Page 17 of The Wolf in My Tavern

His father leans in to rest his hand on Callum’s shoulder, and he says something to his son.

I need to move, but I’m caught in the pull of Callum and have no hope.

Betsy saves me. Bustling over, she takes the tray of drinks from me, calling out to the patrons that she is on her way before she turns to me. “Take him out the back, lass. I’ll cover for you. Happen the two of you need to talk.”

I don’t know I am moving until I take his hand and usher him out the back.

Mindful that Gareth beats a path to the cellar often, I don’t stop until we are in the hay barn where we keep feed for the horses that our guests stable here.

The air was chill as we walked through the courtyard, but we are out of the wind here, and the excitement coursing through me provides a source of heat. The light is weak, but when I lower my eyes to where his hand holds mine, all I see is a big, capable hand that makes mine look so small. Then my breath catches as I notice the split knuckles and the bruises over them. With a light touch, I skim over the marks, feeling tears sting the back of my eyes. No one ever looked out for me before. No one cared. Now Callum has done so, not once, but twice.

I lean down and brush my lips against the skin.

He hisses a breath, and I glance up, wondering if I have hurt him.

Then I see the look on his face, his flared nostrils, and the heat in his eyes, and suddenly I am burning up for him. Leaning up on my tiptoes, I plant my lips against his.

He fists my hair and tugs me away, breathing hard. “Gods, Ada. Please don’t tempt me, not tonight, not when your father’s blood is fresh on my mind. I want you. I want you so fucking badly. I swear I might die for the need, but I won’t kiss you, nor can I touch you tonight, not like this, not when I feel so out of control.

His hand is shaking—his emotional state crawls under my skin and lights a fire in the pit of my belly.

My father is gone. I don’t know exactly what that means, only that somehow Callum made it happen. In my eyes, he was already a hero. Now, he is nothing short of a king.

“I don’t care,” I say, my lips quivering and tears pooling in my eyes. I brush my hand against his cheek, feeling the scruff under my fingertips. “I don’t care about anything but that I need you, that I need to feel something other than the terrible pain in my heart that I have endured for so long. Tonight, I want to purge the pain, to purge the memory of my old self, the scared girl who was the victim of an abusive father. Tonight, I want to rise, to be reborn, and to become a woman in every way. And I want that with you, Callum.”

He heaves a breath, and the next thing I know, he smashes his lips over mine, taking control of the kiss and igniting the passion in me to a fever pitch. I cling shamelessly to him, pressing my body to his, entwining my fingers in his hair as our tongues engage in a dance that robs me of thought and breath.

When we finally find the will to come up for air, I feel like I am spinning. “I need you, Callum. I want you to be my first, to show me the other side of life.”

“Fuck, Ada!” He reaches for me, slanting his mouth over mine again in a kiss that shoots sparks behind my eyes. He moves on, trailing kisses of pleasurable devastation down my throat. “Gods.”

His hand shakes as he palms my breast through my gown, squeezing it roughly.

I push into it. “Yes, touch me there, please!”

In a swift move that has me breathless, he takes me down onto the low stack of hay, his lips at my throat as he tugs on the bodice of my gown, pulling it down and exposing my right breast.

Lifting his head, he stares down at what he has exposed. “So pretty,” he says, a note of wonder in his voice.

A heartbeat later, the breath is punched from my lungs as he lowers his lips to my distended nipple and sucks.

“Goddess!” I fist his hair, holding him closer as he suckles my flesh, bringing goosebumps springing across my skin and a tingling urgency rising between my legs.

He yanks the other side down, trailing kisses over to the neglected side and palming my right breast again as he feasts on the left.

“Oh, please!” I need something. I don’t have a clue what it is. More touches. Different touches… My hand delves between us, brushing over firm abdominals before I snag his belt and fumble to open it.

He tries to pry my fingers off, but his lips are locked on my breast, and he is distracted. The belt comes loose with a jangle, and I thrust my hand into his pants, groaning when my fingers find and wrap around hot male flesh.

“Let me see you,” I pant.

“Fuck!” he mutters against my breast. “You are going to kill me, lass.”

I giggle. He lifts his head and fixes me with a glare. I squeeze his hot flesh, feeling stickiness leak from the tip.

He groans, leans up, and prizes my hand away with a shudder. “This is all going to be over in a flash if you make me fucking come.” His hand moves to my skirts, lifting them, trailing his shaking hand up my thigh until he reaches my panties.

“Yes, take them off,” I demand, hitching my dress and reaching for them myself.

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