Page 74 of Iron Blade

“I still don’t understand why you want me,” I confessed, as his hand left my throat, lightly grazing over my clavicle, down the bare skin of my cleavage, before delving under the bodice of my dress to cup a breast properly. “You’re Eoghan Green. You could have anyone.”

I moaned into his touch, wishing more than anything that we could be alone now, our skins touching, and our bodies intertwined.

“I don’t need just anyone,” he whispered, as his hand massaged my breast. “I want you. I am singularly infatuated with you, and only you, Mrs. Kira Green.”

I shuddered at that name. It even sounded right.

That sense of fate overcame me, with that slight feeling of foreboding. As though I had no control over my own destiny.

“I am yours, and you are mine,” he said, his words sending a shiver down my body to my core, that clenched with the need to be joined with him. To be joined in the very, very biblical sense of it. “You are blood of my blood. From now, until my life is done, I will never have another.”

That vow did something to me. I didn’t know where it came from, or what the hell it was about. But I liked it. I wanted it. I wanted the insane depth and possession that it all embodied.

“Where are we going?” I finally asked, as the city gave way to suburbs, and then the suburbs gave way to woods, and countryside.

“Mourningkill,” he whispered into my hair.

“Oh? What’s in Mourningkill?” He planted a kiss on my bare shoulder, nibbling on the skin there.

“Home. Though not right away. I’ll be taking you to a little country house, so we can be well and truly married, before I take you to meet my father.”

His head almost lowered, as if he was bowing in resignation. But that couldn’t be right. Men like Eoghan did not bow.

“There’s lots we must discuss, but… not now.” He nuzzled his way into my neck. “Not tonight.”

I groaned. “It’s almost morning.”

“It’s morning on our honeymoon, Mrs. Kira Green.”

His hand reached down my skirt, tracing it above my thigh until he reached the hem. Then his hand took the same journey, but this time along my bare skin, dragging my skirt up with the movement: from my ankle, up my calf and to my thigh until he cupped my bare ass in his palm.

One of my legs was naked, open, and waiting for him. He looked down at my skin, and smirked.

“Oh dear, Mrs. Green,” he said in that deep seductive voice. “It appears you’ve forgotten your underwear.”

I groaned, and flushed with embarrassment, but he didn’t give me time to process. Not when he came down to his knees on the floor in front of me, and kissed his way from my knee, up my inner thigh, to the bare - and now waxed - pussy that was as soft as silk.

I blushed as he looked at me, his mouth open.

He looked pleased, but a small - very small - part of me wondered if he was seeing something he didn’t like. I was a very, very average woman, by purely physical standards. I had cellulite, and tan lines. I had wrinkles and pouches in places that weren’t fashionable.

I didn’t wear underwear because, unlike the models who had walked my dress down a runway, my underwear left lines on my soft skin, with its layer of fat. I wasn’t made of marble like Eoghan. My arms and body weren’t taut and sinewy. I was made of skin, and flesh, and meat.

But if I was right, then he didn’t mind at all. He… he liked what he saw. Right?

I waited, my heart in my throat.

“Fuck,” he said in a low breath. “If I had known this was underneath your little dresses, I would have done more than steal a kiss.”

He dove in with reckless abandon, pulling me towards him by the thighs his tongue fucking me as if he had a right to it. He wasn’t doing it to get me ready for him. He didn’t do it so that I would be willing to fuck him afterwards. He did it to explore, and own. He got pleasure from it.

I moaned and bucked against his lips, and his eyes flashed with a lust that made me smolder.

I would burn into ash if he kept going, his hands tightening around my thighs.

He moaned against my core, and I felt it vibrate all the way up to my taut nipples that were desperate to break free from the constraints of my bodice.

He was unrelenting, desperate, consuming. His soft tongue fucked me hard and I was at my breaking point.

---