Laird of Darkness

by Nicole North

  “You are tempting fate, lass,” he warned with a hiss.

  “Am I? Tempting fate, or tempting you?” Tightening her arms about his waist, she tugged herself closer to him and flattened her breasts to his chest. Alana wished her corset was removed so she might feel him better. She’d like to brush her breasts back and forth, taunting him. What would he do if they were exposed to his view, to his hands?

  Determined to find out, she kissed his chest again and inhaled his manly scent.

  Growling, he buried one hand deep in her unbound hair, leaned forward and drew her earlobe into his mouth. Chills showered her body.

  “Ooh,” she breathed.

  His hand fisting in her hair, he tugged her head back and captured her mouth with a relentless kiss. His lips and tongue consumed her with fire and male domination. Heavens, what rapturous torture was this? She clung to his shirt, attempting to hold herself upright. He thrust his tongue within her mouth, taking her will, claiming her as his property. ’Twas clear in his masterful touch. No man had ever kissed her thus. Her experience was more limited than she realized.

  His other hand gripped her derriere, crushing her lower body to his groin, where a long hard ridge pressed against her.

  She was not immune. Alana well knew what pleasure a man’s cock could bring a woman, especially when it was hard as stone. Seeking more, she ground against him, her instincts awakened. Between her legs, her quim was drenched and hungry for him, aching deep inside, where he might slide.

  Next thing she knew, she held his cock within her hand, only the clothing between. She squeezed the unyielding shaft.

  He muttered Gaelic curses and gripped her wrist in a stranglehold, drawing her hand away. Did he not like her touch?

  “Do you ken what you do?” His voice was low and gruff. His onyx gaze burned down into hers.

  She nodded.

  “You would give yourself to me? Willingly?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  She lowered her eyes, shame leaving her cold. Indeed, she was weak and wanton. She had not forgotten she was to be MacClaren’s bride, but she didn’t know him. Had never met him. He was only an imagined thing at the moment. Duncan was a genuine, flesh-and-blood man, standing before her in unearthly magnificence. Inexplicably, she ached to wrap herself around him.

  “’Tis tempting, I admit,” he muttered, stepping away. “But I’m not that daft.” He yanked all the covers from his bed except one blanket and strode out with them. The door slammed and the lock clicked.

  Cold, heartless bastard.

  Likely he would not return until the morn, and she was glad for it, given his mood. There was naught left to do but bathe and pray MacClaren would pay the ransom.

  Duncan paced from one end of the wet battlements to the other, a lone torch lighting his way. The rain and lightning had stopped, but the wind still tore at his hair and his plaid. How many hours had he been up here? The woman, Alana, damn her. He could think of naught else but kissing her, licking her head to toe. The taste of her mouth ignited pure arousal in him. He found the pouting shape of her lips spellbinding.

  But he could not take her, else he jeopardized the exchange he must make with MacClaren on the morrow.

  But she said she’d give herself to you, willingly.

  He muttered curses in three languages.

  ’Twas a trap. She knew MacClaren would no longer want her if his enemy half brother bedded her first. A successful exchange could not be completed. Did she wish to escape her arranged marriage? What had prompted her impulsive willingness? She made no sense. And he must find out why.

  Ignoring the night watchman—who likely thought him a raving lunatic—Duncan rushed down the steps.

  Chapter Four

  Duncan strode along the murky corridor and unlocked his chamber. The bedclothes he’d removed lay in a heap outside the door. He took one more blanket for Alana, lest she get cold.

  Darkness veiled the room, the fire burned down to red embers, but his Fae senses allowed him to see clearly. She was rolled up on his bed, her eyes closed, her breathing deep and even. He spread the additional blanket over her and tucked it beneath her chin. Something compelled him to stroke a fingertip along her soft cheek.

  She squirmed. Not wishing to wake her, he forced himself to walk away.

  Crouching on one knee before the hearth, he stirred the coals and added peat. Once the fire caught, he rose. The tub of bathwater sat near the hearth. He dipped a finger into it. Cold, but not as icy as the loch where he normally swam. With his back to her, he stripped off his clothes and lowered himself into the wooden tub lined with linen.

