His body went rigid, heat flaring in his gut.
“Christ!”
Hazel ignored him; she was too busy drawing him into the heated cavern of her mouth, deeper, until the tip of him hit the back of her throat.
Her eyes watered then, yet she let out a low, animal groan and withdrew in a slow, sensual movement that made his fingers flex against the sheepskin, before plunging down on him once more.
He cursed. Loudly.
Hazel eagerly continued to work his rod, the play of her lips and tongue slowly unraveling him.
Before he knew it, Craeg was lifting his hips to meet her, marveling at how deep she was taking him and the raw sounds of pleasure she made as she devoured him.
His fingers tangled in her wild dark hair, helping guide her gently.
Reaching up, she pressed his hands harder against her scalp, urging him to be firmer. Rougher.
Surprise fluttered up. God’s teeth. She was earthy. Lusty and wild. He loved how natural she was with him.
Groaning, he tightened his hold, pushing her down his straining length, harder this time. His bollocks were aching now, heat pulsing low on his spine. He was close, yet he wanted more.
Pushing her down for one last, long taste, he then pulled her up.
Her mouth slid off his jerking prick, and she gave a cry of disappointment.
However, a moment later, she was on her hands and knees on the sheepskin, and he was driving into her from behind in savage thrusts. Hazel grabbed onto the sheepskin to brace herself, shoving herself back against him with each plunge.
Craeg reached down then, his fingers sliding between her thighs.
Her wetness made him gasp. His fingertips slid across the soft, slick petals of her sex, finding the hard pearl of flesh, rolling it between his finger and thumb.
Hazel gasped a bawdy curse that would have made a blacksmith blush, bucking hard against him, even as the walls of her quim clenched and pulsed down the length of his rod.
And then, Craeg’s own climax barreled into him, turning the world dark for a few moments.
The rasp of their breathing filled the chamber.
Holding himself braced above Hazel, Craeg traced a fingertip down the long sweep of her spine. Gripping her hips firmly, he withdrew from her, watching the point where their bodies joined.It was a lewd, erotic sight, one that made his already hammering pulse skitter.
His hunger for this woman was all-consuming.
Together, they collapsed on the sheepskins. Afterward, Craeg drew her against him so that her cheek lay on his chest, so that the dark curtain of her hair draped across him.
A contentment he’d never known in his one and twenty summers seeped through him then.
He was utterly at peace.
It didn’t matter what the future held; nothing could takethisfrom him.
Hazel hadn’t spoken since they’d both climaxed in a wild storm that had left them shaken. Instead, her fingers played with the dark curls on his chest. “Just so ye know … I wish to still work as a herb-wife at Moy,” she said then. There was a slight edge to her voice, almost as if she expected him to try and deny her.
His mood shadowed a little then. Her response reminded him that he still had to fully earn her trust again. “Of course. We can extend the infirmary, if ye wish?”
Hazel lifted her head, her lips tugging into a smile. “I do … thank ye.”
He reached up and pushed a damp lock of hair off her cheek. “Ye have a gift, Hazel. I’d be a fool to prevent ye from using it. Moy and Lochbuie need yer skills.”
She nodded, as if testing the weight of his words.
