Page 37 of Claiming Pretty

His thrusts became more forceful, driving deeper with each movement and the pressure inside me built to near bursting.

“Yes,” I gasped, my voice strained against his grip. “I’myours.”

My admission, my words, were my undoing.

My pussy clenched around him and wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me as I screamed.

Scáth groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed me over the edge.

I felt the warmth of his release inside me, his body shuddering between my legs.

For a long moment, we stayed in that position, both of us panting and trembling with the aftershocks of our climax.

Slowly, Scáth released his grip on my throat and pulled away. He returned with a damp cloth.

I studied the way his messy hair fell over his eyes, catching in his long dark lashes. The way his forearm muscles flexed as he tenderly cleaned me up.

God, he was so beautiful it made my chest ache.

He tossed the cloth into my wash basket and slid his body beside me before pulling me against his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, a stark contrast to his aggression before.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and damp. “Every second that he kept you from me, Iachedfor you.”

I turned my head, seeking his lips with mine.

The kiss was slow and deep as the memory of the moment I fell for him echoed in my mind.

“One day… in my future house… I want a strawberry patch.”

“What else do you want?”

“I want a big library with a view of the sea,” I said before I could stop myself. “It will be filled with light. The shelves will be the color of driftwood and the couches the color of sea glass. And the books will be faded from the sun with pages bent and yellowed from long days on the beach.”

My knees trembled against Ciaran’s legs and my heart pounded painfully in my chest. I felt like I was getting more drunk instead of less.

“Each room will be light and airy and have blue drapes the color of… of cornflowers. And our—my—bedroom will have a peaked ceiling and overlook the sea. There’ll be an antique writing desk beside a sunny window. And a large comfortable bed piled high with the softest pillows.”

The corners of his wet lips curled up and my veins went cold with fear.

If he laughed at me, I would die.

“Would you have a porch… where we could drink tea?” he asked.

“Yes, a large wraparound porch,” I whispered.

I didn’t tell him that there had always been a boy on my porch, too. Always in the shadows. Always just a silhouette. I didn’t let myself paint him in.

Until now.

Ciaran’s face moved dangerously close to mine.

I gripped the kitchen counter more tightly.

“What about a forest nearby so I could chase you through it?” he asked.

Goosebumps erupted along my arms.

Pine drifted in through my nostrils even through the thick fragrance of the drying herbs. Pine and salt water. Rich earth and Ciaran’s musk.

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