DevilsHeart

by Laura Glenn

  “Yes, lass,” he whispered, pumping his fingers in and out of her in a slow, deliberate motion. “You are ready for me. Let me fuck you.”

  Oh God, this was all sorts of wrong.

  Her anxiety clawed through the dizzying fog of desire. How could she be attracted to a man rumored to be as good at killing as he was fucking? How many men had these strong, massive hands bringing her so much pleasure killed? He hadn’t even looked like himself when he fought the MacTavish. More like an inhuman, bloodthirsty warlord. How could she melt into a hot puddle of desire, coming on these very fingers that had probably also thrust a sword through the heart of another human being?

  He grazed his tongue down her neck, stopping to lick and suck at her overheated skin, and her frantic thoughts faded. His fingers slid out of her and up to her clit in one smooth motion. She bit her lower lip and reached back, grabbing his thighs for support as excruciating waves of pleasure rippled through her pussy. Her heart thundered, her breathing choppy. She dug her fingernails into his skin as her thighs tensed.

  And then he stopped.

  Her eyes flew open and she shuddered, rocking her hips against his suspended hand.

  “Let me fuck you,” he drawled, tapping her clit.

  She sucked in a breath and whimpered as the tension in her legs snapped. She collapsed against him. Her pussy pulsated, moisture seeping onto her thighs.

  Rathe nipped her neck just as he set his fingers to work once again. She groaned his name, parting her legs, the wondrous tension winding again in her clit.

  He stopped again.

  “Rathe!”

  “You want to come?”

  She nodded.

  “I get to fuck you. You get to come. It is as simple as that, Leah,” he rasped into her ear.

  She pressed her lips together, trying to force the words onto her tongue. He drummed against her clit, twisting a primal moan from her throat, and then smoothed over the sensitive nub in lazy circles. Her core clenched hard and opened wide in a steady, excruciating rhythm. She arched her back. He tilted his hips, rubbing his hard shaft against her ass.

  Then his fingers stilled and she was held dangling over the precipice of a climax just out of reach. She rocked her hips against him. His cock was so close. All she needed was to say the word and he would fill her. Pound into her until she came.

  She wanted him now. Inside her, pumping and groaning out his own pleasure. She was not going to refuse him—not now and maybe not ever. “Please, Rathe. Inside me. Now.”

  He shoved her forward onto her hands and knees. She closed her eyes, every muscle tensed in anticipation. The mattress shifted beneath her and his hands were on her breasts, kneading her nipples with his fingers.

  Rathe pressed kisses down her back, pulling his palms from her abdomen to her hips. And then his tongue slithered down her slit and flicked her swollen clit. Every nerve in her body was on fire.

  He pressed a heated kiss into her hip. “Did you like that?”

  She whimpered, flexing her hips toward him.

  Pressing his thumbs against her backside, he spread her open wider and shifted until he was kneeling between her knees. “Another time, love.”

  The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance and she fought to remain still, barely breathing.

  “This is mine, you hear me?” He dug his fingers into her hips. “Mine.”

  A heightening tremor rippled through her pussy, almost pushing her over the edge. The raw domination in his tone pulled at something deep and primal within her. She needed to be his, welcomed his claim to her body. Craved his possession. And then strange, foreign words tumbled from her mouth, shocking her into stillness. “I am yours.”

  He didn’t give her time to take the words back. He impaled her, twisting a guttural cry of surprise and lust from her throat. His cock swelled within her, her core straining to accommodate him as it rippled with rhythmic, heady pulsations. He eased back and then in an excruciating, slow motion filled her again. Repeating the motion over and over, her aching, distended nipples grazing across the bedcovers and sending sharp pangs of pleasure directly to her clit.

  He was likely to kill her like this, hovering just beyond driving her to the brink. Her knees wobbled, her arms almost jellylike. Her core vibrating, clit swelling and throbbing, sending erotic waves through her abdomen as his balls hit it over and over again.

