Page 50 of My Scot, My Surrender
Eyes glittering with purpose, Brandt’s mouth descended, and Sorcha fell backward with a soft cry as sensation after sensation tore through her. The feel of his fingers had been divine; the feel of his mouth was positively sinful. Intolerably aroused, she writhed on the stone as his tongue lapped at her with swift strokes, and she clutched at his hair when it swirled, lashing against her swollen flesh without mercy. Pleasure ran through her, low and deep. He wrung it from her like Poseidon wielding dominion over the sea. One finger slid deep into her aching passage, joined by another, and she arched into the velvet intrusion, her breaths turning into shattered gasps.
“More,” she bit out on a sob. “Brandt, now.”
With a triumphant sound, he gave it to her, swirling, nibbling, devouring with his mouth and tongue, while his busy fingers retreated and plunged until her last ounce of control disintegrated. She felt suspended. Untethered.Alive. Sorcha cried out as the paroxysm crashed over her, wave after wave of pleasure rolling and convulsing until she could barely breathe. Brandt crept up her limp, sated body, kissing her skin as if he couldn’t get enough, even while little tremors continued to crest inside of her.
“You taste like heaven and heather,” he whispered, his voice caressing her drugged senses. Her fingers curled around his back as he gathered her close, his warm skin sealing to hers. “Like sunshine in the middle of a summer storm.”
As her world righted itself, Sorcha shifted her body. She froze as Brandt hissed, his jaw clenching. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he groaned. “Just…try not to move.”
Oh. The hardness of him pressed into the warm, quivering crux of her…the place he’d so efficiently pleasured. Her body throbbed. Sorcha wriggled again as the fabric of his trousers rubbed against her over-sensitized body, making the brand of his engorged length settle between her thighs. She rocked upward, and he gasped. Pleasure stabbed through her core.
“Sorcha, stop, you’ll undo me.”
She caught his eyes and gave him a wicked smile. “I want to undo you.”
“You don’t know…” But he lost his words as she tilted her hips up and wrapped her legs around his. He obviously liked the friction, because his body started to grind against hers. A tortured groan left his mouth, and his eyes clouded with desire as he quickened his motions. Sorcha’s fingers found his face, stroking over his sharp cheekbones and bristled jaw. She wanted to remember him like this, lost in the throes of passion.
She dragged his lips down to hers, even as he mimicked the act of lovemaking with his hips. The soft fabric rasped rhythmically against her core, and Sorcha moaned into his mouth. The second climax caught her unawares, dragging her down into its blissful depths. Her release incited his, and a shout tore from his lips as he collapsed against her, his hot breath fanning her temple.
In the midst of so much pleasure, Sorcha felt a tear trickle from the corner of her eye. Brandt looked up, his lovely eyes concerned. “What is it? Am I hurting you?”
“No, it was better than I ever imagined.” She faltered for the words to explain the unexpected hollowness that had descended upon her. It’d been beautiful and ferocious, but strangely empty. A parody of the real thing. “I just…want more.”
“I can’t give you more, Sorcha.” He raked a hand through his tousled hair, regret creeping into his eyes and dousing Sorcha’s insides with ice. “Hell, I shouldn’t have allowed it to go this far. I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you.”
“That makes two of us.”
Brandt swallowed with an embittered expression and reached for his discarded shirt. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t be doing this with you.”
Sorcha stared at him, her heart thudding painfully, adolescent fears rising from the dead to taunt her. “Because I’m a duke’s daughter? Because you’re illegitimate? Or do you think you’re not good enough? Or I’m not good enough? Which is it this time, Brandt?”
Brilliant gold-flecked green eyes bored into hers, shimmering from warmth to impenetrable frigidity in the space of seconds. “All of the above.”
Sorcha exhaled. It was suddenly hard to take in air…to breathe at all.
“Those are all true, but you left out the most important bit,” he went on in a carefully detached tone. “This agreement was a means to an end. I have but one desire and that is to take possession of your horse.” His words were as dead as his eyes…eyes that had been so full of heat and life only moments before. “What just happened between us was a moment of weakness.”
Anger and shame exploded within her. “Weakness? You deceive yourself, and you know it. We both wanted this, and if you can’t admit that, then you’re more of a coward than I thought.”
His furious gaze met hers. The coldness there made her shiver. “I am not a coward, but you’re right. It wasn’t weakness, it was pure idiocy.” She flinched. His expression gentled somewhat, though the damage had been done. “Regardless of motivation, this cannot happen again. Once you are on Brodie lands, my part will be over.”
“Yourpart?”
“My role as your husband.”
His role. What they’d just shared had been nothing more than anact. Something fractured within her. Her body felt numb and empty, much like the state of her mind. Once more, she’d been a sublime fool when it came to understanding him. Or understanding men in general.
He was no better than any of them. Once he’d gotten what he wanted, his tune had changed. At least Malvern hadn’t hidden the fact that he loathed the sight of her, and bedding her would be a nightmare. There’d been no risk of falling for his kisses or wanting more.
She was the groveling fool here, no one else.
“So what was this, then?” she asked, her voice shaking with an awful combination of misery and fury. “A scene in some sordid play you felt compelled to enact?”
“This was pleasure.”
If that were true, pleasure seemed like a hollow and lonely place.
