The first touch of his mouth was devastating. Hot. Wet. Worshipful. His lips wrapped around her pearl, sucking on it gently. His tongue fluttered against her, making stars twinkle behind her closed lids.
Her back arched off the bed, and she moaned as pleasure shot straight to her core. He groaned against her, and the vibrations sent a shiver up her spine.
“Please…” she begged, her voice raw and desperate. “Take me… take me… I want ye inside me…”
Her pleas seemed to break something inside him.
His tongue prodded her entrance. He thrust it in and out like a man starved, drinking her arousal. Every time she clenched around him, he growled low in his throat. Her hands flew to his dark hair and tugged on it, as though he might vanish.
“Daenae stop… Daenae stop…” she moaned, her hips rocking shamelessly against his face.
He obeyed as if it were a sacred command.
His hands moved to her skirts, lifting the fabric higher for better access. Sorcha helped him, tugging at the fabric until it was bunched around her waist.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it. His mouth was not enough.
She sat up, pulling back slightly. William lifted his head, his lips glistening with her arousal. His breath came in harsh pants, and his hair was disheveled from her fingers.
She met his gaze somberly—she was tired of all the games.
“Do ye want me?” she asked, her voice steady. “Or are ye here only to tease me and pretend that nothing happened by morning?”
The question struck him; she saw it in the way his eyes narrowed.
He didn’t answer at first, staring at her only. Then he lunged forward and claimed her lips with a kiss that stole the air from her lungs. It was deep, languorous, as though he were pouring his answer into her mouth.
Eventually, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.
“I daenae think I’d survive it,” he rasped, “if ye belonged to another man.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and a soft gasp escaped her. But he didn’t give her time to recover. He kissed her again, more reverent this time, worshipping her mouth the way he had worshipped the rest of her.
Sorcha wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. She felt him shift between her legs, lowering his weight onto her. Instinctively, she spread her legs wider in silent invitation, and she felt the tip of his length teasing her entrance.
She hugged him tighter, before whispering against his mouth, “Then make me belong to ye.”
The words had barely left her lips when he pressed into her. His tip stretched tender tissues that had never known a man before. Pain flared, but it tangled with pleasure so intense that her toes curled.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, urging him to sink deeper.
William slid another inch into her wetness, giving her time to adjust to his size. Slow, insistent thrusts against her inner walls, stroking her with fire.
He buried his face in her neck, sucking on her pulse, tasting her, breathing her in.
“William.” She moaned his name like a prayer, like it was the only thing that mattered.
She gave herself to him wholly, every trembling inch. When his head dipped lower to suck on her nipple, she thought she might shatter from the sensation.
Pleasure built higher and higher. And through it all, one thought burned brighter than the rest: she could not imagine leaving the castle tomorrow. Could not imagine never seeing him again.
For tonight, though, she would focus on one thing—loving him.
31
William had never truly made love before. Not like this.
Oh, he had known lust. Quick, careless, fleeting. A handful of women over the years had warmed his bed for a night or two. No promises exchanged, no feelings involved. It had been simple. Clean. Forgotten by morning.
