“I cannae regret what brought us together, but I regret how it made ye think of me, love. I have no’ thought of ye as my enemy since the moment ye ate from my fingers, and I hate that ye continue to think of me that way.”
I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. I was being lashed on all sides by sensations and information and all I wanted to do was plaster myself against Vrogul and demand he protect me from it all.
But…
“That is when you made me feel safe,” I admitted hoarsely. “And I began to second-guess myself.”
He nodded solemnly, slowly moving his hand to my back, warming me in the cool air.
“We are Mates, Rowena. There is a kenning.”
Mates.
I felt as if I’d been holding my breath, waiting for him to say the words. And now that he had, I could finally breathe.
Mates.
My fingers curled around his kilt. He was my Mate? Aye, and I was his, wasn’t I? I couldn’t deny this tug, thisknowing, as he described it, that we shared. Is that what it meant?
At first I thought he was my enemy, then I realized I admired Vrogul the Stormseeker, chief of the Islay Battleborn.
Now, I suspected I loved him.
“Vrogul…” I whispered, not sure what else to say.
So I pushed myself up on my toes, claiming his mouth in a kiss.Mine, I wanted to growl. He was mine, and I was his.
And I couldn’t go home again, could I?
This is your home. This wild, wicked, incredible land that makes you feel alive in a way no other place or people have.
And I knew ‘twas the truth. I’d found where I belonged.
When Vrogul pulled away, I was momentarily disappointed, but only as long as it took him to sink to his knees before me. I remembered what he’d said aboutworshipingme, and decided that’s what this was.
His mouth trailed hot kisses down my skin, and I spread my legs for him, bracing my weight. As he lowered himself, the wind hit me again, whipping my long hair over my shoulder. I tightened my fingers in his braids and locked my knees to keep from falling when the pleasure began.
He stroked me with his callused fingertips as his tusks scraped over my sensitive skin, heightening the anticipation and arousal. When he finally slid his tongue along my soaked cunny, he groaned as I bucked against him, going wild.
His fingers slid into me—one, two—twisting, stretching me, as his tongue focused on my clitoris, the wide tip driving me mad.
The ridges on his tongue were good, aye, but I wantedmore. I wanted his cock.
A third finger slid into me, the stretch almost burning, but I knew he was preparing me for what I desperately needed, and I continued to rock against his fingers.
“That’s it, my wee wildcat,” he murmured against my skin in between laps. “My strong Mate. Ye taste so godsdamn good, love. I could lick ye forever.”
“I am not going to last forever,” I gasped, holding onto the top of his head. “Please, Vrogul?”
“Aye,” he drawled, before sliding his tongue along my swollen cunny. “Be a good captive and come for me now.”
With that, he closed his lips around my clitoris, and the sensation was so sudden, I gasped and bucked against him as my pleasure slammed into me.
“Vrogul!” I cried, the sound ripped from my lips by the north wind which blew up at that moment and whipped my hair around me. He anchored my hips in place as my body spasmed against his fingers and mouth, pleasure crashing over me again and again.
It seemed to go on forever, but eventually I could look down at him, kneeling reverently at my feet as he withdrew his fingers, and I traced the line of his jaw, his cheeks, in benediction.
Thank youdidn’t seem enough.
