“Of what?”
“What if I cannot bear you a child, either?” Though she didn’t want to push him away, she felt the need to confront the barrier that had driven Elena and him apart. She loved Styr, but his first marriage had broken apart without a child.
He cut her off, touching his hand to her lips. “We can speak of it later, Caragh. For now, I want this time with you.”
Her protests fell silent at that. He was right. They had been apart for nearly another month, and she had missed him desperately.
She moved her hand to his chest, unable to resist slipping her hand beneath his tunic. His skin was warm and firm, his muscles taut beneath her fingertips. He inhaled when she touched him, and he moved her hand away for a moment while he removed his tunic. His body was bared to her, and she saw the years of strength and pain scarring his chest.
“I did miss you,” Caragh said again. She couldn’t resist running her hands over him. Her fingertips grazed his nipples, and they hardened, his body responding to her. When she bent and touched her lips to his skin, needing to taste him, he let out a groan, his hands catching in her hair.
“Show me how much,” Styr demanded. He laid her back on the bottom of the vessel, lying beside her. His mouth was on hers, hungrily kissing her until she wrapped both arms around him.
So very much, she wanted to whisper. Her body was aching as his tongue slid against hers, his hands loosening the ties of her gown.
When she touched him, rubbing her hands over his scalp, caressing a path down his neck, he froze.
“You don’t have to touch me,” he said. “I’d rather take care of you.” To show her what he meant, he touched her ankle, his hand stroking a path up to her knee.
The words struck her cold, and she frowned. “But why? Is there something wrong?”
He eyed her, his face masked as if he didn’t understand why she desired him.
“Styr,” she said quietly, “I’m not Elena. And Iwantto touch you. I need to.”
His skin revealed gooseflesh as the wind moved over him. Caragh placed her hands upon his shoulders, exploring his skin with her hands. He stiffened at the touch, but she massaged the skin, caressing him as she learned the planes of his body.
She replaced her hands with her mouth, kissing him the way she’d wanted to. It seemed so forbidden, to draw her mouth and tongue over the firm shoulders, her hands reaching forward to touch his chest. He let out a hiss of air when her hands moved lower.
She held her hands upon his stomach, too nervous to dare any more.
“My turn,” he growled. His eyes were heated, and she hesitated to allow it.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t start this now,” she hedged.
“You think I’ll give you a choice,søtnos?” He moved to sit behind her, drawing her hips between his legs. She felt the undeniable heat of his erection against her spine.
Styr began with her hair, touching her scalp the way she’d touched him. His hands moved down to her neck, where he found the tension and gently worked out the knots. She leaned her head down, her hair falling over one shoulder. It was so relaxing, having him touch her in this way. But when she felt him loosening her gown more, she froze.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he urged, and he lowered the gown to her waist. The wind blew over her bare breasts, making her nipples grow erect. His palms moved over her back, massaging warmth into her skin, drawing her beneath his spell.
And when he moved his hands over her breasts, she gave a cry, pushing back against his hips when he cupped her. His thumbsmoved over her nipples, drawing out the tips and sending a rush of desire between her legs. She was wet, aching for him to fill her. With every caress of her breasts, she felt the answering throb between her legs. Her hands gripped his thighs, her body shaking as he palmed her, arousing her with only his hands.
She remembered the shocking heat of his mouth upon her nipple and how it had sent her past the brink. She wanted him desperately, but she hardly trusted herself around him. With Styr, the world dissolved, sending her spinning into sensations she’d only dreamed of. Caragh gripped his hands, pulling them away to free herself from the prison of desire.
He spoke to her in his native language, capturing her waist and turning her to face him. She tried to cover herself, but he captured her wrists.
“Don’t hide your beauty from me.”
“I’m not beautiful,” she whispered. “I’m too thin.”
“You were hungry,” he corrected. “And that’s starting to change.” His hand moved from her cheek, down lower, to the curve of her breast. “I’m not leaving you again, Caragh. If I have to steal you away from Éire, I will.”
She trembled as the wind caught up, cooling her skin. Styr drew her to him, until her bare breasts touched his chest. Both of them were cold, but the heat of his flesh only quickened her breathing.
“You’re mine,” he said, holding her to him with her head tucked beneath his chin.
I want to be.
