Moon Craving

by Lucy Monroe

  He tilted his head back like his soldiers, drawing her attention entirely to him. His expression had turned feral, his eyes glowing once again with that strange light. Talorc opened his mouth and she thought he howled.

  Unable to hear it, she could not be sure. Whatever it was, she felt a mystifying need to share the experience. Without conscious thought, she reached out with one hand and laid it on his chest so she could feel the vibration of sound through her fingertips. He was howling.

  Truly. Just like a wolf.

  And she thought the others were as well, their heads thrown back, their arms reaching high, palms out. The air shimmered with the sound she could not hear, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up and goose bumps rise on her exposed limbs.

  Then, as suddenly as he had begun, he stopped. The other men lowered their arms, and she could feel that they had stopped howling as well. One by one, they came to her and Talorc. Each man dropped to one knee beside them, speaking some Chrechte pledge before bowing their heads and then leaving the cavern.

  When she and Talorc were once again alone, he released her hand and cupped her face with both of his. “You are no longer English.”

  “I’m not?” She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been that.

  “You are my wife, mated to the Chrechte pack leader by ancient and true rite.”

  She didn’t understand why he referred to his clan as a pack. No doubt it was one of the many new Highlander ways she would have to grow accustomed to. Regardless, if this rite had given her a place other than unwanted English bride, for however long, she was grateful.

  “I will do my best to live up to the honor you have done me.” She wasn’t sure why she said that, only that she knew they were the right words to say.

  His genuine, approving smile affirmed her choice.

  Then he kissed her. At first the caress of his lips was like the brush of butterfly wings, the soft touch at odds with the power of her warrior husband. Her reaction was not gentle, however. The barely there caress of his lips lit the fire of passion that had banked during the Chrechte marriage ceremony.

  It made her want the things he had promised. It made her crave the pleasure he had already shown her the past two nights in their tent.

  This oddly gentle touch was like a benediction on the wanton woman clamoring inside her soul for release.

  Placing both her hands on his chest, she felt the rigidity of his muscles beneath her fingers, his increased breathing and quickened but strong heartbeat. Each small detail evidence that he liked kissing her as much as she enjoyed him doing so.

  The knowledge filled her with a fierce and unique pleasure.

  Right here, right now, she could and would be a normal woman. A whole woman. His angel. Her lack of hearing did not matter when their lips were too busy connecting to speak.

  She did not know how long they kissed, but little by little, his lips grew more demanding. Until there was no question that they required her total surrender. And she gave it, wanting nothing more than to know the reality of being a true wife to this powerful laird—at least for this one night.

  Chapter 8

  Her own breathing became shallow and she saw the pinprick of stars behind her closed eyelids.

  Somehow he managed to maneuver her onto her back though his hands never moved from their tenderly possessive hold on her face.

  His mouth moved over hers, deepening the kiss with his tongue as their bodies aligned in instinctive need. Growls vibrated in his chest as he claimed her mouth with wild strength, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and carefully nipping it. He did not draw blood, but she knew instinctively not to pull back, not to attempt to assert independence in any form in this moment.

  Her spirit rejoiced in the sensations. She had no desire to separate herself from him at all. She kissed him back just as fiercely, if not more so, nipping at his lips and dueling with his tongue to enhance the intensity of the kiss. For once, the cocoon of silence caused by her deafness only intensified sensations she more than craved.

  The wildness she sensed in him called to a part of her she had not even known existed—animalistic desires and untamed cravings beyond her ability to comprehend.

  Blanketing her, his big body pressed hers into the soft furs. Their skin touched intimately, and yet it was not enough. She hungered for more. More of his touch, more of the sensations swirling through her. She needed a deeper connection. She wanted what he had promised her on the morning of their wedding.

  To join their bodies so perfectly that she would feel him inside her soul.

  She did not know what to do to encourage him toward that pinnacle, but he had taught her one thing thus far. He enjoyed her touch with unabashed pleasure.

  So, she touched him. Everywhere she could reach. Over bulging shoulders and biceps, along a back corded with muscles that felt like rock under his satin-smooth skin. Her hands glided down over his buttocks, cupping the hard, round globes. Yet rather than satisfying her, the movement of her hands over his body only increased her need.

  She wanted to urge his hips forward with her hold on his backside, but when she tried, he did not move. His stubborn strength spoke a silent message of control that both frustrated and delighted her.

  His possession of her mouth did not abate and his body moved over hers while she writhed under his weight.

  But none of it was enough.

  And yet, it was almost too much. She wanted more. She wanted to stop. Her mind warred with her body while her heart sang a song she tried to tune out. One thing they all agreed on: she craved deeper connection. And yet the connection she felt already scared her stupid.

  She tried not to think as she moved her hands up his body and then traced the lines of his face with her fingertips. It was an intimacy as profound as the feel of his hardened male flesh pressing like a stone against her thigh.

