She wrapped her long legs around Caiden, and he groaned with lust as he licked at her juices.
"Every inch of ye, I crave," he murmured against her flesh, each word a brand upon her soul.
He kissed slowly up her body until she felt his lips on hers. He hovered above her, his body held there by strong arms.
Her palm pressed against the hard plane of his chest, sliding slowly downward, feeling the heat of him. His muscles shifted beneath her hand, taut and alive, and the sheer strength she felt there made her dizzy with desire.
She trailed lower still, her fingers tracing the ridges of his stomach until her hand wrapped around his hard staff. His breath hitched sharply.
"Maisie," he growled, seizing her hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. "I willnae be able to stop if ye do that," he said.
"Then kiss me," she said.
She tugged his face back to hers, her lips catching his in another desperate kiss. Their mouths moved together, a wild rhythm of need and surrender, and she lost all sense of the world beyond the two of them. His tongue brushed against hers, tasting of the sea and desire, and she welcomed him, every nerve alive with yearning.
She pulled him down until their bodies pressed flush together, her softness molding to his hard frame. The friction of the wet cloth between them only heightened the torment of wanting, of needing more than closeness alone could give.
Their world narrowed to heat, breath, and touch, the roar of the sea fading until only the pounding of their hearts filled the night. His hands moved endlessly, mapping her body with reverence and urgency, leaving trails of fire wherever he touched.
Her own exploring matched his, her fingers tracing the strong line of his neck, the broad shoulders, the powerful arms that trembled as if holding back his own storm. Each kiss, each caress pulled her further into the abyss of longing she never wished to escape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next morning, Maisie woke with the heaviness of shame pressing on her chest. Memories of the night before drifted back in fragments, his hands on her, his lips claiming hers, her own body arching and begging for more.
Heat rose to her cheeks, not from desire now, but from mortification that she had let herself be undone so easily. Her mother's stern voice seemed to echo in her mind.
"Maisie, a lady never surrenders her virtue, no matter how tempting the man," her mother would say.
She sat up, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair, and wrapped her arms around herself as if she could shield away the memory. A guilty ache swirled in her belly, for the truth was she had wanted every moment of it, more than she had ever wanted anything before. That knowledge only deepened her shame, for how could she admit, even to herself, that she had hungered fora man so fiercely? She could almost see her mother's grave, the earth unsettled, the woman rolling in eternal disapproval.
Maisie whispered aloud, her voice hushed and trembling.
"What have I done? I've let him compromise me as though I were a foolish lass without sense."
She buried her face in her hands, wishing she could turn back the hours, and yet beneath the regret there lingered the dangerous memory of his touch, igniting her anew. That was the most terrifying part, knowing that if he reached for her again, she would not resist.
A sudden knock startled her from her thoughts, making her jolt as though caught in her sin. Her heart leapt wildly, expecting it to be Caiden standing at her door, come to claim more of her reckless heart. She smoothed her dress quickly, bracing herself for the storm she thought was coming. But when the door creaked open, it was not Caiden who entered.
Norah and Isabelle stepped inside, their faces bright with the warmth of morning.
"Maisie, lass," Norah said with a smile, "we're off to gather some flowers by the meadow. Thought ye might fancy comin' along."
Relief swept through Maisie so swiftly that her knees nearly weakened, for it was a reprieve she desperately needed. She managed a smile and nodded, grateful for their interruption.
The three of them set out together, their chatter light as the sun spilled across the fields. The meadow was awash in color, wildflowers nodding in the breeze, and Maisie bent to pluck them with careful hands. Slowly, she felt some of the tightness in her chest ease, the rhythm of the women's laughter soothing her restless spirit. For a time, she could almost forget the heat of last night, losing herself in the simple joy of their company.
Yet as she moved among them, gathering blossoms, her gaze lingered on Norah and Isabelle. They seemed radiant, their figures graceful, their beauty effortless as sunlight on water. A pang of jealousy twisted inside Maisie, for she felt ungainly beside them, towering and awkward in her height. She pressed her lips together, trying not to let the bitterness show.
She told herself sternly that envy was unbecoming, but the thought whispered cruelly all the same. She could never be like them, delicate and admired, with soft hands that seemed made for ribbons and rings. Her own height had always set her apart, a reminder that she was too much in one way or another. She bent her head lower, wishing she could fold herself small.
But then, unbidden, another thought slipped into her mind, a voice low and steady, the echo of Caiden's gaze upon her.
Ye daenae need to be small, lass. Ye're beautiful as ye are.
The words had never been spoken aloud, but they lived in the memory of his touch, in the way he had looked at her as though she were the only woman alive. She longed to hear him say those words to her.
"I'll be returnin' home soon," Isabelle said, her eyes lowering to her hands. "'Tis near time I went back to me own folk."
