She was already so wet. He knew it without seeing it. He could feel it in the way she trembled against his palm.
And yet it still angered him so much. This pull. This need.
He groaned the words against her ear, his voice thick with hunger. “It angers me so much… that all I can think about is pleasurin’ ye until ye cry out me name.”
Sorcha trembled harder, her knees weakening as his palm began to move. He slowly rubbed the peak of her sex pressing just enough to tease.
Her fingers clenched even tighter, and a soft whimper escaped her.
The sound shattered his control. He wanted to make her feel every bit of the storm she had stirred within him.
Her head fell back slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the feel of his hand, his words, his nearness. She looked like she was fighting hard. Until she no longer wanted to.
Finally, she found her voice, and it came out breathless, pleading, carrying the same frustration.
“Ruin me,” she begged, her gaze locking onto his. “Even if it’s just for this evening.”
A pause ensued as her words settled between them. It was a reckless invitation, one that made him freeze.
William did not take orders. He gave them. As a laird, as a warrior, he answered to no one. But hearing her say it, with her voice trembling, her eyes dark with want… something inside him shattered.
He dropped to his knees instantly. The movement was impatient. His hands gathered her skirts, pushing the heavy fabric up until he bared every inch of her pale skin.
She stood there, watching him with wide eyes, her breathing ragged. William inched his hands up her thighs in a smooth caress, , making her gasp.
He raised his brown eyes to hers, allowing her to see the hunger and awe in them. He wanted her to see how much he felt; she was something sacred he had no right to touch.
Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in slowly to inhale her scent. It was musky, intoxicating. It hit him like a drug that immediately made his body throb with need.
Without wasting another breath, he buried his face between her thighs. The first taste was sweet, purely her. It tore a low groan from his throat. Eager for more, he lapped at her hungrily, as if he had been starved his entire life.
Sorcha moaned, the sound even more raw and broken. Her hands flew to his head, and her fingers curled into his hair, badly wanting to hold onto something as waves of pleasure coursed through her.
William’s tongue teased and sucked on her pearl, gathering every drop of her arousal. Her back bowed, her knees bending slightly to give him better access.
And he responded, worshiping her with every flick and suck. His laps were slow and deliberate. The more she streamed for him, the more he drank, the more he got lost in her taste and sounds.
His hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts over her gown. He kneaded them, his thumbs finding her erect nipples. “Hm…”
Sorcha cried out, her hips bucking against him.
At that moment, all thoughts of his new role vanished. All shadows of past enemies faded into nothing. For now, he replaced them with the fierce need to pleasure this woman. To worship her body, to hear her fall apart because of him.
And truly, that was all he wanted to do.
17
Dunrath Castle felt empty without William.
Of course, Sorcha hated that she noticed.
The halls were quieter than usual. There was something about William’s presence that made the servants quicken their pace, that stirred rumors.
She hated to admit that she might miss pretending not to be aware of his presence. Pretending not to care. And the worst part? He hadn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours.
She told herself she did not miss him. She told herself she did not miss the way she would feel his eyes on her before she even looked up, or how he had begun to attend breakfast regularly, sitting with everyone instead of sequestering himself in his study like he used to do.
It was a rare sight, indeed. A laird who once avoided company now chose to be present, chose to be near her.
