Page 69 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. One hand slid up to her breast, kneading as his tongue flicked mercilessly at her most sensitive point. Her thighs clenched around him as the wave built inside her—too big to fight, too deep to escape.
When she shattered, she screamed his name, her voice raw and shaking.
Ciaran held her through every tremor, then climbed up her body, slow and deliberate, pressing the length of his arousal against her slick folds.
“I’m nae done,” he said, looking down at her flushed, panting form. “Nae until ye ken who ye belong tae. Are ye sure ye want this, fer there is nay turning back?”
She nodded eagerly.
He thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke, and Isolde cried out again—half-pain, half-bliss—gripping his back with desperate fingers.
They moved together in a rhythm that was anything but gentle. He was fierce, relentless, pushing her higher with each thrust, driving into her with a hunger that bordered on primal.
“Look at me,” he ordered, voice raw.
She opened her eyes. What she saw in his—possession, worship, need—stole her breath.
“I love ye,” she whispered, and it wasn’t planned. It just was.
He stilled for a moment, that look overtaking him—like she’d undone him more than any war ever had. Then he kissed her, deep and rough, and began to move again. This time it was slower, deeper, hitting places inside her that made her body light up.
When the second release came, it was fierce and sudden. She sobbed his name into his neck, her nails digging into his back as she trembled all over again. With a groan, Ciaran followed, hips jerking once, twice, as he spilled himself inside her.
They lay tangled together, breathless and spent, the candlelight throwing golden shadows across their bare skin.
“Ye're mine ferever now. I'll never let ye go,” he murmured against her temple, one hand splayed protectively across her belly.
She smiled faintly, heart full. “Then dinnae.”
And in that silence neither of them had to say another word.
"What happens now?" she whispered finally, giving voice to the question that hung over them.
His hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle path. "I return tae MacCraith lands. I speak with me council."
"And then?"
"And then I come back fer ye," he said, the certainty in his voice warming her more than the blankets tangled around their bodies. "Whatever objections they raise, I'll overcome them. The MacCraiths and MacAlpins were allies once, they can be again."
Isolde propped herself up on one elbow to study his face in the dim light. "Ye make it sound simple."
"Nae simple," he corrected, brushing a strand of copper hair from her face. "But necessary."
She laid her palm against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath her fingers. "I fear fer Rhona," she admitted, her voice catching. "If Wallace has her..."
"We'll find her." Ciaran covered her hand with his own. "Since the attack, I've had men watching Wallace borders. If she's been taken there, I'll ken by the end of tomorrow. "
"And if we're too late?"
His eyes held hers, unflinching. "Then Wallace will answer tae me personally."
The fierce protectiveness in his tone sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the night's chill. This man, who had fought for her when she was nothing but a nameless woman in danger, would move mountains to protect those she loved.
"I need tae send word tae me men," he continued, his tactical mind already formulating plans. "They'll watch the southern passes where Wallace's territory meets yours. If they've taken her beyond his borders, we'll need faster horses."
Isolde silenced him with a gentle finger against his lips. "Fer tonight, can we nae just be Ciaran and Isolde? Nae laird and lady, nae strategists, nae clan representatives? Just us?"
The hardness in his expression softened, his hands drawing her closer until her body lay flush against his. "Just us," he agreed, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Fergive me, I've spent so long being just Laird MacCraith, I sometimes forget who Ciaran is beneath."
