” she murmured. “Just… stay with me.”
His expression softened instantly.
“Aye, lass,” he said, gathering her gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead that was somehow more intimate than anything before. “I’ll stay.”
They crawled under the furs together. Halvard wrapped an arm around her waist from behind, his chest warm against her back, his breath steady at her nape. His fingers traced faint circles at her hip, tender and protective.
Elsie sighed, her body finally relaxing. She felt him smile against her skin. Halvard MacLeod, the Savage of the Highlands, held her as though she were something precious.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The dungeon under Brochel Castle breathed cold against Halvard’s skin, the stone damp, iron old, a faint, metallic tang of water seeping down the walls. Torches spat and hissed, their flames wavering along the corridor as Halvard descended the worn steps.
Sten stood outside the cell, his arms crossed, his shoulders rigid as carved granite. “He’s awake,” he said with a grim tilt of his head. “Spat on me twice. Called me a flea-ridden barbarian.” His teeth flashed in a humorless smile. “He’s English, alright.”
Halvard stepped past him without a word—only a somber nod and a pat on the shoulder.
Inside the cell, the man sat tied to a chair, his hands bound behind him, his face bruised from Sten’s less than gentle encouragements. His hair was dark, his clothing rough, torn in places and soiled in others, but not a peasant’s clothing. His leather boots were well-stitched, shined. A ring rested on one finger.
Halvard’s gaze narrowed. He was not a local brigand.
He’s certainly English.
The man tensed when Halvard entered. He could see it in his shoulders, in the way his spine went rigid, in the way he straightened on the chair as much as his bonds would allow when his gaze fell on Halvard, as if he could make himself larger, more intimidating.
“Ye ken who I am?” Halvard asked, his voice low, controlled.
The man swallowed with an audible click. “Laird Halvard MacLeod. The Savage.” He forced a smirk. “Hard to mistake the reputation.”
Halvard stepped forward until the man flinched. “Then ye ken I dinnae enjoy askin’ questions twice.” He crouched so their eyes were level. “Who sent ye fer her?”
The man’s jaw tightened. “We weren’t sent for anyone.”
