Page 131 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

She meets my gaze. “I’m still not afraid of you,” she says, breathy, and I kneel before her. Her red hair tickles my face, the scent of juniper enveloping me, and I grow impossibly, painfully, harder.

“If you knew the things I’ve thought of doing to you,” I keep my voice low, “the images that have been flashing through my mind all day, you would be.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesnae look away, and fuck, does it burrow beneath my skin. This is a mistake, all of it. Getting so close. Allowing her to touch me, and yet I cannae pull her hand away.

“What have you thought of doing to me?” she whispers, and my cock twitches. It's a challenge, but a gentle one.

Fine. Maybe if she knows exactly what my body craves, she'll feel the fear she should. She has to, because this? Crossing this line? It would ruin us both. How can she not see it?

I lower my chin, moving to crouch before her and leaning in until my nose is only inches from hers.

“I've thought about spreading you wide, bare beneath me, and feasting on you until I’ve had my fill. And I am a verra,” my voice grows thick, almost a growl, “verra hungry man.” She squeezes her legs together, her eyes flashing with heat.

“What else?” Her breath is warm on my face, and I lean into it.

“I’ve pictured pinning you beneath me, taking you so rough, you scream. So gently, you cry. And every way in between. Making you forget your name. Your curse. This tormented existence you’re living. Plunging inside you again and again until you're sweet, wet heat tightens around me. And even then, I wouldnae give you rest. I’d keep going, deeper and harder until I have marked myself inside your body for eternity.”

Her mouth opens, and her breath goes shallow. “You think this is frightening me?” she asks.

“It should,” I say.

“It doesn’t. You don't scare me, Brennen. Not one bit.” She stands, brushing off her skirt and heading toward the tent. She pauses just before entering. “Even if you truly want to do those things, you can’t. I wouldn’t let you touch me again. Not when it would cost you your magic. Not when we don't know what we're facing, and you'll likely need it. So you can forgive yourself, Brennen, for wanting a monster,” she says, and I’m certain she’s seeing into the deepest parts of me.

She smiles sadly, disappearing inside.

I almost do it right then. Pull out my cock and search for relief from this torment, if only so I can stop the insanity churning in my mind. I cannae think. Can hardly breathe. Because this is no longer a want, but a need. An overwhelming and all-consuming, relentless craving.

And yet, I dinnae allow myself to find release. It wouldn't be right. Not when I still have a duty to fulfill.

58

BEA

My body is on fire. Brennen’s words—his threats—ignited a spark somewhere in the deepest parts of me, and it cannot be doused. I roll to my side, pressing my legs together to try to ease the ache, but the friction only makes it worse.

It’s unbearable.

I listen for movement outside, but it’s completely silent other than the crackle of the fire. And so, for the first time in so long, I slide my hand between my legs. Even I’m surprised how warm my skin feels as I spread myself with my fingers and find the delicate bundle of nerves at my center.

My cheeks flush at my own brazenness. The object of my fantasies is just outside the tent, but the idea of stopping is unfathomable. The pressure is too great, the need to ease it unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

I have to bite back a moan as I press and circle, imagining it’s Brennen’s fingers touching me instead of my own. A pleasant heat spreads from those nerves through my core, and my toes curl, my breaths going shallow. The tent flaps rustle as they open, and I pull my hand away, my heart leaping into my throat.

Brennen pauses before entering, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Is it possible he knows what I was doing in here? He doesn’t say anything as he enters, tossing his sword into the corner, but his movements are stiff. His presence fills the tent, spreading until it’s suffocating. I can barely breathe as I lie there, frozen.

My body tenses when Brennen lowers himself behind me, sliding beneath the thick blanket. Energy buzzes between us, and he shifts. Did he move closer, or further away?

The bedroll crinkles as he lifts his head, and his gruff rasp breaks through the dark. “You’re playing with fire, little lark. Go to sleep,” he rasps, and my mouth goes dry. So he must know what I was doing. But how?

I cannot bring myself to answer in my embarrassment, squeezing my eyes shut. I sense him cross his arms and lay his head back down, and I focus on slowing my breathing. My heart still bangs against my ribcage, but I close my eyes, taking slow inhales and exhales.

Brennen doesn’t move again, and as his breaths begin to even, I relax a fraction, but the ache inside me persists. Grows until it’s unbearable. I can smell him beside me. Feel his heat.

I wait another minute. Then ten. Then twenty, but Brennen’s breathing remains steady. It’s not until I’m certain he’s deeply asleep that I slowly move my hand back between my legs. I hold my breath as I begin to move my fingers once more.

Brennen shifts.

“Don diabhal e,” he growls. To hell with it. There’s no time to react as Brennen’s hands wrap around my waist, and he pulls me back against his chest. He’s hard as the riverbed behind me, his breath hot on my neck, and I gasp.