  At the first soft brush of her fingertips along his jaw, Talorc’s body went rigid with the need to claim Abigail fully. He did not understand why that simple touch acted as such a siren’s call to his feral nature when a similar caress along his flank had only fed the fire of his sexual need. It had not turned his desire into an inferno he was in danger of not controlling.

  However, control it he must.

  He would not hurt his sweet wife. Despite his wolf’s nature, he was no beast to take what he wanted without thought or consideration. The Chrechte were not animals, but humans with the enhancement of animal natures. Nevertheless, it was easier to mate in kind. Humans were often too weak to face a Chrechte’s full passion.

  Abigail was more gentle than most, definitely too gentle for his wolf, but she responded to him blithely oblivious to her peril. She touched him with wanton carnality he would never have believed a gently bred Englishwoman capable of. While he could not read her thoughts, she broadcast her need with every move of her small, silky body.

  And she kissed with the hunger of a Chrechte woman claiming her mate.

  As soon as the thought formed, he banished it with an angry growl. For all that she looked like an angel right out of Heaven, she was human. She had been born and raised English. She was not his mate, but she was his wife.

  This night their bodies would consummate that truth.

  He grabbed both her wrists and placed them by her head. “Keep them there.”

  Her soft brown gaze was dark with desire, and she dared shake her head at him.

  “Obey me.”

  This time it was her eyes that spoke denial, though her lips remained immobile.

  “I mean it.” He caressed her wrists with his thumbs. “Your hands are to remain in this exact position.”

  Her sensuous, bow-shaped lips twisted in mutiny. “I would touch.”

  “Your touch incites my lust, angel.”

  “Is that wrong?” She paused, looking at him with an unfathomable expression. “Between a husband and wife?”

  “If it is the wife’s first time to hold him wi
thin her body, it is dangerous. I would not hurt you.”

  “I know you will not.” Again a pause as if she searched for words. “At least not more than necessary. Some pain is inevitable.”

  He wished he could deny it, but she spoke truth. Nevertheless, there was a difference between carefully breaking her maidenhead and rutting on her like a beast. Which he was in danger of doing if he did not maintain control. “Obey me,” he repeated.

  “What will you do if I do not?”

  He could not believe his shy wife had the temerity to ask that question. He glared down at her, his passion making him more ferocious. “I will assure compliance.”

  She licked her lips, her eyes dilating with increased arousal, but she did not reply.

  There was no need. Her reaction was as clear as his favorite loch. His angel liked the idea!

  Without thought, he stretched her hands above her head and grasped both small wrists together with his left hand. His wolf howled in approval while Abigail gasped and then moaned, her eyelids dropping to half-mast.

  He spent no time wondering why they should both enjoy him mastering her in this way so much. He was a warrior, not a philosopher. He knew only that the delicate bones of her wrists felt all too right in the grasp of his hand.

  He lowered his head and kissed her again. Within seconds she was writhing as before, only with utter abandon. The movement of her pelvis would have thrown him off her body if he was not so strong. And yet he knew that was not her intention.

  If the glazed expression on her beautiful heart-shaped face was any indication, she was not thinking at all. Certainly not enough to have conscious intentions.

  Her instinctual responses were devastating enough. She spread her legs just enough to make the invitation clear, and yet, he was sure she was unaware of extending the offer. He rolled off her to lie on his side. Keeping grasp of her wrists, the position still left him the freedom he needed to touch her body and make her ready for the physical claiming.

  She mewled at the loss of his weight and began to thrash her legs, undulating her body in beautiful, abandoned need. He had to throw one thigh over hers to keep her in place beside him.

  Then he set about ensuring her arousal reached a fever pitch through which she would be only marginally aware of the pain that breaching her maidenhead would inevitably cause. He kneaded her breasts, teasing her nipples until she cried out in mindless desire.

  He had touched every inch of her silken skin in the hot springs and he wanted to do so again, but both their need called out to him with too much urgency. He allowed his hand to slide down to the juncture of her thighs, sliding his middle finger between her swollen, wet labia.

  He had not breached her vaginal opening beyond a fingertip during his nightly explorations of her body in their tent, but now he allowed himself to press deeper. He stopped only when he felt the supple barrier of her virginity.

  She made a small, pained sound and he comforted her with small tender kisses on her face and neck. He whispered promises and compliments she did not respond to. The part of his brain that still functioned on a fully human level was grateful she was so lost to her desire she wasn’t making sense of his words.

  He would feel like an idiot later for saying them otherwise.

  He did not pull his finger out, but massaged the thin barrier inside her body, that which proved she had not played love games as he heard many in the English Court indulged in. He had been told that the English Court actually revered love between parties married or promised to others as some sort of romantic ideal.

  Both he and his wolf found the concept utterly distasteful.

  And his beautiful, sensual bride was clearly not a practicing participant in such ludicrous games. She was wholly innocent and deserving of all his consideration for their first claiming.

