“Natasha…” he groaned her name, sliding his hands up her back and then down to her hips, pulling her harder against him. “Baby. Mmm…baby. God, I want you so much.”
His husky, dreamy words only stoked her inner fire, and she pressed her body against his, urging him on as his hands explored her. Strong fingers gripped her ass through the pliable fabric of her yoga pants, and she groaned, arching against him as she nibbled on his bottom lip and then sank in for another demanding kiss. Her own hands slid beneath his T-shirt, pressing against the hot bare skin of his abdomen and feeling the tremor of muscle beneath her fingertips.
He was so gorgeous, and she wanted to touch and taste and explore every single inch of him until she got her fill—if she ever got her fill. Pulling back, she yanked the shirt off over his head and began to kiss her way down his neck, over his shoulders, and along the well-defined, bulging muscles of his chest. She stopped at one nipple, circling it lazily with her tongue and reveling in the reactions that she was inspiring within him.
Natasha had always wondered whether she was good at this kind of thing. Whether she was passionate. Frankly, whether she was any good in bed beyond the fact that her body was in good shape. Matthew had never made her feel like she drove him crazy, and the very few times since Matthew that she had decided to be with a man, the encounters had been more awkward and lackluster than explosively amazing.
With Ronan, she already knew that she was going to feel things she had never felt before, and she could feel his excitement building right along with hers. In fact, she could feel it pressing right between her legs as her hips moved over his while she dragged her teeth lightly along the top ridges of his defined ab muscles.
Moving her hips faster, she groaned at each press of his hard cock against her wet center. He was so ready. So aroused. He wanted her so much.
Natasha sat up, jolting them to a stop as disappointment crashed over her. Face flushed, she looked down at his surprised expression and groaned—this time no pleasure in the sound. “We can’t.”
“Why the hell not?” he asked, as distraught as she was, his hands still tightly holding her hips. “I mean…are you okay?” he asked, trying to gentle his reaction. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she assured him quickly, pushing long, silken black hair out of her face and huffing out a breath. “No, of course not. Nothing can hurt me, Ronan. But your…” she gestured to his rigid erection, clearly outlined underneath the denim. “Your cursed cock.”
His face cleared, and he reached for her again. “To hell with my cursed cock. Like that’s going to stop me from giving you what you want.”
“I do want it,” she said, leaning down and kissing him hard. To show him just how much, she guided his fingers between her legs, pressing them there so he could feel the dampness of her desire building. “But we can’t risk it. We don’t know how much the curse worsens each time you sleep with a woman, and you’ve already…slept with several.”
“They meant nothing,” he said, slowly rubbing her between her legs as he looked into her eyes. “It wasn’t like this, Natasha. They were just fun. Friends. It’s how I’ve lived my life, and now, for the first time—ever—I wish that I hadn’t. Because it feels disrespectful to this, right here, between us. Because this is so much more.”
It would be difficult for any woman to resist such words, and when they were paired with the insistent press of his fingers and how much she already knew she needed him, it was downright unreasonable for anyone to ask her to stop herself from allowing what they both wanted so much.
Moaning, she moved against his hand, her peak just moments away even though he’d not even touched her directly yet. “Ronan…we don’t know the power of your curse,” she said, repeating herself in a vain attempt to keep her mind clear.
“But I have you,” he argued, pressing into her, using the fabric of her yoga pants to rub against her clit. “You’ll heal me.”
“I don’t know how to heal the curse yet,” she gasped, vibrating on the edge of her peak. “I haven’t spent enough time with you—with it—with research. When there’s …magic …involved …it’s …different …than …when …ahhhhh …” her words cut off as her climax crested over her, and she collapsed against him, shuddering through the peak as his free arm wrapped around her and held her close. Pleasure like she had never before felt took her higher and higher and then eventually let her fall back down, leaving her light and airy and loose as she lay in his arms. “Mmmm.”
