Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart (21 page)

“Give me your tongue,” he demanded. “Taste me.”

She did as he asked, her eyes closing in pleasure.

Broc held himself in his hand, caressing her with the tip of his shaft, reveling in the wetness she showered upon him. In that instant, as he stroked himself between her moist, sweet lips, he craved the tightness of her body beyond madness. It was all he could do not to push himself inside her. But he’d encountered her maidenhead, and he wanted her first time to be pleasurable.

He wanted her wet… and wanting… wanted to lay her back upon the pallet and drink the nectar of her body.

She was limp in his arms, offering herself without reservation, gifting him with the most glorious prize ever bestowed upon man.

Groaning with desire, he laid her down upon the pallet, kissing her lips until they were as wet and swollen as her flower.

She didn’t protest, and his hands found her breasts of their own accord. She arched into them, and his body shuddered in response. Christ, it was not easy to restrain himself. It had been far too long.

He nibbled her breasts, then, seeking her sweet dew, lapped downward along the gentle curve of her belly, his heart hammering with anticipation.

His body shattered at the first taste of her, his heart constricting painfully as she spread her legs and arched her body, offering him a magnificent banquet.

The taste of her was like nothing he’d ever imagined, the scent of her like sweet pollen. He tasted her feverishly, suckling the bud of her desire, tugging it gently into his mouth as he had with her nipples. She cried out, lifting her legs over his shoulders, and he swore to God he would die where he lay.

“You… taste…” He forced himself away from her sweet bounty, replacing his lips with his fingers, while he nibbled and kissed his way back to her mouth. “… so good,” he finished, offering her his tongue.

His body shuddered violently as she took him into her mouth.

It was the most wicked invitation, but Elizabet was too oblivious with desire to protest his offer. She suckled his tongue, tasting herself on his lips… his mouth… while his fingers danced the most erotic dance she had ever known.

Every nerve in her body felt alive to his touch, every breath she took a shuddering breath, every tremor she felt a quiver of ecstasy.

She was helpless beneath the onslaught of sensation. Even if she’d known what to do in return, she wouldn’t have had the sense to do it, so oblivious was she.

“Spread your legs for me, love…”

Moaning softly, Elizabet did as she was told, spreading her legs so that his fingers could better dance within her. She panted softly, her heart jolting with every single touch he bestowed upon her. His kisses were rapturous, his caresses shocking, but she shamelessly delighted in every glide of his fingers.

He lifted his hand suddenly to their mouths and pressed wet fingers between their joined lips, lapping them lustfully. It shocked her merely an instant, and then she joined him, her heart pounding fiercely against her ribs. Her legs spread of their own accord, seeking something, though she knew not what.

And then suddenly she felt the pressure between her legs, and she cried out, arching instinctively, impaling herself joyfully upon his body. His own cry was ragged against her ear. His body shuddered in answer, and he growled huskily, holding her closer. The pain was minimal, and the sound of his pleasure only heightened her own.

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she moved her body, undulating beneath him, needing him deeper… and deeper… deeper.

Something within her belly began to coil, spiraling its way toward a center of sensation so great in intensity that it nearly stopped her heartbeat. With every stroke of his body inside her, the thread of pleasure intensified.

And then time seemed to stand still for an interminable instant, and she felt her body climax. Her consciousness shattered into a thousand brilliant pieces in that glorious instant, and she cried out, trembling in exultation.

He answered her cry with one of his own and thrust himself one last time so deep within her that she felt him pulse against her very heart. She cried out with him, her body convulsing again.

He placed a hand at her bottom and rolled to one side, spent, dragging her with him, until she lay replete atop him, still intimately joined with his body. Her own body still pulsed with pleasure, drawing from him every last drop of his seed.

The sound of whimpering penetrated her consciousness. She peered at Harpy, who sat staring at them, whining anxiously, her expression full of curiosity. Somehow, the realization that her mother’s hound had witnessed every shameless display of affection left her cheeks hot.

Harpy tilted her head, peering at their naked, entwined bodies.

“Oh, God!” she exclaimed. Her face flushing with mortification, she buried her head against Broc’s neck.

He laughed softly, the sound of his laugh wholly sated and relaxed. His hand went to her nape, massaging it gently. “Next time, we’ll put the hound outside,” he promised, and kissed her gently on the cheek, then hugged her sweetly.

Elizabet had never felt more cherished than she did at that moment. Her heart felt so big that it no longer seemed to fit within her breast.

She had no regrets.

None at all.

She dozed with her face in the crook of Broc’s shoulder while he stroked her back and combed his fingers through her hair.

Vaguely, she was aware that Harpy gave one last whine and then laid down beside them, relaxing as surely as Elizabet was falling asleep.

“I’m going to make everything right, Elizabet,” she thought she heard him whisper, but she was far too satiated to ask precisely what he meant, and then her body eased her into a blissful state of slumber.

M
orning dawned on black ashes. The stable had burned to the ground. The barracks behind it was half ravaged. It was going to take hard work to restore them and funds that Piers didn’t have on hand.

“We’ll help however we may,” Leith assured.