  She whimpered and met him halfway on his next thrust into her, moaning at the satisfying smack of her ass against him and his cock driving hard into her. He backed out slowly again, but then pulled her hips against him with a violent yank.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, her pussy shuddering in a steady, increasing rhythm. Her head fell forward and he dug his fingers into her hips, thrusting into her with a maddening speed. Sparks flew through her flesh as she smacked against him, her pussy weeping with moisture.

  And then he paused, shaft fully embedded inside her. His fingers found her clit, tearing a cry from her throat at the intense, surge of pleasure. He held her still, encircling the sensitive nub, drawing pants from her lungs as her head spun. A spasm deep within her core uncoiled, rippling through her pussy, throwing her body into convulsions. Her vision blackened as she tightened around him, riding the erotic waves flowing through her.

  “Yes, yes, lass,” he hissed.

  He released her clit and pounded into her. She shifted her hips back in rhythm with his, seeking more. Another smaller, but deeper pulse drew another whimper of satisfaction from her lips. With a guttural cry, he stilled within her, his cock pulsating, her core warming as his hot seed burst within.

  She groaned and her arms fell out from underneath her. He caught her by the waist and eased himself out of her before lowering her to her stomach on the bed. He fell onto his back beside her with a loud exhalation.

  Her eyes fluttered open. He was staring at the ceiling, one hand on his forehead as his chest rose and fell with his deep breaths. As if sensing her stare, he turned toward her, an arrogant grin spreading across his face.

  “Like that, did you, lass?”

  Her cheeks heated and she dropped her gaze to his chest, admiring the deep furrows around his muscles, which were highlighted by the firelight. Liked it? It had never been this good before. Even with Rathe. The two other times they’d been together were already the best sex of her life. But this…

  He traced a finger down her spine, sending shivers through her skin. “Who would have thought my shy little doe would like it so rough?”

  Rough, yes. Savage even. God, what had happened to her? When Simon spent an extra few minutes on some gentle, romantic foreplay, she was a happy, satisfied woman who could then go about her life in a normal fashion. But with Rathe she was in a near-constant state of arousal, always needing his touch, wanting his cock, and the more forcefully he fucked her, the harder she came. She’d almost come at his insistence her pussy belonged to him.

  He gave her a playful smack on the backside and rolled away. “Time for sleep, lass. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

  Her stomach sank. An early morning. How could she forget?

  It was time to play the dutiful thirteenth-century wife.

  Chapter Eleven

  “My lady.”

  A hand smoothed down Leah’s arm, wresting her away from a deep, restorative slumber. She groaned and rolled onto her back, pointing her toes as she stretched her legs under the covers. Her eyes fluttered open to Morna’s gentle smile as the servant brushed the hair back from Leah’s eyes.

  Morna spoke softly, adding the words “my lady”—the only English she knew—to the end of whatever she had said, and pulled back the covers. Aisleen whisked into the room, carrying a fresh, off-white leine and blue overdress with fanciful embroidered leaves and flowers scrolling along the edges. Within minutes, Leah was dressed and sitting in front of the fire as Morna brushed and braided Leah’s hair.

  Leah twisted the fabric of her overdress around her fingers and chewed on her bottom lip.
She’d half expected to wake up to Rathe next to her, but there wasn’t a single sign of him anywhere. No discarded clothing, no random boot lying around. Where was he? His absence almost made it seem as though the whole fight, marriage, and wedding night had been nothing more than a dream.

  That was until Aisleen pulled two leather bags from a trunk at the end of the bed and proceeded to pack all the clothing Leah had accumulated during her stay with the mormaer. As she reached the top of the second bag, Aisleen placed the jeans, shoes, and shirt in which Leah had arrived in the thirteenth century.

  The packing could only mean one thing—Rathe was leaving and Leah was to go with him. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat as she cast her gaze around the sparse but cozy room she’d occupied for the past two weeks. She would be going deep into the Highlands, well north of Graham land and Fannich village, if her gleanings of the location of the Sinclair lands were correct.

