Page 34 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
She could not stop the gasp that escaped her throat, nor the way her neck decided to arch back, inviting another bite. Vampyres were a myth, but if they existed, if he was one, then she wanted him to sink his teeth into her flesh and drink his fill.
“Nowye submit?” He tutted under his breath. “I didnae expect Laird Wilkinson to raise such a… wicked lass.”
“I’m nae wicked,” she gasped as his teeth grazed the soft flesh of her earlobe, sending a pinch of pain laced with pleasure to her chest… and lower still.
“There’s that wayward tongue again.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and dragged it slowly, teasing her. Letting her know that it could be his mouth if she would just behave. “If it’s Laird MacMillen ye desire, this is yer one chance to return inside.”
She straightened her neck, meeting his powerful gaze. Whether he was testing her or not, she had no intention of going back inside.
“Did nay one ever teach ye that ye should never look a beast directly in the eye?” he said in a husky voice that melted whatever resolve she had left.
Maybe I want to be caught…
She continued to hold his gaze, unsure what he could see in her eyes. Defiance or desire?
“Silly mouse,” he growled, sliding his hand under the belt at her waist.
Worried about the beautiful belt snapping, she followed when he tugged her to him… though that was not the only reason. As her body hit his, and his other hand captured the nape of her neck, his lips were quick to find hers in a searing crush. She whimpered in his mouth, lost in the ravenous kiss.
While trying to put what had happened in the library out of her mind, she had not realized that, inadvertently, the anticipation had been building to feverish heights. With that kiss, he had poured potent whiskey on an already raging fire, sending the flames to the sky.
She grasped fistfuls of his pale yellow shirt, tugging him closer, uncertain of when he might take her by the wrists and stop her from touching him. Slowly, her fists flattened out, her palms running over his hard chest and up over his shoulders, looping behind his neck as his other hand slid around the small of her back, pressing her hips against him.
Breathless and dizzy with passion, a moan caught in the back of her throat as she felt something straining against her, hard and demanding.
She slid her fingertips into his dark hair, convinced that he would stop her, certain that he would tie her hands with her belt if he felt his punishment wasn’t being respected.
Punishment? Let me never behave again. I’ll dance with every man in that hall to feel this, to feel his discipline all night.
He mirrored her movement, his fingertips easing into her copper locks, but he was not so gentle, pleasure and pain mingling as he tilted her head back and kissed her harder, his tongue gliding against hers.
Unwilling to let him have complete control, and determined to let him know that, she kissed him back just as hard, grabbing a handful of his silky, dark hair.
If the gates of Hell had opened in that very courtyard to take back their King, neither would have noticed. As such, Freya did not hear the approaching footsteps crunching the grass.
But shedidhear a familiar voice as it barked, “I hope ye have a good explanation for this.”
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Freya jumped back as if something had slithered up her leg and bitten her backside. Jumpingaway, however, was easier said than done, with Doughall’s powerful arms holding her to him, resisting her wriggling and writhing.
“Adam…” she gasped, partly in response to her brother, partly to let Doughall know who was standing there, in case he had not yet realized it.
It did not seem like he had if his grip was anything to go by. Yet, he surely must have heard Adam’s harsh demand for an explanation.
Adam’s wife, Emily, was gripping her husband’s arm tightly, quickly moving between him and Doughall.
“I’m sure thereisa good explanation, love,” she urged, her voice tremulous. “Dinnae do anythin’ ye’ll soon regret. Take a breath, love. Steady yerself.”
Freya wriggled again, and Doughall’s grip eased slightly. She peered up at him, panic bristling from her stomach to her throat in a burning pinch, but his expression was implacable. If any walls had come down while she was busy kissing him, they went right back up now.
“W-What are ye doin’ here?” Freya managed to choke out.
Emily glanced back over her shoulder, her palms firm against Adam’s chest. “Theodore sent a messenger after us, informin’ us of the attack on ye, Freya. It took him a while to find us, but we returned as soon as we received the message, only to learn that ye… came here.”
Theodore was Adam’s trusted man-at-arms, and apparently far nosier than Freya had given him credit for. He should not have known about the attack, and he certainly should not have called Adam and Emily away from the search for Laura when Freya was perfectly fine.
Who told ye? How did ye learn about what happened to me?
