He said nothing, only kept walking. Then, without ceremony, he stopped.
One hand held her steady as he lowered her. Not to the floor, but onto the edge of a heavy oak table. Not gently. Not cruelly either. But decisively.
Her breath was coming fast now, her pulse racing. She was slightly dizzy. Her hair, which had been neatly pinned, came loose, spilling freely down her shoulders. She felt undone already, and he had barely touched her.
Fire crackled behind him as he stood between her knees. He claimed the space as though it had always belonged to him. One large hand landed on the table, trapping her. The other held her hip, caging her.
From that angle, he was all heat and shadow, looking like something dangerous carved of firelight and stone.
Her chest heaved. Her skirts shifted, exposing the bare skin of her thigh. And she was aware of it. Aware of the way his gaze dropped to her thigh for a fleeting moment before returning to her face.
The gallery, a room so large, felt smaller.
“Now, listen to me,” he rumbled, leaning closer. “As the Laird, and as long as ye’re in me castle, I willnae see Keegan come near ye again.”
Sorcha narrowed her eyes, summoning the stubborn pride she had left. “Ye daenae get to make rules for me,” she fired back.
But the protest came out soft, breathy. Her body refused to be calm. His nearness was scorching, leaving herwanting.
Her words had no effect on him. If anything, he repeated himself.
“Do ye hear me?” he asked, more sharply this time.
“Why do ye think ye’re in any position to say such a thing?” she demanded, lifting her chin. “Ye daenae own me.”
The words were meant to remind him of the boundaries. To make him step back. Instead, his mouth curved. Not into a smile, but into something darker. Something sensual and dangerous.
“If I have to own ye to get ye to listen,” he murmured, “then permit me.”
Her breath hitched, but before she could gather her thoughts, his mouth crashed onto hers. It was no gentle courtship. It was urgency and restrained fury poured into a single, devastating moment.
His hands rose to cup her face, holding her exactly where he wanted her, as though she might vanish if he loosened his grip a fraction. His lips were hard, demanding, tasting of whiskey and pure possessiveness.
Sorcha melted. A soft, helpless sound escaped her as every wall she had ever built crumbled. Heat flooded her veins, slick soaked her inner thighs.
She arched into him, pulling him closer instead of away. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples straining against the fabric.
Her entire world narrowed to sensation. To breath. To the way the kiss deepened. He consumed her, as if he were trying to erase the memory of anyone else ever standing where he stood now.
With a needy whimper, her thighs parted. William did not hesitate; he stepped between them, pressing his arousal against her damp center.
She shuddered, suppressing a moan.
When his mouth tore from hers, she barely had time to mourn the loss before he lowered his head to suck on her nipples through the fabric.
“Will…” The rest of her words faded into a moan.
Her hands found his hair, tugging on the dark strands. Not to guide him, but to keep him close. To beg him not to pull away. And then something seemed to snap inside him, as though the memory of her dancing with Keegan had resurfaced.
His hands trailed over the swell of her breasts, squeezing hard, before sliding lower until his fingers brushed the hem of her gown. She knew what came next, and the realization gave way to an anticipation that made her tremble.
She opened her legs wider, surrendering. Every bold word, every challenge she had thrown at him had faded beneath her desperation for him to have his way with her.
He growled as his fingers yanked at the hem of her gown, exposing her thighs fully to the cool night air. He pulled the fabric higher until it slipped off her head. Her breasts rose and fell with quick breaths, her nipples pebbling.
She wasn’t given a moment. His lips crashed back onto hers. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tangling with hers.
Whatever had come over him had increased tenfold. His movements became even more punishing, promising even more ruin.
