He grabbed her face roughly, pulling her impossibly closer and crushing his mouth against hers.
The kiss was all-consuming, as if she were the air he needed to survive. He devoured her, his tongue claiming every corner, stealing her breath, her senses, her very soul. Impatient yet gentle. Aching yet tender.
Sorcha couldn’t tell where she ended and where he began; she was overwhelmed by carnal hunger. He kissed her fervently, stepping forward until her back met the cool stone wall.
He sucked on her lower lip, before his tongue darted out to lick it, as though questioning her audacity to tempt him. He seized her wrists in his large hand and pinned them above her head. His other hand gripped her jaw, angling her head to his.
He took her soul in that moment, his lips moving to explore every inch of her.
Her eyes fluttered shut when he nuzzled her, whimpering as he sucked and licked, arching against him.
His mouth then moved lower to tease her nipples through the fabric of her gown. His hand released her jaw to gently squeeze her breast, tearing another whimper from her throat. But her hands remained trapped, helpless to do anything but feel.
Suddenly, with a growl, he released her wrists. Then, he scooped her up in one swift motion, before throwing her over his shoulder as though she were a prize.
A prize he couldn’t wait to claim, to cherish and torment in the most carnal way imaginable.
The heavy oak door of his chamber shut loudly behind them.
Sorcha landed on the wide bed with a soft bounce. Her pulse roared in her ears as she propped herself up on her elbows, watching him.
William stood at the foot of the bed, looking every inch the Laird. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his shirt and took it off, revealing hard muscles adorned with smooth skin and faint scars. Every inch of him made her mouth water.
He tossed the shirt away, and it fell forgotten to the floor.
Her breath caught as his hands moved to the waistband of his trousers. The outline of his arousal pressed hard with shameless demand. Even clothed, he looked dangerous.
He turned fully toward her.
Sorcha was still dressed, her skirts gathered around her. His gaze roamed over her, more intimate than any touch. His dark brown eyes stripped her bare, trailing down her throat all the way to her clenched thighs.
She swallowed, her throat dry. Yet her courage rose with the heat within her.
“William,” she said, her voice velvety soft, “let me take yer trousers off ye.”
William froze. For a long heartbeat, he simply stared at her, as though the offer itself had hit him harder than any blade.
At his silence, Sorcha moved to the edge of the bed. She reached for him slowly and unfastened his trousers, letting them slide down his legs.
And there he was. Thick, heavy with need, the tip glistening in the low light.
The sight stole her breath. Deep hunger curled low in her belly.
“Sorcha…” It sounded more like a warning, as if he were about to lose control.
But she was already leaning forward.
Her lips pressed a tentative kiss to the tip. Then her tongue swirled around him, slow and deliberate, enjoying the way he throbbed against her. A low, broken moan tore from his throat.
She swallowed him deeper, her lips stretching around his girth. At first, she sucked him slowly. Then faster, hungrier, wanting to drive him mad as he had done her over the past few weeks.
She fisted his hand in her hair. Not to push her away or guide her, but merely to anchor himself.
Right as he swelled in her mouth, he bent down, and his length slipped free. She whimpered in protest.
Before she could catch her breath, his big hands gently pushed her backward until her spine met the mattress.
She gasped. But he was already spreading her thighs with reverent roughness, before dropping between them and burying his face in her core.