Chuckling, Ronan slid his hand from between her legs and wrapped that arm around her too, holding her close. “You needed that.”
“I needed that,” she agreed, closing her eyes and nestling into him, as though she had known him all her life. Never before had she felt such a level of comfort with someone, and it made her never want to move again, no matter what responsibilities they had.
“We’ll stop there,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, softly. “You’re right—we don’t understand the curse, and we can’t take chances. And …I finally just realized what some men mean when they say that bring a woman pleasure is every bit as good as finding their own.”
She looked up at him. “You did?”
He nodded, stroking his thumb along her cheek. “Yeah. I mean, it’s always the goal to bring pleasure, don’t get me wrong. I’m not that kind of guy. But I have to say …I’ve always been eager to get my own afterward. This time, I don’t know. It’s not as important.” Leaning down, he kissed her softly. “There’s something about you, Natasha. You’re just different.”
Smiling, she settled closer against him, her fingers lacing with his. “I think I like being different.”
“Good.” He tangled them up together, moving them so that their heads rested against the pillows on her bed. “Close your eyes, baby. Get some sleep. I’ll stay with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ronan
“Here,” Ronan said, stopping at the edge of the cliff, a lake stretched out behind him, surrounded by rugged trees blowing back and forth in gusty winds and the ocean in front of him, the waves breaking choppily against the shore. “Let’s do it here.” He turned to Natasha and Charlotte behind him, taking a deep breath and drawing into himself the connection he felt all around him.
It was still bright outside, even though it was almost eight o’clock at night, and they would have light for another few hours perhaps. Days were long in late summer in Ireland. They had slept for hours, recovering from the long flight, and now Ronan was ready to begin what he had come here to do—to talk with his ancestors and find out exactly what it was he needed to do to make sure that the clan they had created through their diligence and ingenuity could continue on forever, protecting people against the evils of the world, both supernatural and natural.
“This is a good place,” Charlotte agreed. “There’s so much connection here, in Ireland, between the natural and the supernatural. It’s no surprise that so much of our folklore comes from this place. Fairies and leprechauns, are they really so farfetched when you feel the aura here?”
Ronan smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. I’m ready to talk to my ancestors, Charlotte. Tell me what I need to do.”
She gestured for them all to sit, and Ronan took a seat on the ground beside Natasha. He wanted to hold her hand, but he refrained. Despite the fact that they’d had those moments of raw sexuality, followed by hours of intimate cuddling as they slept entangled in each other, he wasn’t sure where they stood. There was no doubt in his mind what he wanted from her, but her past was complicated, and they hadn’t had much time together yet. He didn’t want to push her with public displays of connection and coupledom.
He also couldn’t deny that it would be strange for him as well, given that the women he spent time with were not usually the ones pushing for him to commit or do those couple-esque things that he kept wanting to do with Natasha.
“Close your eyes,” Charlotte murmured, closing her
own as well. “Tell me nothing. I specifically haven’t spoken with you much about what it is you need to talk to your ancestors about because I don’t want anything to be muddled when I open the channels that I’m going to open. I don’t want to be thinking of anything or looking for something in particular. I’m going to be a platform. Anyone who speaks to you will speak through me, and my mind will be disengaged. Present, but not in control. Do you understand?”
Once again, Ronan was struck with just how different Charlotte was from Josiah, and he hated that his inexperience with mediums had put him in a position to be duped by a man who clearly did not have anywhere near the kind of gift that Charlotte had—nor the character. “I understand,” he told her. “There’s one person, in particular—”
“Ah-ah!” Charlotte stopped him. “Tell me nothing. Not now. If the person you want doesn’t come through this first time, then we can talk about that for next time. But I want to see what’s out there.” She was silent for a moment, and Ronan didn’t speak again. “I’m opening myself,” Charlotte whispered. “It’s beginning.”