  With that thought in mind, he brushed his thumb over the nub of her pleasure. Her body jolted and he smiled to himself. He continued his ministrations, massaging her maidenhead in preparation to breaching it and her clitoris in preparation to her pleasure.

  Only when his angel begged for more with both her body and broken little words barely whispered past her parted lips, did he move over her and fit his cock to her opening. He slid inside a mere inch, causing himself untold pleasure and her a level of shock.

  “You are inside me.” Awe laced each syllable.

  He thrust gently with his hips, both he and his wolf working together to control the urge to take her quickly and without remorse. “I will be so deep inside you—”

  “You will touch my soul,” she completed and then tears spilled over her eyes.

  Her body did not speak of pain; his wolf senses confirmed she was not in distress. The tears were some women’s reaction to the claiming.

  Even so, he asked, “You are well, angel?”

  “In this moment, I am complete.”

  She wasn’t, not yet, but he did not contradict her. Soon, she would understand. And then she would probably cry some more. Women. But so long as it was not from pain, he would tolerate her feminine emotionalism.

  He pushed deeper and his head met the barrier of her innocence.

  She stared up at him as if waiting for him to force himself through, but he had a better plan. He arched his hips so that he could get his free hand between their bodies. While he remained in stillness poised at her virgin’s barrier, he caressed her clitoris with his thumb.

  She whispered his name as her breathing grew even more ragged. He had not brought her to climax, but he had spent two nights teaching her body to crave the pinnacle of pleasure. It reached for it now, straining against him, and only as he felt the convulsion that signaled her orgasm did he surge forward to embed himself fully in her body.

  His own cried out for movement, but he was a Chrechte warrior, not a callow youth to undo the careful preparation for this moment.

  He allowed her to ride out both the pain and pleasure before he began to move. He could seek his own completion, and if he allowed himself, probably come with a couple of well-delivered strokes, but he wanted more.

  He swiveled his hips on each downward thrust, and she gasped with obvious pleasure. He held himself with rigid control, building her pleasure again until he felt her body once again tightening around him. He allowed himself release as she screamed his name and came a second time.

  Abigail woke with a residual soreness between her legs. No doubt it would be much worse if Talorc had not taken such care with her. He had made the consummation of their marriage incredibly special, but he had not stopped his ministrations there.

  He had carried her to the bathing pool and washed her body with gentle hands while she dozed in his arms. She had been so exhausted. She did not know how long they soaked in the hot springs, but she could remember snuggling into his arms in sleep at some point.

  She had woken alone though. Just as she had each morning of her marriage thus far. Her clothing was folded neatly on the edge of the furs. There was food to break her fast with there as well. She took her time eating, then combing her hair and finally doing her own pleats on her plaid when Talorc did not show up to help her.

  When she came out of the cave it was to find Niall, not her husband, waiting for her.

  She tamped down her disappointment and the embarrassment she hadn’t been smart enough to feel the night before to ask, “Where is your laird?”

  “He is your laird, too, lady.”

  “He is my husband.”

  Niall smiled, causing the only other soldier nearby to wince. Abigail ignored him and returned the big warrior’s expression.

  Niall crossed his arms, making the muscles of his biceps bulge. “Talorc hunts.”

  “I thought we would ride to the keep today?”

  “He said we are to spend at least one more night here.”

  “But … why?”

  “He is laird. He need not explain why.” Which simply said Niall did not know.

  She thought so anyway; maybe the warrior di
d know and didn’t want to share. “And he’s hunting right now?”

  “Aye.”

  She looked over the clearing where four horses fed, her husband’s dark stallion, the horse she had seen Niall ride, one she assumed the other soldier rode and the mare she had ridden for part of the journey—when she was not sharing a steed with her new husband. “He is hunting without his horse?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is that common?”

  Niall shrugged, but then surprised her by adding, “Sometimes Talorc prefers to hunt completely alone.”

  “What of the other clansmen? They are with him, aren’t they?”

  “They are hunting, but not with their laird.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t understand it but merely added the instance to the growing list of things these strange Highlanders did and said that made little sense to her. “I see. Why aren’t you hunting?”

  “I am guarding you.”

  “Oh.” She said again, when nothing more fitting came to her. Then she shrugged. She could not expect Talorc to dance attendance on her. And honestly, the less time she spent in his company, the less chance he would have to learn her secret. “Can you guard me on a walk? We have spent so much time riding, I crave the exercise of stretching my legs.”

  “If that is your wish.”

  “It is.”

  So, they walked and she asked Niall questions about what she should expect once they reached the clan.

  He shrugged. “The Sinclairs have little love for the English. I fear your sister did not enjoy her short stay among us.”

  “She called Talorc a goat.”

  “Aye. It did not endear her to our people.” Though Niall seemed more amused than offended by Emily’s behavior.

  “Will they judge me as harshly?”

  “Some will, but most will accept you because you are their laird’s wife.”

  “Wasn’t Emily his fiancée?”

  “He showed no desire or intention to follow through on the marriage. His followers acted accordingly.”