  At least bathing was something to do, aside from watching her sleep. Or pacing. He was weary of staying awake all night, every night. Everyone in the castle, excepting a few guards, slept. ’Twas too dark to do much of anything. If he lived in a city or town, he might carouse all night. But none existed for miles around.

  Nay, he wished to lead his clan and oversee the completion of the new wing and tower of the castle. ’Twas something his father had always planned to build, but never did. Duncan and his men had finished half of it during the past two years. Even after his father’s death, Duncan was stubbornly determined to prove something to him—that he was worthy, a good leader who could achieve anything he set out to. His father had been a damnable tyrant. If Duncan ever had a son, he would never treat him as Duncan’s father had done.

  Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to forget the past. All that mattered was the present and the future. And gaining possession of the Dealanach.

  He bathed with soap, rinsed, then stood and wiped himself dry with the linen. He found a clean shirt in one of the chests and started to pull it on. A rustling noise distracted him.

  On the bed, Alana whimpered and twisted. What was amiss? Surely the Otherworld creatures weren’t invading her dreams too.

  “Oh,” she breathed. Then moaned. “Duncan?”

  He moved closer to the bed. “Aye.” He should not have answered, but could not resist the way she said his name in that pleading feminine voice.

  “Is that you?”

  This time he remained silent and frozen in place at the bedside.

  “It’s so dark…and cold. Duncan?” Her voice sounded strained.

  “’Tis me.” He moved closer for he could not abide the thought she was cold and afraid.

  “I’m glad you returned,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of the rats.”

  “There are no rats here, lass. Our dogs catch them.” He knew about fear, intimately, though he allowed no one to see it in him. Those damned hellish creatures from Otherworld loved naught more than to scratch and bite him in his sleep. When he was a mere child, left alone in a dark room, and no longer able to hold his eyes open, they’d left their bloody marks all over him, and would again if he happened to fall asleep at night. He would not wish that on anyone.

  Giving in to the urge, he sat down by her hip and stroked the hair back from her forehead to soothe her. “’Tis all right. I’m here. There is no need to fear.”

  She grasped his wrist, holding his hand against her silky cheek as if it comforted her. Then she kissed his palm.

  Arousal wound through him, his cock tingling and growing harder with each second. He must not! ’Twould ruin his plans.

  Duncan should’ve snatched his hand away, but he didn’t wish to deprive her of comfort. Besides, he loved touching her more than anything.

  She drew his middle finger into her mouth and sucked at it. Fiery lust shot through him. Hell, why would she do such a thing? Surely, she could not know of such carnal pleasures as those this action made him imagine.

  She pushed his hand down, stroking it over her chest and under the warm blanket, over her luscious bare breast. He held his breath in wonder. Her peaked nipple stroked the center of his palm. It took all his willpower not to squeeze.

  She moaned and ran his hand back and forth. This was no virgin. There was no way in Had
es. And if she wasn’t…how would MacClaren know who had taken her virginity? Likely, he would blame Duncan regardless, even if she’d lost her innocence years ago. So why not make the blame worth his while? He was debauched and wicked for even contemplating it.

  But how could he not, when she had placed his hand where she wanted it, upon a most delectable part of her? A part that obviously needed his attention. He closed his fingers around her beaded nipple and plucked at it. She gasped and arched her back, offering those breasts freely. How magnificent she felt. He fondled and tweaked until she was writhing upon his mattress.

  She pulled him closer, then sat up, drew his head down and kissed him. Her lush lips on his were tentative and almost innocent. But when she shyly tasted his lips, flicked that delightful little tongue against his mouth, a bonfire of arousal consumed him, burning away his control. He moved over her, yanking the blanket away from her nude body, then lay beside her. He spread his hand and stroked it down her flat stomach, over her mound. The silky hairs tickled his palm as he slid two fingers across her drenched cunny lips. She gasped, arching toward him.

  Saints! He could not believe…

  “Alana, are you awake?”

