Page 16 of To Wed a Highlander
Chapter 7
His fair eyes were even more disconcerting than the black pits his Berserker’s had been. They were keen yet merciless as they traversed the curves and valleys of her naked body.
The air turned hot and heavy, thick with tension and passion, blooming with the scent of a storm. Whether it brewed outside, or between them, Kenna was too lost in the moment to care. All she knew was when it broke, she wanted to be clinging to this man, to his strength. Not just that of his massive shoulders or immense thighs, but also the strength of his character, the self-assured courage that bled from his every pore.
Niall’s tunic and trews were discarded in a few jerks, and before Kenna had the time to do an appreciative inspection of her own, she was swept into his arms and deposited onto the window seat.
He remained standing, his impressive erection reaching toward her from a swirl of golden hair and sinewy hips.
To Kenna’s shock, her mouth and loins flooded with moisture, rending an answering noise from Niall’s throat. It rippled over her skin like silk and velvet, a sensual abrasion of sound and desire.
“Take me, Kenna,” he commanded softly. “Taste my need.”
His dark words sent her heart pounding against her breast bone. Heat welled within her veins and left her feeling shaky, jittery, and quite… aroused. The muscles in her loins clenched as though anticipating his intrusion, but first…
She parted her lips, letting her hot breath caress the bulbous head of his cock before closing her warm mouth around it. He tasted wild, like clean sweat and carnal sin.
An unnatural sound ripped from his throat as he gently cupped the back of her head, his fingers gliding through her thick fall of hair and then gripping it. His breath became rapid and shallow as she slid her tongue across the small slit at his head, indeed finding the slick drop as evidence of his need.
His shaft didn’t go far inside her mouth before it became too much, but he didn’t push. He stood, his knees locked, head thrown back to the moon as though about to howl like a Dire wolf, letting her mouth do with him what she would.
Only desperate gasps escaped him or sometimes guttural words in his harsh language as she began a rhythmic, pulling exploration of his sex. He was hot inside her mouth, and she felt her sensitive lips stretch around thick veins that she found curiously exciting.
She was about to take so much from him, of course she could give him this. His pleasure made her feel powerful in a way that had nothing to do with magick. It was as though she held his very soul in her hands, her mouth. His gasps and groans sounded as close to pleas as Kenna imagined a man such as he would ever make.
And he made them for her.
A gentle pulse in her mouth and a harsh sound was her only warning before she found herself shoved up against the window, her thighs wrenched open, and his heavy weight bearing her down. The smooth heat of his sex pressed against the slick warmth of hers, but he didn’t shove inside her like she expected him to.
Instead he kissed her. Hard. Devouring her mouth as he took her breasts in his hands, and thumbed the nipples until they were as hard as pearls.
“Take me,” she sobbed against his lips. “Now.”
He shocked her again by pulling back, his hands remaining possessively on her breasts. “I will fuck you,” he vowed crudely. “But first I must taste you.”
“Why,” she lamented. “I need…”
A wicked smile split his demonically handsome face. “I will always give you what you need,” he purred, rubbing against her so intimately that all she could think about was getting him inside her to ease the insistent ache. “But I will also take what I want.” He slid down her body, his tongue and teeth wreaking havoc on her trembling muscles. “I am a Viking, after all. It is what we do.”
He wasn’t gentle with her breasts, tormenting them with his lips and teeth until she gripped and clawed at his shoulders, leaving marks and saying things that had likely never been uttered within the walls of the abbey.
His face, rough from a day’s growth of beard, abraded the delicate skin of her belly as his hand found the auburn curls between her parted thighs. He didn’t slip his fingers inside, didn’t tease her or pleasure her, just held his hand over her mound, and dipped his tongue into her navel.
“I like to feel how warm you are,” he breathed. “How hot and wet I make you.”
Kenna arched, rubbing herself shamelessly against his hand, riding a wave of pure, desperation.
And still he remained motionless.
“Please, touch me,” she begged.
His laugh was low, yet full of victory. “I’ll do one better,” he murmured, pushing her legs as wide as her trembling muscles could allow them to part.
With no preparation he burrowed his mouth into her moist cleft, latching on to her clitoris and lapping it until it was swollen and full.
Ragged sounds of relief and frustration tore from her in tight sobs as his tongue circled and flicked, teased and tormented her to the edge of release only to pull away and start again. She begged him for mercy, pleaded for it with the innocence of a virgin and demanded it with the abandon of a whore.
But he decided when his sweet torture would culminate, and he drew two fingers down her pink folds and slid them inside her.
