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The Chief

Page 32

by Cecelia Mecca

“I cannot become your wife. You are the chief. And I am . . .”

“A magnificent woman. A friend to my family. I adore you. My mother adores you. The clan will love you, not for the alliances you bring but for the loyalty and love you give all of us. Marry me, Cristane.”

“Your mother?”

“Knew all, though I did not break your confidence. She also knew what was inside my heart and took me, fool that I am, properly to task for not being enough of a man to take what I want. And I want you.”

He reached down then, underneath her shift, and ran his hand up her bare thigh. She stared boldly at him as his fingers moved closer and closer to her core. Nearly jumped when he reached it.

Could it be true? Could this wonderful man truly be hers?

She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

“Do not be alarmed.”

Before she had time to ask what he meant, Rory’s fingers were inside her. Her jaw dropped, the sensation too foreign, and yet . . .

“I would bring you pleasure each and every day.” He moved those clever fingers now, and Cristane had no words.

When she looked down at his hands between them, Cristane clenched. And then closed her eyes.

“Nay, not like this.”

She felt the loss immediately. Whipping her eyes open, she saw he was undressing.

“Rory . . .”

She’d seen him without a shirt, of course. But never in her bedchamber. And just like that, the clan chief stood before her utterly and completely nude.

“You will become my wife, Cristane. But first, I plan to remove that shift.”

Before she thought to remind him she’d not yet answered his proposal—as if she would say anything other than aye—he made good on his promise. When he lifted her shift upward, her arms shot into the air of their own accord.

Groaning, Rory grabbed her around the waist and did just as he had promised. One moment, she stood staring at the body of a god. The next, she lay atop the coverlet, pillow under her head, with Rory on top of her.

His kiss seemed to last forever, and she never wanted it to stop. But it did, his lips moving lower and lower until they covered one breast. Prompted by an ever-so-slight tug of his teeth, she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer.

Rory’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once.

“I need . . .”

But she didn’t know what she needed. Rory, on the other hand, seemed to understand. When his fingers entered her this time, she was more prepared. Allowing herself this pleasure, she pushed into them, slowly at first and then faster.

“Please.”

They disappeared again, just as they had before, leaving her achy and wanting.

Positioning himself above her, Rory licked his lips. And she was done for.

“When I enter you, it will hurt a bit at first.”

She tried to say, I know, but nothing came out.

“But by the time we’re done, I promise you’ll find nothing but pleasure in this bed. Tonight and every day. As my wife.”

He dared her to disagree.

When she didn’t, instead pressing her hips into his hand, which lay on her mound as if already claiming it, and her, Rory waited.