  Morna finished Leah’s hair and laid the brush along with a few ribbons on top of Leah’s jeans. Aisleen closed the satchels and opened the door, motioning for a young man to enter the room and take the bags.

  Leah turned toward the young women who had taken care of her for the past two weeks. Morna’s brown eyes glistened with tears and Aisleen gave her a warm smile. A heaviness settled into Leah’s heart. She’d barely exchanged more than rudimentary, mutually intelligible words with them, but they had always been so kind to her. Morna hesitated for a moment but then threw her arms around Leah. Aisleen followed suit with a tight hug.

  “Gu’unrobh maith agad.” Leah pressed her lips together as tears stung her eyes. At least she could thank them in their language.

  The two women smiled and curtsied.

  Leah turned and swept out into the corridor, hurrying away from the room. She descended the stairs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She paused as she reached the second floor. Glenna might be in her room playing. It was sad the French lessons with the lively, lovely little girl had come to the end.

  Turning out of the stairwell and in to the corridor, someone caught her by the elbow. “My lady.”

  She stopped just as Andrew MacTavish circled around to face her. She gasped and took an instinctive step back.

  “Pray forgive my interruption, but you are looking lovely this morning, Leah. Or should I say, Lady Sinclair?” A brief flash of hatred flickered through his brown eyes, belying the easy smile playing at his full lips.

  The reddened slash across his cheek caught her attention. His flesh had been stitched together and she fought back a cringe. How anyone had withstood the sensation of a needle and thread going through his or her flesh without the availability of anesthetic was beyond her.

  “Thank you,” she forced out, her voice breathy and halted. “I-I was just looking for the mormaer’s daughter. To say goodbye.”

  “Ah.” His brows rose as he nodded his understanding. “The family is all downstairs, already finished breaking their fast.” His eyes flitted down her form and back up, settling upon her breasts.

  Her throat dried as her stomach twitched. “All right, well, thank you.” She picked up her skirts to turn back into the stairwell.

  He caught her elbow again, this time drawing her backward. She froze.

  “I had only taken my eyes off the Sinclair for a moment,” he whispered into her ear as he trailed a light finger down her spine. “I wanted to be sure you were all right. That is when he got me. I am so very sorry, my lady. I failed you.”

  He pressed his body closer, leaving only the barest slip of air between them. But it wasn’t enough to prevent her from guessing his intentions as his cock swelled against her hip.

  She drew her brows together, her eyes narrowing into slits. Rathe was right. This guy couldn’t be trusted. What asshole tries to seduce another man’s wife the morning after the wedding night? She shook her head and tried to step away.

  Andrew tightened his hold on her elbow and spun her around to face him, grasping her other arm with his free hand. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you at all?”

  She froze, her tongue tied into a stunned silence. Hurt her? What was he talking about?

  He looked her up and down once more and sighed with a shake of his head. “Forgive me, my lady. You must think me daft going on like this. It is just that…” He pressed his lips together and cast his gaze over her shoulder.

  Curiosity overruled her urge to run. “What?”

  “The Sinclair’s last wife had delicate sensibilities, like you,” he whispered with a sympathetic tilt of his head. “I tried to help her, but she was so wounded by his cruelty. Nothing I could do or say ever helped the poor lass. I thought maybe, if I could warn you, I might save you from the same fate.”

  An anxious chill shot through her heart. What if she was wrong about him? What if she was wrong about Rathe? What if Andrew was the one telling the truth?

  Andrew shook his head. “He was cruel and vindictive. He crushed her heart by openly taking other women to his bed. He demanded she debase herself for him and take part in unspeakable acts. I dare not say more for fear of offending your sensibilities, my lady.”

  She bit her lower lip, dropping her gaze from Andrew. Before the rushed marriage had been forced upon her, she would have balked at the notion Rathe could be cruel or vindictive. But the stony look in his eyes and the cold, biting edge to his voice when she had suggested giving him the land if he would help her to get back home gave her pause. In reality, Rathe was a stranger to her.