  “Aye.”

  “Say my name.”

  “Duncan.”

  His name on her lips both surprised and gratified him. His stiff cock pulsated with a yearning he hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever.

  She whimpered and whined like a lass who hungered for a sweet comfit. And, by Odin, how he wanted to give her exactly what she craved.

  “What do you want?” He nipped at her lips, slid his tongue inside, and her kisses grew bolder by the moment.

  He held himself rigid when she stroked an exploring hand down his abdomen to his cock, which strained upward, and squeezed it. Desire ate at him so relentlessly he groaned. Inhaling two deep breaths, he forced himself to think clearly.

  “I’ll give you that if you promise not to tell anyone,” he said.

  She shook her head. “’Tis a secret. Our secret,” she whispered.

  Whether he took her or not would not matter. MacClaren would know naught of her virginity—or lack thereof—until Duncan already had the magical bow. ’Twould be an equal swap.

  Still, it wouldn’t be fair to Alana.

  He had to know if she was a virgin. If she wasn’t, then ’haps he would indulge himself…and her. Perhaps not. He would not decide right now, but loved teasing himself with the possibility.

  He stroked her slick, swollen sex again and she spread her legs wider.

  “Alana,” he breathed against her panting mouth. “Do you like that?”

  “Aye. Touch me.” She dug her fingers into his hair, holding him close.

  Aching to fuck her, he clenched his jaw and forced himself to be gentle as he dipped a finger into her, checking for a maidenhead. Slowly, he explored her, going deeper.

  “You feel wonderful,” he whispered. “So heated and juicy.”

  With a loud moan, she thrust her hips, trying to ride his finger. She was indeed tight, but nothing impeded his finger.

  More sliding. After a minute, his finger was buried all the way inside her.

  He withdrew it and she grasped hold of his upper arm. “Don’t stop.”

  “Easy, lass.” He started over with two fingers and they slid into her easily enough. In fact, she moaned and squirmed all the more.

  “Duncan, I beg of you. Take me.”

  Nay, she was indeed no virgin. And even if she was, he no longer cared.

  Alana could hardly breathe, enthralled as she was by Duncan. The erotic magic his hands wrought on her body, inside her, sliding and stretching. Her hips thrust toward his hand, wishing for his cock instead of his fingers.

  The smoldering fire in the hearth only revealed the outline of his face, his shoulder and muscled arm. His bare hip. As she had awakened earlier, he entered her dream like a figment of her imagination. At first, she hadn’t known if he was real or not. He had touched her face, so tenderly, and the warmth of his hand beguiled her.

  The cool air and breath of wind from the drafty shutters whispered over her skin. She shivered.

  His fingers still within her, he sat up, his cock standing upright like a pike.

  When he leaned over her, his silky black hair tickled her chest. His hot wet mouth closed over her nipple. She arched, thrusting her breasts toward him. He drew mercilessly on the tip, then indulged her other breast until arousal shot along her nerves like flashes of lightning.

  “You are not a virgin, are you?” His murmur intruded upon her desperation.

  She could not speak, could only shake her head and hope he saw.

  His finger withdrew and stroked a wet circle around some especially sensitive and eager part of her.

  “Oh.” Alana arched her back, seeking more. What skilled fingers he possessed. She cried out. “Duncan, please.”

  Cursing, he rose to his knees and grasped his cock in his fist, stroked it up and down. “Is this what you wish for?”

  She nodded. Her breathing escalated along with her excitement.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye. Please.”

  He threw the blanket aside and crawled between her thighs. Sitting on his knees, he dragged her closer and draped her legs over his. Aye. She arched her hips upward.

  “I’m going to take you now.” He leaned over her, breathing against her mouth, licking, tasting. “Do you understand, Alana? I’m going to fuck you. Hard.”

  Arousal surged through her. She nodded, unable to breathe deeply enough and clenched her hands on his muscular thighs. “Aye. ’Tis what I want.” If she could’ve impaled herself upon him, she would’ve already done so.

