Page 122 of Song of the Dark Wood

ROWAN

Rowan expected more resistance to her request, but the moment she asked Conor to take her to bed, he seemed desperate to do just that.

He lifted her into his arms immediately and kissed her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threaded her fingers through his hair, trying to ground herself with his touch.

“Take me to my bed,” she whispered, her lips grazing his ear.

He fumbled his way out of the dining room without putting her down. He was so frantic that he paused to kiss her up against the wall several times in the hall before they reached her room, where he tossed her onto the bed. He stripped her out of her nightgown with not a word spoken.

His hands and lips on her skin drove her wild as he nipped and kissed up her inner thighs. Every kiss was a prayer, his mouth filled with worship.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he descended on her in a frenzy.

Her back arched instantly, and she squirmed under the intensity of his attention. Conor pinned her hips to the bed with his hands as he worked her relentlessly. There was nothing buthis touch, the wet slide of his tongue, and his sweet, affectionate whispers against her skin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed this as much as I do with you,” he breathed before continuing his ministrations.

Her fingers threaded through his hair idly as he licked and kissed her. She climbed higher and higher, afraid she’d break apart if he held her on the edge any longer. Finally, a light hum from his lips sent her screaming over the brink.

Still, Conor stayed put, as if trying to display his contrition exclusively through pleasuring her. She was surprised when the tension started to climb again. She mumbled a curse, panted and writhed, her nails digging into his forearms. Nothing had ever felt so good. He slid a finger inside of her, and every muscle clenched around it, her body desperate for more of him.

“Mother slay me, Rowan. You’re so good,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. He slid a second finger inside of her, and she whimpered.

More—she needed more. She needed him as close as possible.

Every muscle below her waist clenched. Her pleasure climbed and climbed as he worked her with his fingers and mouth. All at once, the tension snapped, and she screamed as she came undone again. Wave after wave of pleasure whipped through her.

She relaxed back down to the bed, and Conor kissed his way up her body torturously slowly. She tried to focus her mind, but it was still buzzing from pleasure, and her thoughts floated away like wild butterflies. She tried to ignore the growing swell of emotion in her chest.

You need to kill him, Rowan. Get the dagger.

Rowan reached blindly, stretching her hand beneath the pillow where she’d stashed it. Her fingertips grazed the coolmetal. She gripped the dagger in her sweaty palm as Conor continued kissing up her chest.

Finally, Conor met her lips, drawing her into a scorching kiss. She squeezed the hilt of the dagger in her palm, trying to use it to ground her from the spinning, fluttering sensation in her chest. She reached for him, stroking his length. He groaned, his hips chasing her hand as he thrust forward.

“I should do that for you,” she whispered against his lips.

“No, love. As much as I know that I would thoroughly enjoy that, if I don’t get inside you now, I’ll go mad,” Conor murmured. His voice was rough, and it sent warmth pooling low in her belly.

He shifted and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he sank into her. They both groaned.

“There is nothing like the look on your face and the way you moan when I first push inside you, Rowan. Nothing has ever felt so good,” Conor rasped.

A strangely prideful satisfaction bolstered her. She had to agree.

It was the dirtiest compliment she’d ever received, and she should have been appalled, but some dark part of her liked it immensely. Her grip on the dagger loosened.

The first time, she had been nervous, shy, and tentative, but now she felt like she’d finally found the place where she could be wild without judgment. She lifted her hips, urging him to move, and he chuckled.

“Slow down,” Conor chided. “I’m trying to give you a chance to adjust.”

“I’m fine—now move,” she said, digging her heels into his rear to urge him on.

He laughed. “I swear, lass, you are out of your mind.”

He started to move, and it felt even better than the first time. She’d never felt more comfortable with anyone, even considering the vulnerability of their circumstances.

“Perfect—you are so fucking perfect for me, Rowan,” he whispered as he kissed her neck.

---