He didn’t make any attempt to push into her. Not yet, she hoped. He simply pressed his length along her wet folds, sliding it over her pearl again and again, giving her the pressure she craved without taking more.
His mouth found her breasts. He worshiped one nipple, then the other. His mouth sucked deep, his tongue swirled, and his teeth grazed just enough to make her cry out.
He lavished both breasts with wet, open-mouthed kisses, and she caught the wordless praise against her curves. All the while, his length continued to slide between her folds, teasing her entrance but never pushing in.
He was denying himself, focused only on her pleasure, on making her feel cherished, desired, undone.
Sorcha held onto him like he was air itself. Her arms locked around his neck, her legs rising to wrap tight around his waist. Her body rocked along with him, lost in the heat and tenderness with which he held her.
She wanted more. Wanted him to take his pleasure too. But it was clear that William was deliberately taking his time with her.
Her thoughts scattered when his mouth returned to her nipples. Her head fell back, loud moans spilling out of her.
She loved him. God help her, she loved him. It was too fierce. It was too deep. And it terrified her.
She kept the words buried deep inside, but her body spoke them aloud in the desperate roll of her hips, in every breathless gasp against his neck.
Tonight, in the warm water and moonlight, she was ready to give him everything. And the best part? He gave back tenfold.
William could not remember if he had ever experienced a night this gentle.
The golden light in his chamber flickered softly. The fire in the hearth crackled slightly. And there, on his great bed, lay Sorcha, sleeping as though the world had never once been cruel to her.
She was curled up against him, her red hair fanned like flames across his arm.
He noticed everything. Her body temperature. The rise and fall of her chest. Her soft breath. Everything about her left him in awe.
It made him think.
He had never believed in love. Had never been in love.
Love had always seemed like a foolish luxury, as his parents offered it in abundance only to be betrayed. But now, after so many years, Sorcha wanted to prove him wrong about love?
His hand moved of its own accord to brush a stray curl from her cheek. That wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her more. But then a knock sounded at the door, interrupting the moment.
At that moment, William had never detested the sound of a knock so much. His jaw clenched with irritation.
Whoever stood beyond the door had chosen the worst possible moment to remember that he was the Laird, not merely a man who could be lying beside a woman who had undone him.
The knock came again.
Sorcha stirred, her brow creasing faintly, but she did not wake.
William exhaled slowly, pushing himself upright. “I will be back,” he murmured to her sleeping form.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and then reluctantly slid out of bed. He pulled on a robe, sparing one last glance at Sorcha before moving to the door. When he opened it, he found Myles standing in the corridor, looking unusually alert for the hour.
William stepped outside immediately, closing the door behind him.
Myles raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking briefly to the door. For someone who had never been attended to, William wasn’t surprised to see the suspicion on his face. But he didn’t dignify it with a response.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice firm. “It had better be worth waking the dead.”
Myles studied him for a moment longer, his brow creasing. Eventually, duty won out. So he straightened.
“We have it,” he announced quietly. “The final piece.”
William’s eyes sharpened. “Explain.”
