Page 14 of Highland Warlord
Morgana felt like she should struggle, that she should give some maidenly protestation to his bold treatment, but the pure awe affixed to his brutal features gave her pause. He looked at her, at that most intimate part of her body, with the eyes of a demon and the reverence of a saint. He swallowed once. Twice. And then licked his lips again with an anticipatory noise that reverberated through her like the roar of thunder.
A deep tremor overtook him, as though his barely leashed beast was about to be splintered by desire. His hands felt heavy against the tender skin and muscle of her inner thighs as he turned his head to press a kiss against the sensitive flesh above her knee.
Morgana’s ears echoed with the beats of her heart as she watched the last vestiges of evening light slide along the wet layers of his dark hair when he bent his head. His mouth driftedto the inside of her thigh, pulling her toward him in dangerous increments, his hands moving to make way for his venturing lips.
Her breath caught at another kiss, higher this time, where the skin was sensitive and thin, where blood and nerves scattered incomprehensible sensations through her entire body.
Morgana spread her arms to keep her upper half afloat, feeling as though she watched his ministrations from far away, but felt them through her whole being. Her skin felt both scorching and freezing all at once, gooseflesh blooming and tightening her already aching nipples as her heavy breasts bobbed weightless atop the water.
She gasped as his rough palms began to explore her hips with excruciating slowness. A shuddering weakness stole her ability to move. Paralyzed by desire, she allowed him to push her legs wider and secure her hips above the waterline.
A hot current of longing escaped the place that now quivered for his touch. For his mouth. Her bones felt as though they might melt like steel in a forge. A liquid fire snaked through her, followed by moist and languorous pulses of need.
Finally his hands spanned the place where her hips met her sex. His thumbs stroked through her fine hair, parting the folds of humid flesh.
A sob ripped from her throat as the heat of his reverent exhale caressed her, followed by the pressure of his lips. A soft lick was followed by a gentle tug at just the correct spot, and the throbbing need she’d felt instantaneously released into a flood of searing, luxuriant pleasure. His tongue was silk against the satin of her body, slipping playfully among her intimate flesh, finding places that made her buck and caused her feminine muscles to clench around emptiness, demanding to be filled.
He tested the entry to her body with his tongue, then split her with a sinuous lick, latching on to the exposed nub ofpure sensation, abrading it gently as his long, curious finger replaced his mouth. She was so wet, so incredibly slick, that he glided in with no resistance. This seemed to further excite and encourage him. He withdrew, and his second finger joined the first, stretching her body in a pleasurable test.
The growl of approval he gave propelled her to a screaming climax. Morgana bowed back, submerging her head under the water and released her scream in an explosion of bubbles. It was impossible for her to drown, and so she just allowed the water to assist the unparalleled bliss to flow in, through, and around her. It was a flash flood powerful enough to shatter dams and overflow the banks created by the mere encasement of her sinew and skin. Pleasure came in wave after title wave of ecstatic sensation, and her Berserker’s worshiping mouth stayed with her until he’d wrung every last shuddering drop of bliss from her bones.
Her Berserker.
She floated back to the surface boneless and unhurried, enjoying the little pulsating aftershocks of pleasure vibrating in her core. What she saw when she broke the surface stole all sense of reason.
Hunger. Possession. Dominance. All the things she’d wanted to avoid before because of the answering intensity they released within herself.
He split her legs even farther apart and eased them down his wide shoulders, sliding her body down his torso with a diabolical slowness that both aroused and unsettled her. Once his mouth could reach her breasts, he bent his dark head to them, imprisoning her ribcage with his rough hands. Taking the tip in his mouth, he held the wet and chilly nipple in his teeth and stroked it with his tongue, again asserting just the right pressure to make her arch in ecstatic response.
She clutched at his arms, his shoulders, and finally plunged restless fingers into his length of thick hair, holding his scalp in a wordless demand. Needing the feel of his skin against her, she wrapped her legs around his hard, naked torso, surprised to feel that he must have shucked his trews before walking into the loch.
She was going to take him, or he would take her. Either way, Morgana knew that their bodies needed to join, that she needed him to fill her, to flow within her, to connect them as one. Drifting down his muscled body, she didn’t stop until the hot brand of his cock rested against her cleft.
He sealed his mouth to her once again. His kisses both rough and sweet. And she felt lost in a sea of sensation, like a vessel with no oars, adrift and out of control. Their mouths fused with a sort of ravenous compulsion, refusing to separate. Her exhale became his next breath. His groans of need suffused her lungs with life.
She let a hand drift down his chest to the obdurate muscles of his stomach, meaning to guide him exactly where she wanted him.
As usual he was faster, caressing up her thighs and then parting her slick folds beneath the water.
She gasped as he tested the clenching, demanding muscles of her sex. She writhed against him, hitching toward the hard shaft of flesh pulsing hot beneath the cool water.
“Now.” She’d meant to command, but the word escaped against his lips sounding like a plea.
He slid into her with a slow, heavy movement, his gaze alert, concerned, and amazed. Her eyes widened as he stretched her to the limit, and he withdrew at her first grimace of discomfort, only to start again, gaining a little more ground with each careful thrust.
It wasn’t the discomfort that brought a tear to Morgana’s eye, but the infinite care and restraint the Berserker showed for her. His every muscle wound tighter than a bowstring, his body trembling with the force of the bestial need surging through his veins. She could feel it, was consumed by it, and yet, the predator inside him was overcome by an awe-struck tenderness, a paradoxical sense of humble concern that she didn’t need to read his emotions to find. It shown in the brutal planes of his face, in the softness of his drugging kisses, and in the supportive, yet gentle hold as he pressed himself farther and farther into her body.
Suddenly her tense muscles released, taking him fully, and Morgana let her head fall back in pure, blissful relief.
He kissed her throat, his breath hot against the cool skin, as he slowly moved inside of her.
Gasping, she pulled and grasped at him in a wordless plea for more. His skin was smooth, roughened in some places by hair or by chill bumps. But he would not heed her inarticulate demands as he pushed into and pulled out of her body with infuriating slowness. She couldn’t put into words what she needed from him, what her body demanded. More? Faster? Harder? She wanted that, and yet, she wanted him to do exactly what he was doing.
She squirmed, arched, and clutched at him, the noises she made sounding like they were ripped from a torture victim rather than a lover. Her soft inner muscles clenched around his invading hardness, drawing his own tortured groans from his throat, and still he kept his rhythmic thrusts slow and methodical. Regardless of her powers over water, it was impossible to find purchase in the loch unless she had her feet on the ground. He had complete control, and he wielded it with complete discipline.
The feel of him inside her was delicious, voluptuous even, his hard body molding against her soft one. The loch stole away any traces of blood or violence, letting the water become their haven.
Morgana smoothed her hands up the swells of her Berserker’s arms, and wound them behind his back, displacing the water between them to wrap herself around him in the most intimate of embraces. She didn’t even know his name, but she could feel a century’s worth of loneliness contained in the way his arms held her and it seduced her like nothing else ever had.
