by Selena Kitt
“I feel as if I’m fallin’ in a dream, and I’m afeared to wake up. Kirstin, I want ye,” he growled into the hollow of her throat, his teeth raking her flesh, sending needlepoint pricks of sensation all the way to her fingertips. “I need ye.”
“I’m yers,” she admitted fully, to him and to herself. She didn’t care if he was a man and she was a wulver, if it was unconventional, or even impossible. Laina had said it would come like a lightning strike, that you couldn’t mistake the feeling for naught else, and she had been correct, even if Kirstin hadn’t really believed it. Until now. “I’ve been yers since the day I was born.”
“Och, lass, the things I wanna do t’ye...” he groaned, wrapping his arms around her, encircling her completely so she was lost in them.
“Stop talkin’ and do ’em,” she moaned, turning toward him fully and sliding a thigh over his, hooking her wet foot around his ankle.
He let out a low growl as claimed her mouth again, He wasn’t gentle anymore. There was no holding back. Kirstin encouraged him, wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his deep, probing kiss, feeling his hands moving over the soft curves of her body through her plaid. But it wasn’t enough for her. Not nearly enough.
Donal let out a strangled groan when Kirstin’s hand moved under his plaid. The MacFalon was a true Scot, so there was no barrier between her fingers and the heat of his erection. She wrapped him in her fist, claiming the MacFalon sword as her own in one easy stroke, making the man’s arms tighten around her until she thought he might break her spine.
“I can’na hold sway wit’ what ye do t’me, lass,” he panted in her ear as she pumped him slowly in her hand. “I can’na stop where this is goin’.”
“I’ll die if ye stop.” She nibbled his lower lip. The man’s honor was too ingrained. He was far too used to maidens who teased and tempted, who withdrew to protect their precious virginity. “I do’na want ye to e’er stop. Make love to me. Make me yers.”
Her eyes met his in the slant of sunshine coming from the window high above and she saw the lust in them, knowing it was reflected in her own. There was no holding back from this for either of them. It was a force out of their control, compelling them forward, drawing their bodies together. She could no more ignore the urge to mate with this man than any woman could deny the force that brought wee bairns into the world from their full-moon bellies.
“Och, lass, please.” Donal’s voice was hoarse as she rubbed her thumb over the mushroom-head of his cock, feeling sticky wetness. And still, he tried to do the honorable thing. “I can’na...”
“Aye, ye can.” Kirstin took his hand and guided it between her legs, to the center of the universe. He cupped her, moist and swollen, just one thin piece of cloth separating him from the Promised Land. “’Tis yers. Now and always. Fer the takin’.”
His mouth moved against hers as he moved her body underneath his on the rock. He was careful not to put too much of his weight on her, but Kirstin wanted it. She wanted all of him. They rolled together on the flat rock, Kirstin caught between the earth’s unforgiving stone and Donal’s hardness. Their plaids were easy garments to remove and made a buffer between their skin and the rock beneath them when Donal spread the material out.
“Come t’me, lass.” Donal stretched out in his shirtsleeves, holding his arms out to her.
Kirstin pulled her shirt, its long tail hanging down to mid-thigh, over her head, and Donal groaned when he saw her bared to him. Then she did as he bid her, stretching out beside him on their plaids, letting him touch her everywhere, the sensation so sweet, so beyond words, it was sublime.
Kirstin expected him to mount her, take her, claim her. This was the wulver way, and she rolled to her belly in anticipation, but Donal was not eager to force himself on her, not right away. Instead, he kissed the wings of her shoulder blades, the dimples at the small of her back, his tongue moving down the split of her behind, making her flush with heat. He drove her mad, with his tongue, his hands, his words.
By the time he flipped her over and pushed her knees back, she was so ready for him, she was sopping. And still, he didn’t take her. His big, calloused hands moved over the soft velvet of her thighs, parting them so he could get his broad shoulders between them. She moaned when she felt his breath, hot against her throbbing sex, and cried put when he began to feather kisses on her mound.
Nothing had ever felt so good.
