Well. This could be quite intriguing.
Her own hand was not as satisfying on her skin as his was, but it evoked sensations nonetheless. Pleasurable sensations that were heightened by the dark glow in his eyes. She took the tip of her braid and traced slow circles on her belly, up her chest, and across her shoulders. Now the gooseflesh was hauntingher.
His eyes became hotter and a flush rose on his cheeks.
Caitrina grew more daring, trailing the braid over one breast, down the valley, and circling the nipple of the other. As the hairs drifted over the budded tip, a short gasp broke from her lips. Sweet, sweet Jesu. It was all too easy to imagine his lips on her breasts, his fingers doing the delicate dance of the hairs. A hot wetness blossomed between her legs.
Surprisingly, this romp was having a powerful impact—not only did the sight of his obvious enthrallment excite her, but her imagination and the touch of her own hand doubled her pleasure. Caitrina abandoned the braid and placed her fingers directly on the plump flesh of her breast.
Her eyes closed.
She had touched her breasts before, even teased them to a point of gentle awareness. But this was new. Somehow, the knowledge that he was watching her added volumes to her sensitivity, and her skin reacted to her touch almost as eagerly as if he’d been caressing her breast himself. She rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, moaning at the sharp flood of sensations that spun out in all directions.
A low, feral growl escaped Bran’s throat.
Caitrina opened her eyes just in time to see him pounce. He leapt upon her with unrestrained ardor, all smugness vanished from his face. His hands were everywhere—not just above her waist—and it was clear that she was the victor of their little game. Not that she gave her win any thought. She was lost in a dizzying cloud of passion—every inch of her alive in ways she’d never been before.
Her world was spinning, her power immense, even as she trembled with weakness.
Armed with a new boldness, she took his hand and guided his strokes to the spots that gave her the most pleasure. Places she had never dared to suggest he go. It felt so good to have his hands cupping her breasts and rubbing the eager flesh between her thighs.
Together, they teased each other to the point of no return. When Bran finally slid two fingers inside her, Caitrina was dripping wet and she nearly found release.
“Take me,” she urged, her breath rasping.
Bran shed his braies in an instant, parted her thighs, and thrust into her with a shudder that racked his entire body. “Lord, lass,” he said hoarsely. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Then he proceeded to take her so deeply and so thoroughly that she thrashed against the sheets and nearly sobbed with the sweet harmony of their movements. When she came, it wasn’t a quick flash of ecstasy—it was a rolling storm of release that went on and on until she lay beneath him so spent that she could not move a muscle.
He collapsed on the bed next to her and rolled onto his back.
“The guards will be wondering where you are.”
“I care not,” she said honestly.
He turned his head and smiled. “You say that now, but you will likely not feel the same come morn.” He leapt off the bed, gathered up the cloth in the water basin by the hearth, and returned to gently cleanse her private parts.
“I’ve never met a lass quite like you,” he said.
“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, with a frown.
“Nay,” he said with a laugh. He located her night rail in the jumble of his bedding and helped her don it. “Quite the opposite. I think I may be falling in love with you.”
Caitrina stiffened, her arms half into her nightgown. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “’Tis the truth.”
She tugged the linen down over her thighs and rolled off the bed. Staring at him reclined upon the mattress with his head pillowed beneath his arm, she scowled. “You are determined to ruin this wonderful night.”
His eyebrows rose. “Why does my declaration of love constitute ruin? You uttered the same words to me not a sennight ago.”
“Butmydeclaration carried no expectations.”
“And mine does?”
“It’s common knowledge that men do not speak of love unless they mean to make a claim.”
“Is it?”
