“Ye have a habit of getting carried away.” A satisfied smile stretched across her face as she replayed the last three hours in her head.
“I have ye to blame for that.”
She rolled onto her chest. A soft breeze ruffled Darragh’s hair, causing it to fall over his eyes. She reached out and brushed the strands away. He was looking at her, hanging on to every little movement. The flutter of her lashes, the parting of her lips, the shift of her gaze as she studied him. Adoration was writ large on his face.
She giggled. “I fear I willnae be able to walk.”
“Then I shall carry ye.”
“Please nay.” She imagined herself in his arms as he padded through slate corridors. “I would be terribly embarrassed.”
It was not as though they had made a great effort to hide it. They frequently woke up in each other’s rooms or disappeared for hours, only to reappear together.
Still, she wanted to keep their trysts secret. Amber had once tried to engage in idle gossip and broached the subject of sex. Talia, an experienced healer who had no problems conversing on matters of sexual relations with her patients, had turned beetroot red. If their frequent disappearances were not telling enough of their trysts, then her reaction was a sure telltale.
Another telltale was their lying naked out in the open.
“Nae more embarrassing than limping, I assume?”
“Still, I would like to walk.”
“And row yer little boat across the stream?”
She had never considered that. How were they going to return? She felt no inclination to swim—though a cold dip might invigorate her—and they could not both fit into the wee vessel. It would capsize under their combined weights. Trekking through the village was out of the question, Darragh carrying her even more so.
“I should like to do that, too.”
He sat up. “Then I will have to tire yer hands so ye would have to depend on me.”
He straddled her and pinned her hands above her head. If they had not been attracting attention before, they surely were now. Her erect nipples pressed into his chest, making his skin tingle.
She leaned up defiantly. “I shall crawl if I have to.”
The look in his eyes was of pure appreciation for her breasts.
“Be careful, or ye might be mistaken for a ghoul and get smitten where ye crouch,” he said in a low, sultry voice.
“There is nae a man on this earth who has the courage to fight a ghoul as menacing as me.”
His lips quirked up. “So ye believe yerself threatening?”
“How else would ye describe me?”
“I have to flip ye on yer hands and knees.” She watched the scene in his eyes as he described it. “Look at the way yer skirt frames yer bottom. Good God! Yer breasts are also spilling out of yer neckline.” The result of his imagination pressed into her thigh. “Nay, there’s nae a man who would see ye as threatening. I fear I must stop ye from doing that because ye appear more like a succubus. Look…” He lowered his gaze to his throbbing erection. “Ye are already possessing me.”
“What shall we do about it?” she breathed, a suggestionandan invitation.
His mouth hovered above hers. “Ye’re sore.”
He sounded as though he were fighting himself. He must have been, with the way he was both holding back and holding her tight.
“I am.”
They did not let up, engaging in some mental battle where they were urging the other to break first. They were both spent, no matter how much their bodies stirred. Another tumble will end regrettably.
Darragh caved first, but not in the way she had expected. He fell off her, groaning like a man forced to throw down the white flag.
“It’s getting dark,” she stated, a smile playing on her lips. “Ye should retrieve yer clothes so we can head back to the castle.” She made no move to retrieve hers.