His tongue was magic, and he seemed determined to devour her from the inside out, to drink her up completely as if he wanted to drown in her juices. Her hands moved through the mass of his hair, trying to pull him to her, but he wouldn’t be budged. The sweet torture went on and on until she thought she couldn’t stand it another minute.
That’s when he finally—finally—knelt between her trembling thighs, his cock rising up like a sword between his. The man still had his shirt on and she tugged at it, wanting all of him. Donal peeled it off over his head and she gasped at the sight of him, broad chest and ridged abdomen from years of training. His arms were heavily muscled from wrist to shoulder and she grasped his upper arms in both hands as he propped himself over her, gazing into her eyes.
“Are ye ready, lass?”
“Aye,” she agreed, too breathless to say much else. “Please, do’na make me wait another moment.”
He didn’t. He parted her flesh easily, with perfect aim, sinking in swiftly, all the way to the hilt. Kirstin howled, digging her nails into his upper arms, arching beneath him at the sensation of being filled, being taken. She’d never been face-to-face with a man this way, at this moment. Donal claimed her, not just with his body, but with his eyes, pinning her beneath him.
He waited, watching her face, arms tense, thighs bulging against the supple softness of hers, his cock throbbing inside of her, so big it almost hurt. It felt as if he had penetrated her all the way to her womb, piercing her insides and making them spill forth more of her wetness. Kirstin licked her lips and then bit down on her bottom one as he began to move.
“Och, lass, ye feel s’good,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment as he withdrew almost all the way and sank back in again. She whimpered, arching up, wanting more. He opened his eyes to look at her, eyes searching. “Are ye’ll right?”
“Please, do’na tease me,” she pleaded, using every muscle she owned between her legs to clamp down on him. Donal let out a low moan, hissing air between his teeth on his next intake of breath. “I’m n’delicate. I will’na break, I promise ye.”
His eyes lit up at her words and he leaned in to claim her mouth once more. Kirstin let him have that, too. She let him take it all. She was his, meant for this man—for this moment. Her body writhed under his as he began to thrust, his tongue and cock making the same, delicious motion, a hot, velvet friction that built up and up. Any experience she’d had before of quick, awkward fumblings in the dark and a fast, rough hump that left her aching and somehow wanting more, were completely taken over by this singular experience.
This man knew exactly what he was doing, every movement, every whispered word, every touch. He knew just where to touch her, and when, and how. Donal drew her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked it, his thrusts coming deeper, harder. When she thought she couldn’t take another moment of sensation, of that breathless, aching need, his mouth moved lower to her swaying breasts, capturing a dark-tipped nipple between his lips and sucking that instead.
“Och, Donal!” she cried, looking at him in awe, wondering if there was some pleasure-string connected between her breast and her sex, because it felt as if his mouth was on them both at once.
“That’s it, lass,” he panted, hips grinding into hers, making little moon-like circles, his steel heat buried so far up inside her she could have sworn she tasted him in the back of her throat. “I want ye. I want ye t’give yourself t’me. All of yerself.”
“Oh aye, aye,” she gasped, but she didn’t understand him, because she was. This was everything she had
to give him, her whole body, her mind, her soul, it was all of her, splayed for him. All for him.
“Look a’me, lass,” he whispered, his blue eyes gone grey with lust. “Look a’me. I want ye t’give it to me. All of it. I want all of ye.”
“Oh Donal,” she cried, feeling something blooming low in her belly, opening like a flower, as he moved faster, grinding his pelvis into hers. “Oh what... what... I... ohhhhh!”
“Do’na close yer eyes,” he insisted, his voice low, throaty, commanding her. “Look a’me when ye give yerself t’me. Ohhh Kirstin, yer so beautiful, so...”
She shuddered underneath him like an earthquake, her body taking over in a way she’d only ever experienced during her change. And this was something else altogether, something uncontrollable. She’d never been more in or out of her body at the same time, even when she was transforming from human to wolf. Delicious waves of pleasure rocked her body, her sex pulsing around his shaft, sluicing juice all down the length.
