He shrugged. “I thought you didn’t care what people said and would not be defeated so easily. What happened to the girl who donned lads clothing and bested one of the best horsemen I know in a race? Was all that MacDowell pride a bunch of bluster?”
He felt like he’d hung the damned moon when one corner of her mouth lifted. “Are you suggesting I wear breeches to break my fast tomorrow morning?”
He laughed. “Good God, no. I wouldn’t want my mother to expire of shock.” He sobered a little. “I know she can be difficult at times, but once you get to know her, you’ll see that she just wants the best for my brothers and sisters and me.”
“Which is exactly the problem.”
“You are the best for me. She just hasn’t realized it yet.”
She smiled, and it wasn’t like he’d hung the moon—it was like he’d hung the sun. Warmth spread over him like a bright summer day.Thiswas why he loved her. She was fun and lighthearted, outrageous, knew how to make him laugh, and reminded him that not everything was the life-or-death stakes of war. This was why he needed her in his life. She was the light in a world that sometimes became too dark. The past months of doing—thinking—nothing but battle fell away.
“Really?”
“Really.”
And he set about proving it to her. Slowly. With a kiss that told her exactly how much she meant to him. They had all night, and he was going to make damn sure she knew how much he loved her. He didn’t want to think about how long this might have to last.
Following his lead, she responded to the long, slow strokes of his tongue with a deft tenderness of her own that made his chest ache. He’d never imagined a kiss could be filled with so much emotion—or express so much feeling. But he felt the longing, her desire, and love that matched his own, with every sigh, every stroke, and every soft caress.
When he’d finished worshipping her mouth with his lips and tongue, he went on to worship the rest of her. He kissed her jaw, her throat, the tender place below her ear, and finally, once he’d paused long enough to remove her clothes, the berry-pink tips of her nipples. Aye, he took plenty of time with those, circling his tongue around the puckered edges, flicking the rigid points, and sucking them deep into his mouth until she squirmed and moaned.
She tried to undo his surcoat, but he stopped her. “Not yet, sweetheart. If you touch me, it will be over too soon. I want to give you pleasure. Let me do this.”
She nodded, and he went on exploring. Her body was a fantasy, and he took his time savoring every cock-hardening inch of it. He couldn’t get enough. She was so soft and sweet, her skin dissolving against his mouth like honey. She tasted so damned good he wanted to taste all of her. He wanted to give her the kind of pleasure he’d never given another woman before. He wanted to put his mouth between her legs, slide his tongue inside her, and feel her come apart against his lips. And if the way she was pressing her hips against him was any indication, she was close.
He skimmed his hand over the slender curve of her waist to her hip. “Tell me what you want, Maggie.”
Her half-lidded eyes met his in a sensual haze of passion so dark and deep it threatened to drag him under. God, she was beautiful. He’d taken the time to remove not just her veil this time, but the pins from her plaits, and her hair spread over the pillow behind her head like a fiery blaze.
“You. I want you, Eoin. Inside me.”
A fierce swell of satisfaction surged through him; he loved the boldness with which she told him what she wanted. There was no false maidenly modesty with Margaret.
He brushed his fingers between her legs, feeling the silky dampness sliding between his fingers like warm honey. “Do you want my hands, my cock, or maybe my mouth?”
She gasped, the haze clearing from her eyes as they met his. She was clearly shocked, but she was also clearly aroused by the idea, if the fresh rush of dampness spreading through his fingers meant anything. So warm and silky. “Should I kiss you right here?” She gasped again when he pressed against her mound. “Should I slide my tongue inside you like this?” She cried out when his finger plunged and circled. “Shall I do that, Maggie?”
She was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were closed, her head moving side to side on the pillow. “Yes. Oh God, please, yes.”
He gave her what she wanted. What her body was weeping for. But he took his time, teasing out every sensation, every drop of pleasure, as he kissed a slow trail down her stomach.
When he reached the delicate place between her legs, he lifted her hips, wrapped her legs around his neck, and brushed feathery kisses along the inside of her thighs until she started to shake. Finally, he nuzzled her softly with his mouth, applying the lightest amount of pressure where he sensed she needed it most. Only when her thighs started to tighten and her heels dug into his back did he give her the pressure she wanted. Gently at first, and then harder as her pleasure peaked. As her body started to quiver and contract.
She tasted so good he couldn’t get enough. His tongue plunged deeper and deeper, his mouth sucked harder, and finally he had his reward when he felt the hard spasms of her release against his lips.
But he gave no quarter, bringing her to the peak again and again. All through the night and following day, in between short periods of rest and food, he made love to her—with his hands, his mouth, and his cock. The only time reality intruded was when he removed his shirt, and she noticed the bandage he’d wrapped around his arm to cover the new tattoo that he must hide from her, and when he slid out and moved between her legs instead of inside her as he took his release.
Shortly before he had to go, he woke her for the final time. She looked like a debauched angel, with the sheets snaked around her bare limbs, her fiery hair streaming around her shoulders, and her skin rosy—all over—from the scrape of his beard, and was clearly exhausted, but he didn’t have time to wait. God knew how long they would be apart, and now that she knew pleasure, he had to make sure she knew how to find it without him.
Taking her hand, he moved it between her legs and told her what he wanted her to do.
Her eyes widened. She shook her head and tried to pull her hand away. “I couldn’t.” She blushed. “It’s wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” he said firmly, keeping her hand where he wanted it. “I want you to think of me. Pretend it’s my hand that is touching you. My fingers that are stroking you.” Gently, he moved her fingers under his, showing her what he wanted. “That’s what I’ll be thinking about.”
She looked surprised—and maybe a little intrigued. “You will?”
He nodded. “It will drive me crazy thinking about you touching yourself. Please, sweetheart, let me watch. Give me something to remember.”
