Chapter Twenty-Two
She missed him.She’d spent the day worrying about him and imagining different ways of them coming to tell her he was dead.
She would have gone mad if they told her that. She loved being with him. She loved making him smile, and laugh, and making his gaze go all warm and heated. She trusted in her own capabilities most of the time, but she felt safe with him. She’d watched him fight. He was magnificent while he took down the Armstrongs—both times! And then, just when she struggled for her last breath, he saved her.
She loved him. She loved his melancholy, lonely heart and wanted nothing more than to make him happy. She couldn’t wait to be with him, and when he finally came to her room, she wasn’t about to let him go.
“Stay.”
He bolted the door and lit more candles around the bed until the room was bathed in soft golden light. He didn’t wait until she stepped into the light to undress her, but moved in front of her. He leaned down to kiss her and then began unlacing her kirtle. She had awakened earlier, refreshed herself, and changed clothes, hoping he would come find her.
He smelled of peat and whisky. She drank him in and grew heady on his kisses. She didn’t remember him pulling off her kirtle. She may have done the pulling—or that may have been her chemise. Either way, all her clothes ended up strewn across the floor. She stood naked before him save for her knee-high hose. She didn’t care. She couldn’t think as he fit his arm behind her back and bent to draw her nipple into his mouth.
His lips were wet and warm, and his teeth gently scratched her sensitive bud. She arched a little to offer him more. He took it, dragging her upward so that he could suckle and tease more thoroughly.
She cried out softly as a dull ache that began below her belly traveled downward, between her legs, and became the focus of all her thoughts until his mouth on her made her want to beg for more—something to answer this hunger.
Answering her passion, he scooped up the rest of her and carried her to her bed. “I warn you,” she told him, clenching fistfuls of his hair. “’Tis more comfortable than a cloud. You may fall asleep.”
He laughed softly and set her down on the bed. “How could I fall asleep with you in my arms?”
She moaned as she sank and then remembered him and tried to hide herself with her hands.
He stood over her at the edge of the bed and looked as if he might jump in after her. “Dinn—” He stopped and shook his head at himself then began again. “Do not cover what I am emblazoning on my mind. One day, I will pay an artist to paint you using my memory.” He was quiet for a moment longer then yanked his léine over his head and kicked off his boots.
Braya watched, mesmerized by the shape of him, the sound of his breath, heavy and quick. He moved into the light and her own breath stalled. How could she have touched such a heart as Torin’s? She knew he had ghosts from his past. She didn’t care. He was merciful and kind, and so very, very beautiful.
She smiled at him to ease the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. She didn’t want to stop. To prove it, she tugged at the laces of his breeches.
Encouraged by her boldness, he nearly tore them off and flung them aside.
The downy-feathered mattress and dozens of pillows strewn all about it surrounded her. He pushed some out of his way and climbed over her, between her legs. He lowered his head to her mouth. His hot, demanding kisses robbed her of breath and logic. He traced a trail of kisses down her chin to her breasts, stopping at each one to give it the attention it demanded. He raked his teeth over her soft, flat belly and rose up on his knees.
She was quite shocked to see the very noticeable change in him. It was as if a very significant part of his body had come alive. For her. She knew it wasn’t finished growing. Millie had told her a man’s cock could get harder than steel. Braya had doubted it.
Torin lifted one of her legs and set her foot on his chest. He found her languid gaze and smiled at her as he began to untie the string holding up her hose. He did the same to both legs, rolling the hose over her knee and down her calf, to her feet, which he kissed.
He was getting harder. Bigger. She was growing a little concerned that he may be too big. Then what?
He didn’t give her time to worry about it but slipped his fingers down her inner thigh and touched her where she ached. She startled, unsure if his touch should feel like a hot brand.
She groaned and licked her dry lips.
As if he couldn’t control the need to kiss her mouth, he sank down on her and pressed her to the hard, yielding muscles of his body. She bucked when she felt his fingers still at her crux, his arm between them. He was readying her, wetting her to receive him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to get it over with.
“Braya,” he whispered close to her ears.
She opened her eyes to see him smiling at her. “Do not be afraid, lass. I will be patient.”
“You are bigger than I imagined.”
“Made even bigger yet from the sound of your soft, sensual voice against my ears.”
He flicked his fingertips over the engorged bud between her thighs. She spread her legs wider and threw back her head. He caught her cries in his mouth and dipped his finger into her.
“You are so tight,” he said through clenched teeth. He guided the tip of his lance to her opening and pushed gently. He bit his lip to keep himself from thrusting into her.
