His hands are in my hair and he’s pushing me against the wall.
Every emotion that was missing from Desmond’s kiss, from Torvil’s almost-kiss, can be found here in the slide of Lachlan’s lips across mine. In the clash of our teeth. In the soft heat of his tongue. I shudder out his favorite whimper, and his hand slides down to my ass, his fingers digging in so hard he nearly rips my gown.
I yelp, and he stiffens. He tears his mouth from mine and tries to pull away, but I don’t let him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I can’t … We shouldn’t do this right now. I’m too … I don’t want to hurt you.”
I bring my hand to his cheek. “You would never.”
He looks wretched, fear and desire fighting for dominance. “You have no idea what I’m capable of. The things my anger might urge me to do to your body. I cannot be gentle right now.”
“Who says I want you to be? I can handle you, Lachlan. I’m not afraid.”
“Charlotte,” he groans. “You don’t understand. I?—”
“You’re doing an awful lot of talking for someone who said he didn’t want to talk.” I wrap my hand around the back of his neck. It’s coated with sweat, evidence of how hard he’s fighting his urges. I whisper into his ear the same offer he made. “Use me.”
He presses his forehead against mine, heated skin to heated skin, behind which thrums thediamrhán, our connection.
I trust you, I say through it.
More than anyone. More than is wise.
I do not need to voice that part. He knows.
Which is probably why he throws me over his shoulder, pushes the cracked door open, and tosses me onto his bed.
He wastes no time climbing on top of me, his mouth fused to mine. My entire jaw is corralled by one of his massive hands as the other deftly pulls up my skirt and strokes the fabric between my legs.
“Your panties are very wet,” he whispers against my mouth, and I can tell by the curve of his lips that this discovery has pleased him. AndIam pleased to discover that Aowen was right about that word. “You like me angry and out of control? You want me to be rough with you? To be mean?”
His hand dips beneath the waistband, followed by a light graze along my slit and a small pinch to my clit. I am putty.
“Please,” I beg. It’s all I can manage.
He coasts down my body, pulling down my sleeves and biting the swells of my breasts above my bodice. It hurts, but also feels so incredible that I let slip a loud moan.
He tsks. “Quiet. You don’t want Aowen to hear you. Burst through that door to see her brother’s future queen being fucked raw by his knight.”
He pushes off me, and I almost cry out in protest. I can be quiet. Or at least try. He didn’t have to stop. He?—
He slides me to the edge of the bed and rips my panties off. “Open your mouth.”
I instantly obey, liquid heat pulsing between my thighs as he stuffs them into my mouth. I taste my own arousal. This is filthy. And so degrading.
I’m in ecstasy.
“Scream into those all you like. If you don’t, I’m not doing my job properly.” He grazes his lips across my temple, my kind friend checking in. “You remember our signal, yes? If at any moment you want me to stop, just tap me twice with your heels or leg.”
I nod furiously, wondering why he didn’t tell me to use my hands.
I find out a moment later when he stands me up, turns me around, and tears my gown straight down the back. He undoes my stays with practiced hands, then strips off my shift and ties my wrists together with the laces.
I raise a brow, breasts pushed together and on display for him. I am fully naked aside from my thigh-high silk stockings and lace garters.
“Stay like that for a moment,” he breathes, reverent. “I want to look at you.”
He doesn’t say what we’re both thinking. Which is that this could be the very last time he’s able to look at me like this. We’ll part tomorrow—him to Tír na Strelle with Desmond and me to Tír na Dubh to win my final suitor—and will not see each other again until Mabon for the Wild Hunt.