  Still holding his shaft, he stroked it along her sensitive nether lips, spreading the moisture. Slowly. Pure temptation. She widened her legs.

  “Please.” Pushing onto one elbow, she slid a hand around his neck and drew herself to sit upon his thighs. She licked his neck, scraped her teeth over his stubble-covered jaw.

  His cock nudged against her; the tip dipped into her.

  He cursed. “Lass, your pussy is dripping wet.”

  “Aye,” she gasped.

  Moving carefully, he pressed upward. The head of his cock slid fully inside her. Oh yes! Blissful paradise.

  “Mmm. I cannot stop now,” he growled.

  She shook her head. “Nay, keep going.”

  When he didn’t move fast enough, she pressed down on him.

  With one aggressive thrust, he drove his cock deep within her. A stretching pain seized her. “Ow!”

  He halted, still buried deep. “Och, lass, I would not hurt you,” he whispered, his breath and voice soothing in her ear. His arms around her, hands stroking her back, he kissed her. “Your body must grow accustomed to mine.”

  She nodded.

  “Remain calm.”

  His kisses teased and tantalized her mouth, capturing her attention. Soon she didn’t notice the pain.

  He withdrew his cock a short distance then gradually slid forward again. He toppled her back onto the mattress, dominating.

  All thought left her head, replaced by sensations she had forgotten existed. She was momentarily aware she moaned and clutched him closer to her, opened her legs wider. And he slid in and out, deeply, in a primal rhythm that kept her spellbound.

  Duncan suspected he had been transported to paradise, immersed as he was in her heated, drenched cunny. He could hardly think beyond his cock’s ecstasy but could not forget the way she’d given herself to him, and begged him to take her. As if she could not resist. As if she hungered for him as he did for her. An undeniable, irrational hunger that near devoured him.

  He lifted himself and stared down at his cock buried in her. Och! After his months of celibacy, he could scarce believe such an erotic sight. He withdrew so he might have the pleasure of watching himself drive into her fully again. Increasing his movements, he relished observing while he fucked her, his cock slick a
nd shiny with her arousal. Every part of her was beautiful, her cunny and the light honey curls covering her mound.

  She arched her back, thrusting her hips toward him, and he let her ride for a few strokes. When she relaxed back, he let his cock slip from her again and stroked his thumb over that protruding wee nub he knew was a woman’s center of pleasure. Aye, she liked the way he stroked it. Her little whimpers and the twitches of her hips were sublimely exciting to him. She was an incredibly sensual woman, the most arousing he had ever touched.

  He couldn’t resist licking his thumb, tasting her sweet carnal juices. “Mmm.” Duncan had to have her more than once. She must be his permanently. Her taste was perfect and delectable. He would rather eat her than honey. Bending forward, he spread her sex lips and licked between, then flicked that tiny morsel of female flesh fast and hard. She jerked and squealed.

  When he sensed her readying for climax, the fiery stirrings of his own impending release coiled through him, and he rose to his knees. He thrust his cock inside her once again, as deep as it would go, forcing her tight passage to spread for him. With his thumb, he continued to toy with her, stroking that sensitive spot. She held her breath then screamed, riding him like a mad woman, her pussy squeezing him. This drove him over the top and he lost control. Pleasure ravaged him as his seed shot into her in hot spurts. He could not breathe, or even think, but could only wallow in the ecstasy she alone stirred within him.

  When he opened his eyes several moments later, his head rested between her breasts. He kissed them tenderly. Never had he felt anything so consuming as that climax. Raising up, he found her watching him.

  She placed a hand against his face and caressed. Even her gaze was affectionate and soft.

  Duncan squeezed his eyes shut. Now what the devil was he going to do? Damnation. She was his hostage, whom he would trade for the Dealanach. But what if he wanted her more than the bow?

  Ridiculous.

  Fool that he was, he had been caught in his own trap. He withdrew from her, washed himself off at the tub, then dressed. He especially shouldn’t have released his seed inside her. Saints! What if he got her with child? The world did not need another Fae half blood tormented by Otherworld demons.