His mouth moves against mine, demanding, taking, and Iopen for him without any hesitation at all.
His teeth catch my bottom lip and bite down. Not quite hard enough to draw blood, but close. The sharp sting of it sends a jolt of heat flooding through me. I gasp against his mouth, and he presses harder,deeper, his tongue stroking against mine.
I make a sound, desperate and wanting. The kind of sound I’d be ashamed of if I could think clearly, but I can’t think at all. My wrists strain against his grip. I need to touch him. I need my hands on him.
His fingers tighten around my wrists, and the reminder that I can’t move, can’t touch, can’t do anything except take what he gives me, makes me burn hotter. I arch up against him, straining to get closer, and he groans into my mouth. The sound is low and rough, and vibrates through my chest. Then he pulls back. His pupils are blown wide, his breathing ragged, and his lips wet. He’s looking at me like he can’t decide whether to devour me or destroy me.
I don’t give him time to choose.
I lift my head and catch his mouth again, kissing him with all the hunger I’ve been pretending I don’t feel. He makes another sound—half growl, half groan—and releases my wrists.
My hands are in his hair immediately, and I drag him down against me, my fingers twisting in the dark strands. His weight settles fully onto me, and when he shifts his hips, his erection presses into me, and I moan into his mouth.
His hand slides under my tunic, palm flat against my stomach, fingers splayed wide. I shudder at the contact, the way he doesn’t ask for permission. He touches me like he owns me, like he has every right to put his hands wherever he wants.
I should hate that. I should fight it.
I arch into his touch instead, chasing his fingers as they move higher. His mouth leaves me to kiss a path down my jaw in wet,open-mouthed kisses that leave my skin burning. He finds the curve of my throat and sucks at the skin there, hard enough that I know it will bruise, adding another mark to the ones he’s already left, and I don’t care.
Iwanthim to mark me. I want to wear the evidence of this on my skin.
“Cairn—”
His teeth drag over my pulse point, and whatever I was going to say dissolves into a gasp. My hips roll up against him, seeking friction, pressure, anything to ease the ache building between my thighs. He presses down in answer, hard, and the intensity of it rips a cry from my throat.
“Again. Please!”
He does it again, and again, setting a rhythm that has me writhing beneath him, my fingers clawing at his back, my breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.
His hand slides higher under my tunic, over my ribs, until he finds the curve of my breast and cups it. His thumb drags across my nipple.
“Please.”
“I like it when you beg,” he whispers.
His mouth stays on my throat biting and sucking while his fingers torment my breast, and his hips rock against me.
I’m going to shatter. I can feel it building, a hot pressure low in my stomach, tightening with every touch. I’m making sounds I can’t control, keening whimpers that would embarrass me if I could think about anything except how close I am, how much I need?—
His hand leaves my breast and reaches down, tugging the laces of my pants loose, so he can shove them down over my hips. The cool air hits my bare skin, and I shiver, but then his hand is there, sliding between my thighs. And I stop breathing entirely.
He groans against my throat at the discovery of how wet I am, a rough sound of satisfaction. He strokes through it, circling the place where I need him most, until I’m writhing beneath him. One of his fingers slides inside me and I arch off the ground with a sound that’s almost a scream.
My fingers fist into his hair, and he laughs against my throat.
“More. Please. I need?—”
He gives me another finger, curling them inside me and finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
I’m so close. I’m right there. If he keeps doing that, I’m going to?—
“I brought lunch!” The bright female voice cuts through the clearing.
Cairn freezes, his breath hot and ragged against my throat, his fingers still deep inside me.
And then, so fast I barely register the move, he’s pulled his fingers free, rolled to his feet and is walking away. I’m left lying there with my heart pounding, my skin flushed, and my body screaming for a release it isn’t going to get.
I stare up at the sky, struggling to slow my racing heart. My lips feel bruised. My throat stings where he marked me. My body is throbbing with frustrated want, every nerve still firing, waiting for a release that isn’t coming.