  She’d already dodged a bullet with Simon, never considering he would ever stray. But Rathe? She’d seen how other women looked at him as he walked past. Even Alpina, with as much contempt as she held for him, couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him when he was in the room. Besides only a man who’d had a lot of practice with a lot of women could be as talented in producing mind-bending orgasms as he was.

  Rathe probably never went long between bed partners and this was the thirteenth century, after all. Powerful men weren’t exactly known for keeping it in their pants when there were so many serving girls at their disposal. But, damn it, if Leah was going to be forced into playing the dutiful, faithful wife for the next year, then she wanted the same loyalty in return. Could she expect that from Rathe though?

  “You should go, my lady. The Sinclair will be waiting and it would do you no good for him to hear you have been seen conversing with me.”

  “Why?”

  Low voices carried up the stairway. Andrew yanked her to the side and shoved her against the wall. He put a finger to his lips and peered through the doorway.

  Disturbing flickers of apprehension heated the back of her neck, slithering down her spine. Rathe could catch her with Andrew. Their hatred for one another would ensure some sort of fight breaking out or, at the very least, an accusation of her being unfaithful. Ugh, she hated confrontation. What she needed was to escape and fast.

  She wriggled her way out from between Andrew and the wall and headed for the stairwell. She stopped short as Andrew grabbed her elbow again.

  “I am but a day’s ride from the Sinclair holding,” Andrew stated, his eyes blazing in deep earnest. “You need only to send word and I will come for you. I will help you take what is yours.”

  She paused as a brief notion of engaging Andrew in her quest to return home flitted through her mind. But then she caught the flame of hatred leaping within his eyes and abandoned the idea. She shook off his grasp and picked up her skirts. Her heart thudded in a hurried, erratic rhythm as she flew down the stairs, her mind whirling with disconnected thoughts and the desperate urge to put distance between herself and Andrew. Something about the man made her skin crawl. The sooner she could get into the presence of other people, the safer she would be.

  Voices carried up the stairway and relief settled into her belly as the form of a servant conversing with a man came into view. She exhaled in a huff, releasing the tension from her lungs.

  But then she stopped short at the bottom of the st
airs, just before stepping into the great hall. Dark hair. Flashing green eyes.

  And a buxom blonde with hands in places they shouldn’t be.

  Oh God. It was the Facebook debacle all over again.

  “Leah.”

  Leah’s knees buckled, her stomach clenching hard. She grabbed for the wall and stared back at Rathe in stunned silence. His hands were on the woman’s shoulders, his body tense and rigid, while the woman in front of him held his chin in one hand and cupped his cock with the other.

  Rathe shoved the woman away and started toward Leah. “This is not what it appears to be.”

  Strength returned to Leah’s limbs and she stepped backward into the great hall, tearing her stunned, moistening eyes away from him.

  He reached for her and she stepped back again, her gaze dropping to his outstretched hand. A sharp pain shot through her heart, her control slipping away.

  “Damn it, Leah, do not look at me like that,” he hissed, his hand falling to his side.

  She swallowed hard and turned away. “Then I won’t,” she whispered, picking up her skirts.

  Her skirts tangled around her legs as she strode across the great hall toward the exit from the keep. Outside. Fresh air. That’s what she needed. Maybe it could help clear the strange, unexpected ache squeezing her chest.

  “Leah, do not walk away from me when I am speaking to you!”

  Hot indignation over his arrogant tone rushed through her throat. “Go to hell!”

  Footfalls echoed behind her and she quickened her pace.

  “Come here, now.”

  She bristled at the irritation in his voice and yanked the door open. A hand wrapped around her arm just as the sun hit her in the face. She shook it off with a violent twist of her shoulder. Anger and humiliation blistered her skin, her blood roaring in her ears.

  “Fuck off!” she blasted back, stepping outside.

  Leah halted as her eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light. Dozens of people stared back at her. With the exception of the clucking of a few chickens and the snorting of horses, the courtyard was silent in expectation.