Donal watched her, his face lost in an expression of awe and wonder, and then he grabbed her shoulders, driving himself into her with three good, long, hard thrusts, burying his cock into her depths and his face into her neck. His seed spilled, hot as a geyser and just as forceful, deep into her womb.
This was the moment they’d both been searching for, and they found heaven and home all at once in each other’s embrace. As he began to withdraw, Kirstin caught him between her thighs, crying out at the loss.
“Do’na leave me,” she begged hoarsely, clinging to him, even as she still quivered with her climax.
“Nuh, lass,” he whispered. “I’ll ne’er leave ye. Not as long as m’body draws breath. Yer mine, Kirstin MacFalon, and ye’ll be mine e’ermore.”
“What did ye call me?” she whispered, lifting the curtain of hair away from his stubbly face as he leaned in to kiss hers, brushing his lips over her forehead and cheeks and chin, soft presses of love.
“Kirstin MacFalon,” he said again, going up to his elbow to look down at her. “Me wife. If ye’ll ’ave me. I know ’tis fast, but ye said ye felt the same way I did...”
“Oh, aye,” she breathed, arms snaking around his neck, her face moving to the soft, damp skin of his throat. “I’d settle for nothin’ less, Donal MacFalon.”
“Do I need t’ask Raife fer yer hand?” He cocked his head, quizzical. “What do wulvers do?”
“Ye do’na e’en need t’ask me, Donal.” She traced the strong, square line of his jaw with her fingertip. “Wit’ wulvers, there is naught any askin’—only claimin’, and ye’ve a’ready done that.”
“Isn’t there some sort of markin’?” he asked.
“Aye,” she agreed, nodding. “But if I’m t’be t’wife of The MacFalon, I should hold t’yer traditions.”
“We should do both.” He caught her hand and turned it, face up, so he could kiss her palm. “King Henry wanted me t’mend the rift at t’border by marryin’ an Englishwoman, but instead I’ll marry t’border b’tween t’wulvers and t’Scots.”
“Seal t’wolf pact wit’ a kiss?” she teased, sliding a thigh over his. Their feet were still wet from the water, but the slant of sun was warming and drying them.
“I’ll seal it wit’ more’n that.” He kissed her, mouth open, tongue meshing with hers, tracing slowly over her teeth, exploring every inch of her.
“Oh Donal,” she whispered when they parted, dizzy with wanting him. “I want ye so much... when can we do’t again?”
“Och, I’m a man, not a wulver,” he groaned as she reached her hand down to squeeze his length. To her surprise—and apparently to his as well, given the way his eyebrows went up—he began to stiffen in her fist. “Ye bring out the beast in me, lass.”
“Good.”
She pushed the man to his back, tracing her tongue over around the mounds of hard muscle on his chest, pausing to flick each nipple, making the cock in her hand swell. The hair on his chest curled around her fingers as she explored every glorious plane and angle, a hand raking over his belly, a delicious, ridged mountain range of flesh. Her tongue traced the dark line of hair that traveled from navel to nest, his snake now rising up, staring at her with its one good eye.
“Och, lass, yer mouth—”
She sucked the head between her lips, tasting his musk, her juices, taking as much of him inside her as she possibly could, all the way to the back of her throat, and still she couldn’t take him all. The man was more claymore than broad sword, a giant mass of swinging steel meant to take what was rightfully his. And she wanted to be taken.
Her fingernails raked the soft seed sacks hanging underneath his cock, and Donal hissed, shifting his hips, pushing himself deeper into her throat so she gagged a little on his length. But she didn’t mind. His hand moved through her hair, guiding her, a hot, steady rhythm they both lost themselves in. She could have gone on forever, worshipping his staff, kneeling at the altar between her mate’s thighs, but he pulled her off, looking down at her with half-closed eyes.
“Yer mine,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes filled with it, both the longing and the knowledge at once. “I will’na let ye go, Kirstin, not e’er.”
“Ye talk overmuch,” she teased, rubbing the head of him against her swollen, red lips. “How ‘bout ye show me instead of tellin’ me, Donal MacFalon?”
