Page 21 of Highland Warlord
“Take me,” she whispered. “I am yours.”
Mine.His beast rejoiced.
“Nie,” he growled between clenched teeth. “Takeme.” He surged forward until his entire length was buried in the succulent flesh of her body. “Takeallof me.”
Though her body reflexively clamped down on his intrusion, a rush of moisture eased his way as her hands threaded through his hair at the temples, tightening the tattooed skin there.
“I will,” she gasped, lifting her hips to meet his. “I do.”
He couldn’t stop to consider the full extent of the meaning in his words to her. Take me.Take my cock. Take my seed. Take my heart, my soul, my needs, my emptiness.
Take all of me.
It was too much for any one woman to hold.
But she did.She held him so sweetly in the cradle of her thighs he thought he might expire from the bliss of it.
And wasn’t that what he wanted?
“Nie,” he said again.
Bael forced his mind to be dark and quiet, to focus on the tight sheath of her flesh already pulling little tremors of pleasure from the base of his spine.
With a savage groan he slid his hand beneath her ass and set a punishing rhythm, pulling back to watch her breasts bounce with each brutal stroke.
His mate’s lips were parted, teeth bared like a lioness in a face glowing with an answering lust that shocked him.
“Yes,” she countered with a hiss, and thrust her hips up to meet his with such force that she nearly lifted his heavy body.
The contact was like the bolt of lightning that touched down in the distance. Sensations exploded within him that he had no name for and had never before encountered in his long life. Instead of holding her down and fucking her into oblivion as he’d planned to do, Bael burrowed his arms beneath her and pulled her to him, falling back onto his knees and holding her against him as he plowed her again and again.
She wrapped her arms around his back anchoring herself to him as his every powerful thrust jolted her upward. Their hips connected with starting force, and she made a sound ofsuch wicked encouragement each time that drove him out of his mind.
She screamed her pleasure with astonishing quickness, her body clenched in an endless shudder of ecstatic release. The sublime contractions of her gripping sex pulled a violent answer from his own. He crested on a spiraling cataclysm of sensation, undulating outward like the ripples of a pool until his entire body was locked by crippling pleasure.
He bit down on the delicate sinew where her shoulder met her neck, marking her. Claiming her. Sending her over the edge once more with a feminine cry of surprise and delight as she pulled at his hair in pulsating fistfuls.
Thunder rumbled in answer to their cries, and the electric build of the storm that accumulated over the sea held the whisper of danger on the wind. Though as Bael watched the siren he’d mated come apart in his arms, he could think of nothing as dangerous as her.
Bael woketo the sound of a scream. Not a scream of fear, nor one of surprise. This scream carried with it a particular note of gleeful, victorious evil. Bolting upright, he reached for his mate, and barely held her from where she tried to jump out of his arms toward the water.
“Let me go,” she hissed. “The Wyrd Sisters. They found us!”
A specter rose from the water in the shape of a voluptuous woman, she threw out her hand, flinging lethally sharp shards of ice at his mate.
Morgana leapt away, slicing through the water with her own blades of ice conjured with a flick of her wrist. But it only had a momentary effect, each projectile shattering against the other’swith supernatural precision. The specter’s shards seemed to be garnering help and velocity from a gathering tornado reaching down to the Loch from dark and angry clouds.
The women spoke in a Gaelic tongue he didn’t understand. Incantations, threats, spells, or vows of retribution. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was getting Morgana out of danger.
Bael grabbed for his axe, which was never out of reach, and hissed as his hand came away singed.
In the pit of fire he’d built, standing on the bones of their supper, another specter dominated the flames. A slight girl. Her eyes glowed with an even brighter light than the flames comprising her body. She held his axe in her fiery grip, heating the metal to a molten orange. “Touch it,” she taunted in the voice of a child. “Take it from me, I dare you.”
Snarling, Bael gritted his teeth in preparation for his torment, then he roared as he plucked his weapon from the ground and leapt for Morgana.
Though he gripped the leather-wrapped part of his axe, the heat of the metal bled through, blistering his hands. He didn’t care. He’d survived worse. All he felt was his blood pounding to reach his mate. His entire being focused on her.
Just as a sickle of ice flew toward her heart, Bael swung his axe with all the speed he could muster and scattering shards to the gathering wind. But he didn’t stop there. Thrusting Morgana behind him, he flailed at the specter of water with such whirring speed, he turned her to steam with his glowing blade.