Ronan felt a ripple of power move through him, and he leaned toward it, realizing in the moment how momentous what he was doing was really going to be. He was going to speak to the people whom he had grown up his entire life hearing about and admiring. There was nothing that Dragon Clan members respected more than the work their ancestors had done to take the curse that was originally placed upon them and turn it into the incredible lives that their children had gotten to live for generation after generation.
The silence dragged on, though the power remained, and Ronan held his breath…waiting. Waiting for some word. Some sign. It was all he could do not to open his eyes, but he forced himself to wait, letting Charlotte guide him.
And then he heard the voice.
“Ronan Connolly, son of Dylan and Aileen Connolly.”
The voice was male, but when Ronan opened his eyes, looking for the speaker, he saw only Charlotte, sitting before him, her own eyes still closed, but her mouth moving as the voice came again.
“You’ve made a far journey to come back to your homeland. That’s commendable.”
Ronan’s heart slammed up against his ribcage, and without thinking, he did reach for Natasha’s hand, squeezing it hard. “What’s your name?” he asked, wishing that he could see the person. To be able to look on the face of one of the people who had made him who he was …that would be everything.
“Patrick O’Donnell. Was it not me with whom you wished to speak? I’ve felt you searching for me for some time now.”
“I have been,” Ronan said, staring at Charlotte and trying to imagine the man whose voice was coming from her mouth. “Yes—I have been. I need guidance. I need to know how to save the Dragon Clan from dying out.”
“Do you?”
Ronan didn’t understand, and he frowned, glancing at Natasha, who was staring raptly at Charlotte. “I do …yes.”
Charlotte twitched, her head jerking back, and Natasha squeezed his hand hard, clearly concerned. Ronan didn’t know what it meant that Charlotte suddenly began to shake, but he stood, torn between concern for the medium and concern that Patrick had disappeared so suddenly.
“Patrick?” he asked. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte lifted her head back up, her eyes still closed. Her posture wasn’t her own, and it was obvious that something else still inhabited her. But when she opened her mouth, it wasn’t Patrick’s voice this time.
“Well, well, well …” Charlotte intoned, her head tilting to the side and a sly grin curving her lips. “You just can’t stay away, can you?”
Immediately, instinctively, Ronan knew that it was Josiah’s voice speaking to him. Hints of Charlotte’s own tone and cadence remained, but there was enough of Josiah there that Ronan recognized him and stiffened, stepping between Charlotte and Natasha.
“I have nothing to say to you, Josiah,” Ronan said firmly. “Go back to whatever purgatory you’re living in now.”
Charlotte chuckled darkly. “I’m glad we’re getting to talk. I’ve been getting rather bored with watching you suffer through the curse I placed on you. It’s all exhaustion and discomfort and moping. It’s not as fun as I thought it would be, although I have really enjoyed all those times you had to run and hide your transition. That’s the best part.”
Ronan glanced at Natasha, who had moved to stand beside him. At least they had confirmation that the curse had come directly from Josiah now, and that information would help Natasha learn how to combat it. “The curse is boring me too,” Ronan told Josiah. “That’s why I’ve decided to have it undone. It really was kind of a pathetic attempt to lash out at me, don’t you think? I won that one—you’re dead and I’m here, after all. Was this really all worth the quarter of a million dollars you wanted?”
That laugh sounded again. “You still think it’s about the money? Please.”
“Then what was it about?” Ronan asked, narrowing his eyes. “I searched you out. You didn’t come to me. What else could it be about, besides the money?”
Charlotte’s eyes flew open and a look pure hatred came over her face as her hands thrust outward toward Ronan. “Figure it out!” she screamed, and as she did, bolts of energy came from her palms, hitting Ronan square in the chest.
He fell backward, the pain radiating through him as he hit the ground and began to writhe around, trying to escape the fire that felt as though it was running through his veins and licking up the life that it found there. Ronan shouted out, clawing at the ground to try to somehow escape the painful prison of his body and hold off the darkness that was threatening to overwhelm him. “Water!” he gasped, dragging his fingers down his throat to try to get some relief from the fire that burned there, filling his lungs with smoke until he could barely breathe. “Water!”