“Oh, aye.” His eyes darkened at her words. “I’ll show ye.”
“If ye can catch me.” She grinned and was off like a shot before he could move, laughing as she heard him swear behind her, struggling to catch up.
She made it into the pack leader’s chambers, almost all the way to the bed before he caught her from behind, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her into his big arms. She giggled and squirmed, loving the way he roughly turned her to face him, hands moving down to squeeze her bottom.
“Caught ye,” he growled in her ear, his erection rising up to nudge her belly, trapped between them. “Now I get t’claim ye.”
“Aye.” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her easily in his arms. Kirstin’s legs went around him, heels digging into the small of his back as he lifted and aimed her, sliding his thick length in, deep and hard, as if he were running her through. Kirstin cried out at the sensation, thinking she would never, ever stop wanting this, craving him, needing him.
Donal moved toward the bed but Kirstin shook her head.
“Like this,” she whispered hoarsely, beginning to move her hips in little circles. “Standin’, jus’ like this.”
He moaned and turned toward the fireplace. The room was full dark, the only light coming from the torch at the end of the passageway. They could barely see each other, but it didn’t matter. Kirstin felt every big, beautiful inch of him as he pressed her to the rock wall beside the big fireplace, driving up inside her with fierce, harsh thrusts that threatened to break her spine against the stone.
Not that she cared.
She was crazed with heat, her nails raking his back like claws, her teeth sinking into the hard, muscles skin of his shoulder. Donal grunted at that, but he didn’t stop pounding into her, the slap of their flesh a hot, rhythmic beat. Kirstin’s sex squeezed and massaged him, and she rocked in his arms, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Yer lil cunny is so tight, lass,” he panted in her ear. Words during mating were new to Kirstin, but she liked them. She liked the way he panted them, hot breath against her ear. “I could ride ye from dusk ’til dawn and still want more.”
“Aye,” she gasped, her walls quivering at his words, the dam threatening to flood. “Oh Donal, do’na stop. Do’na e’er stop.”
“Nuh,” he agreed, but he did stop, just for a moment.
To slide out of her, whirl her around, and bend her almost in half as he took her again, fingers probing between her legs, finding her crevice, and sliding back into the hot cavern of her sex. Kirstin’s hands raked the stone, looking for something to hold onto, bracing herself against the rough thrust of his hips, the
sweet torture of his cock up against her womb like a battering ram seeking entrance to something deeper inside her.
“Och, lass, I can’na hold out much longer,” he cried, fingers gripping the curve of her hips, hard enough to leave bruises.
“Give it t’me,” she urged, remembering his words to her. “I want all of ye. Please. Fill me wit’ yer seed. Please, please, please, pl—”
Her sex was already spasming around his shaft, that unbelievable, quivering wave of pleasure pulsing through her, milking him. Kirstin howled, reaching back as he thrust forward, feeling the hard muscles of his behind working as he buried himself in to the base, shoving her flat against the wall, legs spread, feet completely off the ground, crushing her with his shuddering weight.
He didn’t say anything then. He just picked her up in his arms like a bit of fluff and carried her to the bed. He pulled her on top of him, wrapping them up in the coverlet. It was soft and freshly laundered and they floated on a cloud together in the darkness. She might have slept—must have, because when she woke, there was a fire lit in the fireplace and her mate was no longer in bed.
“Donal?” She lifted her dark head from the pillow, hand searching the mattress for his big frame, but finding only empty space.
“Here, m’love,” he called.
She saw him sitting on a deerskin by the fire, something in his hands.
Kirstin wrapped the coverlet around her and went to him, putting her arms around him from behind, kissing the broad, hard planes of his back, resting her cheek there as she knelt on the deerskin. She had woken, afraid she’d been dreaming, only to find him still here. Questions loomed in her mind, threatening the flood of happiness rushing through her veins, and she pushed them away.
They’d deal with reality later. This, here, now—was all that mattered, all that ever would.
“I found somethin’.” Donal put a hand over hers at his middle, caressing. “Come see.”
“Is it food?” she asked, crawling around to sit beside him. “Because I’m starvin’.”