Piers nodded appreciatively. He had begun to make progress toward building a friendship with Meghan’s brothers—more with Colin than with Leith, but Leith was probably the most honorable of the three. Gavin was virtuous but too blinded by his piety, and Colin had been, until Seana, far too concerned with his personal pleasures. But Piers felt closest to Colin. He was the most personable and the most genuine of the Brodie brothers. And there was hope for the man, as Seana seemed to have brought him to his knees. It was clear to everyone who knew them that he was in love with his new bride.

“Count me in, as well,” Gavin offered.

“I appreciate the offer,” he told the brothers.

It was the second time Leith had pledged his men to help Piers rebuild. The first time had been to repair his fence. He was beginning to feel a sense of guilt. Someday he was going to return the favor. He just hoped for both their sakes that it wouldn’t be soon.

Colin stood beside him, considering the demolished building with narrowed eyes. It was obvious he was lost in thought, because he wasn’t the least aware of their conversation. Seana came up behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist, and he was scarce aware of her until she laid her head upon his shoulder.

He peered over his shoulder at her, and she smiled wanly.

“Meghan told me what happened.”

Colin nodded.

She turned to Piers then and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“’Tis hardly your fault, Seana. Where is Meghan?” Seeing the intimacy between Colin and Seana made him yearn for his wife.

“Tending to David. The lad is a stalwart young fellow.”

Piers nodded. “That he is.”

“Have you any notion who set the fire?”

Piers was glad Tomas wasn’t in his presence at the instant. He would hardly accuse the man without proof, but he trusted his gut, and his gut said the man was foul. “None,” he replied, and had to clench his teeth to keep from sharing his suspicions.

Colin met his gaze, his blue eyes without a glimmer of recognition, lost in his own thoughts. Without a word, Colin turned again to stare at the ruins, and Piers reproached himself. Christ, he was beginning to see conspiracy in every glance. And yet he sensed Colin knew something he wasn’t saying.

Still, he was hardly prepared to confront him when the peace they had established was so new. Meghan would never forgive him if he hurled accusations at any of her brothers without evidence to support his charges. Colin was a good man. If there was aught he had to reveal, he would come to Piers of his own accord.

Piers was counting on it.

In the meantime, he had set two guards to watch Tomas at a distance, as he was near certain Tomas was somehow at the center of all that had transpired. His arrival seemed to have precipitated everything.

“I’m not feeling verra well,” Seana said suddenly. Her husband turned to her at once. “I think mayhap I should go home.”

“Like hell!” he barked. “You’re not going anywhere alone!”

“We don’t need you at the moment,” Piers assured Colin. “Take her home if she wishes to go”

He shook his head stubbornly. “’tis my duty to remain, and if I meant to stay, so will she!”

She lifted her chin, standing tall. “Dinna be silly, Colin!” she chastised. “It’s not far to walk, and it’s certainly not as though I havena traveled these woods all my life! Do ye think that in the few days since we’ve been wed that I’ve suddenly turned into an invalid?”

He frowned at her reproach but seemed to consider her words.

“I will be fine to go alone,” she assured him, her tone leaving no doubt as to the strength of her determination. Piers smiled appreciatively, wholly pleased that he was not the only man to be plagued by willful, troublesome wenches.

Colin’s expression remained harried, his fears obviously not alleviated, but it was clear from Seana’s stance that she was not going to back down.

Her expression continued to challenge him.

Colin arched a brow at her and smiled slightly, obviously believing he’d found a deterrent. “On one condition…”

She lifted her own brow. “And what may that be, husband?”

“That you ride, not walk.” The request took her momentarily aback, and he smirked at her just a little. “Take my mount,” he offered, a little too sure of himself.

Piers might have warned him against being too cocky. Such tactics never worked with Meghan.

For an instant, Seana didn’t respond, and then she replied, more determined than ever, “Verra well, husband.” She smiled back at him, returning his smirk. “I’ll ride.”

“Good Christ, Seana!” Colin exploded. “You dinna even like horses!”

She winked at him. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to learn to like them. Dinna ye think?” And with that, she turned to go, and Colin bounded after her, trying in vain to talk her out of leaving.

Gavin peered at his eldest brother with lifted brows, and Leith cast a glance at Piers. The three of them shared a rare laugh together.

“That’s what ye get for choosing flesh over spirit,” Gavin reproached them both.

Leith ignored his rebuke. “She doesna look verra ill to me,” he commented.

In truth, she didn’t look ill to Piers, either, but he said nothing, as it wasn’t his place to comment.

He had enough to worry about with his own wife—not to mention Elizabet’s disappearance, John’s death and a stable that had been sabotaged—and if he didn’t repair the damned barracks this afternoon, his men were going to be sleeping outside his bedroom door.

Only one thing made his temper more sour than Tomas’s presence in his house, and that was the prospect of spending his private time with Meghan with thirty-three pairs of ears outside his door.

“Let’s get to work,” he suggested.

Colin could damned well handle his own affairs without an audience.

Broc scarce slept.

He didn’t even close his eyes until the candle extinguished itself. He hadn’t dared move, lest she awaken and leave him. It had all seemed such an exquisite dream, and if he was dreaming, he damned well didn’t want to wake.

Harpy had other ideas.