Ronan was slipping away, with no concept of where he was or how long he had been enduring the pain that was swallowing him alive. He struggled to keep his thoughts intact, but it was a futile struggle that he was losing more and more with each passing second.
And then he felt a cool hand touch his face. It was a brief flicker of relief amid the hell he was sinking into, and he leaned into that touch, grateful for one last whisper of pleasure before he died.
But death didn’t come, and the cool touch remained. Then it began to grow, starting with his face and then his throat, giving him relief from the smoke that was clogging his senses and preventing him from drawing oxygen into his lungs. He gulped air and started to fight to get up, but something held him in place as the coolness kept spreading, taking over his upper body, then working its way into his extremities. There was still pain lingering, but it was dull and faint—nothing like that all-consuming sensation that he had endured for somewhere between five minutes and five years.
“Shhh. Shhh.”
The soft, soothing sound broke through the chaos in Ronan’s head, and he realized slowly that it was Natasha wrapped around him, the source of the coolness that had eased the fire burning him alive.
She had taken his pain into her and saved him, and now she was nestling her face against him, whispering sweet things in his ear as he recovered. The moment he had the strength, he turned, taking her in his arms and crushing her to his chest, his face burying in her hair.
They didn’t say anything as they held each other. Ronan didn’t have the words, yet, to explain what he had felt or to tell her how grateful he was or how incredible she was, and Natasha didn’t seem to feel the need to speak, giving him all the time in the world to recover himself.
He finally did, sitting them up slowly and cupping her cheek in his hand to kiss her softly. “You’re amazing.”
When he looked into her eyes though, he didn’t see relief. He saw horror.
Concerned, he made her look at him again when she dropped her eyes, frowning as he searched her face. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did it hurt you?” Guilt slammed into him, and he reached for her again, hating any momen
t of pain that she might have had because of him.
But she kept him back, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, I’m not hurt. I just—” Her words cut off, and she looked away, clearly shaken now that the crisis had passed.
Looking for some explanation, Ronan turned to Charlotte, finding her sober and solemn nearby, but clearly back to her usual self. “It was terrifying,” she told him quietly. “You were on fire. Burning alive. I was certain that you would die—that even Natasha couldn’t save you.”
“There were actual flames?” he asked, looking down at his unmarred skin. “I didn’t see them. I felt them, but I didn’t see them. Natasha, did you see them?” he asked, tilting her chin up. “Is that what’s wrong?”
She nodded, taking a deep breath that she blew out slowly. “Yes. I saw them too. And, God—I hesitated.” Ashamed, she looked away from him, drawing her legs up to her chest and hugging them close. “I didn’t help you fast enough. I was afraid. That’s never happened to be me before.”
Ronan hated the self-loathing that he heard in her voice, and he reached out, touching her arm. “It’s only human, Natasha. To jump onto a body that seems to be burning alive? The fact that you did it at all …that’s amazing. You saved me. There’s not a thing for you to feel badly about.”
Her smile was faint. “I’m just glad that you’re okay.”
Reaching for her, he brought her into his arms and pressed his lips to her hair. “Thanks to you.” He wanted to hold her longer, but he let her go, inspecting her as she eased back. “Are you sure you’re all right? That must have been a lot of power that you absorbed.”
“I’m fine,” she promised him, with that same faint smile. “Completely fine.”
Ronan pressed her arms gently, then looked over at Charlotte. “What about you?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte answered honestly, hugging herself a bit. “I’ve never had something like that happen before. I wasn’t in control. I mean, I never am—but I also still am at the same time. It’s my choice to open myself up to the power and let it flow through me. This time when he—whoever that was—took over, I didn’t feel like I had the power to shut him off.”
Celtic Dragons Page 105
