Braya wasn’t afraid. She knew Torin wouldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt her. She wanted this, to give herself to him. She didn’t know much about having a lover. She’d been too busy learning to take men on the field, not in her bed. What she knew, she learned second-hand from Millie and Lucy, and her other male cousins. She knew what men liked, though she blushed at the thought of taking him into her mouth.
She relaxed beneath him. Why shouldn’t she relax? He was heavy, but not so much that he crushed her. He was warm and hard everywhere.
She ran her palms over his sculpted shoulders, the thick sinew that corded his arms.
She wanted more of him, all of him, and closed her legs around his.
He looked at her with something untamed and finally free in the silvery-green glint of his eyes. He smiled, and in that smile she saw his heart, exposed for her alone.
She opened to him, and he took her with slow, deliberate ease, staying close to her, telling her how beautiful she was to him.
“Be my wife, Braya,” he ground out, finally breaking through her barrier.
“Aye,” then a gasp as a lance of pain shot through her. He was too big. Too hot. Then the pain was gone and pleasure made her head spin; it made her conjure thoughts of keeping him forever locked in the steel embrace of her sheathe and thighs.
“I could hold you to me forever,” she threatened with laughter curling her lips.
He closed his eyes and withdrew almost completely. She laughed and tried to hold him, tightening her grip, undulating her hips beneath his. He was too powerful.
Then he opened his eyes and fastened them on her. “’Tis not the cage that will hold me to you, Braya, but something…deeper.” He surged into her, deep and long, letting her draw him in, hold on tight. She did, while he plunged in and then out, again and again until she clawed at him and trembled in his embrace.
He took her hips in his hands and turned over, lying on his back and letting her straddle him. She laughed softly with surprise and thought about how deeply she was impaled on him.
He licked his sultry mouth and began moving her hips in his hands. “You are going to like this, my love,” he promised confidently and pulled his thick arms over his head.
Ah, she had him to the hilt. Here was her power. She leaned down and cupped his nape in her hand then pulled him up. She ran her other hand over his tightly knotted belly and up through the curls on the back of his head. She held on as she rose up on her haunches and wielded her power like a queen, until nothing of them remained.
Torin held Brayain her overstuffed bed and listened to the rhythm of her breath as evening turned into midnight. Was she asleep? He hadn’t told her the truth, and now…hell, he’d been drunk, too weak to resist her. He didn’t want to resist her. He wanted to do exactly what he’d done. He wanted to be with her, always in her bed, inside her body. If Bennett touched her, he’d rip him limb from limb. Torin loved her. Somehow, she’d penetrated his walls and took him down like a trained general. What was he to do now?
He thought she was asleep. She wasn’t. She moved like a breeze over him, covering him with her pale yellow tresses. She kissed his chest, his shoulders, and neck. She climbed atop his hips and looked around, as if she’d reached the top of a mountain and was taking in the sights. Torin laughed and cupped her buttocks in his hands. She was soft on the outside, hard and tight on the inside.
It didn’t take him long to get hard enough to impale her. He didn’t. He let her rub herself up and down his shaft. He watched her and vowed to himself to always remember how she looked, naked and beautiful, delighting in him.
She slipped upward on him. She was wet and ready to be taken. He shifted his hips, and when she rode downward again, he pushed inside her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and did not cry out. He didn’t let her go as he flipped them over and covered her body with his. He made love to her, looking into her eyes, telling her what she meant to him. He plunged deep, taking his time, every touch a curious caress.
He’d received half of his family back today and lost his heart completely to an English outlaw.
Her knees bent and laid flat on both sides of her. He fit perfectly, entwining their arms over her head and kissing her as searing fire enveloped him. He moved slowly, spilling himself while flames licked him, and the line between pain and pleasure ceased to exist.
Later, he lay atop her, both of them sprawled out on the bed and on each other.
“Did you know the earl was a Scot?”
Torin blinked, too tired to answer. “No,” he said honestly.
“Did he know you hate the Scots?” she asked. “Is that why he did not tell you?”
Damn it, he wanted to tell her before they…how the hell was he supposed to tell her now? “Braya?”
“Did you tell him what they did to your family, Torin? He would probably never want to admit to being a Scot again.”
He shifted uneasily on the bed. She would hate him. She would hate him even more now. She’d slept with a Scot. Mayhap, he should wait until after the war for Carlisle. If he died, he wouldn’t have to tell her anything.
“Aye, he knows what happened to my family.”
“There, you see?” she said with her cheek pressed to his chest and her eyes closed. “He was ashamed.”
