He didn’t speak, only guided her back inside by hand and shut the door and the storm behind. His mouth found hersagain. No hesitation or questions this time. Trisha welcomed what he offered—his control, heat, and the way he claimed her body. They kept their silence as they crossed the room, touches and glances guiding the rest. In his bedroom, she stripped off his clothes first, each peeled layer exposing more pieces of the man. Tracking the scars crisscrossing down his chest, she tasted the tension in his muscles, the fullness of him, until a low rumble of pleasure escaped his throat.
“Woman, you’ll be the death of me.”
She smirked. “I said I’d stay, not that I’d behave.”
He pushed her toward his bed, undoing the laces of her vest, and liberated Trisha from her clothes faster than she’d gotten into them.
“I warned you already, Starling. I have deft hands,” Blainor reminded her with a wicked smile. “Let me show you.”
His fingers slid down her belly. When they found her center, he grinned. “So ready for me.”
“Then don’t stop.” She met his gaze, daring him. “You promised.”
Her hips jerked as he circled her, soft first, then firmer, each stroke building the fire further. He spread her legs wider with his knees. As his mouth found her breast and clamped around the hard bead, those nimble fingers kept building the heat in her core. The sound that left Trisha was incoherent, a mix between longing, plea, and demand. She could have begged for an end to this torture. Or ordered that he never stop.
“Don’t hold back,” Blainor murmured. “Let me hear how I make you feel.”
Yes, yes, Trisha’s magic hummed at his touch, writhing, warm and open, like an unfurling chord.Let us come undone.
Whether he heard it or not, Blainor made them both sing with his hands and mouth. Her every nerve trembled, alight and ready. When he entered her, she opened to him withouthesitation. As her body shattered around him, his voice untethered and joined hers.
The storm passed as they lay together, limbs entangled, sweat melding. Trisha’s magic had retreated back into her bones, satisfied and shimmering, Blainor’s hand tracing the shape of her rib. No regrets. No running this time. She had stayed. She had chosen this.
28
It wasn’tone specific thing, but a combination of many that disturbed Trisha’s sleep.
The mattress? Too soft. The blankets? Too luxurious. The fur tickled her skin.
Wrinkling her nose, she sniffed. That scent—sharp, with a whiff of pine and earth. Alluring. Familiar. Next came the awareness of her body: bone-deep contentment, a slight soreness in the muscles, and a warm touch on the swell of her hip. Trisha stretched her leg, and it rubbed against something solid.
Her eyes flew open as the memories flooded back. Across from her, Blainor’s gray eyes met hers. He lay on his side, head propped on one arm. Through the bed curtains, pale dawn highlighted his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. He was watching her. Not guarded, but alert, as if to catch every change of emotion on her face.
And what did Trisha feel? She wasn’t sure. Not when the moments came crashing down on her: the press of bodies, hishands, his mouth, the way he’d fit inside her. In spite of herself, blood flushed her face.
And still, no regrets. He’d made her body sing.
“Morning,” she muttered with a drowsy smile. The sleep still clung to her thoughts.
A quick tremor passed over his face, an easing of sorts. A breath left him, as though he’d been holding it for a long time. “You slept soundly.”
Trisha blinked, trying to interpret his tone and expression. But it was true. No nightmares this night. The memory from her childhood, the stone circles, the thistledrift reed, had faded. As if they didn’t matter anymore. “I guess I did.”
A sliver of rough satisfaction slipped through. “Good.” Blainor edged closer. His hand slid upward, brushing the underside of her breast. A trail of heat followed in its wake.
“You seem pleased with yourself.” But she smiled and didn’t resist when he captured her lips with his.
“Don’t see you complaining,” Blainor muttered. He trailed down and tasted her neck.
“That depends,” she breathed, skin heating under his touch, body alert and willing, “on what you’re offering.”
“If you ask”—his lips pressed against her, the smile more felt than seen—“I’ll just prove it to you again.”
His hands chased the shape of her body. His mouth explored her as though witnessing each curve for the first time. The touch rekindled the same burn all over again. Unlike last night, he took his time. If she had thought him torturing her before, this morning, he was steadily driving her insane, teasing her near the edge, never allowing her release.
Afterward, he helped her back into her dress. Stealing small kisses on her neck, near her shoulder blades, as though there wouldn’t be a chance for it again.
“You’re faster when it’s about taking off clothes,” Trisha huffed. Beyond the windows, the day was brightening.
