His hands clenched at his sides.
“I’m no man’s—”
“Enough!” he roared, satisfied to see her eyes widen at his shout. Emotion from her. Finally. It would not be the last, he vowed. Before this night was finished, he would have more than emotion out of her. He would have it all—nothing less than her total surrender.
Griffin’s vision blurred in a red haze of fury…and something else. Something wild, savage, and hungry.
A hushed silence fell over the hall. He uncurled his fists and took several halting steps toward the table where she sat, watching him with large eyes.
The laird watched him, too, his eyes measuring, assessing, waiting to see if Griffin was the kind of man to let his woman set the rules. He didn’t need to glance around the hall to know that everyone else watched him, too.
Seeing no choice in the matter—these Scotsmen would expect him to teach her proper deference, especially after waging a fight for the right to claim her—he strode forward and pulled her from her chair.
“Woman,” he ground out, the word a scathing drip from his tongue. “I believe it’s time to show you who is master.”
A rumble of agreement broke out in the hall and Griffin knew he had said the proper thing in the eyes of these Highlanders. Crucial if they were to walk away from here.
Astrid’s dark eyes narrowed and flitted about the hall, a hare snared in the watchful gazes of a hungry pack of dogs. He knew she resented their murmurs of accord. Stiffening, she pulled herself to her full height, reminding him every bit of the haughty duchess despite her bedraggled appearance.
Her gaze moved back to his face. “My name is Astrid,” she hissed. “And you’re not my master.”
His anger flared hotter yet at her words. Damn little fool, she didn’t know when to quit.
With a sigh, he bent and tossed her over his shoulder.
He braced himself, expecting her shouts and struggles. Instead she stiffened, rigid as stone over his shoulder.
The hall burst into loud applause and feet stomping.
“Teach her a lesson she won’t forget,” a serving girl shouted.
“Aye, silence that mouth of hers!”
“Ride her good for me!” one of the men shouted crudely.
“Aye, no sparing the rod for that one!”
Loud laughter followed that ribald suggestion. A quiver of indignation coursed her rigid body, passing through her slight frame and into him.
He reacted to the comments as well…felt an answering burn in his blood to show her, in the most basic, primitive way, that she was his, that she belonged to him. At that moment, it had nothing to do with proving his dominance to their audience. He could give a damn about any of them in that moment. He wanted to do it for himself—wanted her for himself.
The blood pumped thickly through him at the thought of stripping her naked and spreading her alabaster thighs before him. Of lodging himself deeply inside her and stroking her flesh with his until her cries filled the air. Of watching her dark eyes glaze over with passion, chasing away the hollow, empty look that he had come to loath. That reminded him of another.
“This has gone far enough,” she whispered near his ear, that soft voice of hers sending sparks through him. “Put me down at once and cease treating me in this humiliating fashion.”
He answered her with a swift slap to the bottom that earned him a gasp. With his hand still on the curve of that rounded bottom, he addressed the clan’s laird. “Our room?”
“Aye,” the old man chuckled, wiping at the corners of his eyes where tears of mirth pooled. “You’ve earned it.” Nodding, he snapped his fingers at one of the serving girls. “Show them to their chamber.”
A flame-haired girl rushed forth and Griffin followed her up a winding set of stairs, the stones slick with condensation and mildew. She sent him several intrigued glances over her shoulder as they progressed down a dimly lit corridor, the lighted sconces along the walls casting eerie shadows before them.
“Here you go, love,” she said, iron hinges creaking as she opened a thick wood door to a large chamber, an impressive four-poster bed positioned in the center.
Furs covered the enormous bed and various areas of the stone floor. A fire burned in a hearth large enough for him to stand in, its pervading warmth flowing throughout the chamber, further warming his desire-heated body.
“This will do nicely. Leave us,” Griffin commanded, his hand still caressing Astrid’s bottom, enjoying the feel of her flesh tightening and contracting beneath his palm.
With a knowing smirk, the maid left, the door thudding shut after her.
He strode farther into the room and dumped his burden unceremoniously on the bed. She vaulted off the mattress as if he had tossed her in a pot of boiling water. Face flushed, eyes glowing dark as lit coals, she squared off in the center of the room, her skirts an angry swirl as she moved.
At first it appeared she would come at him with fists swinging. Then she caught herself. Stopping, she inhaled and straightened, smoothing one hand over her fair hair, gathering her composure in the simple gesture even if it did nothing to tidy the honey strands of hair that haloed her face.
He felt a flicker of annoyance. He would have preferred her mad and fighting. Not this return to the frigid duchess rarely given to emotion. He knew she had it in her. Had seen it only that morning—tasted it when she woke so warm and pliant in his arms. As sweet and responsive as any hot-blooded woman could be.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he suffered her chilly gaze, suffered the coldness and aloofness she wore like a shield of armor. He cocked a brow and grinned, mocking her, daring her shell to crack, daring her to let go.
Her eyes narrowed in on his face.
“What’s wrong, Duchess?” Something dark and dangerous unfurled inside him. “Never had a man toss you on your back before?”
The stinging crack of her palm against his cheek sent his head snapping back.
“Christ,” he ground out, fingering his cheek as he dropped his gaze back down to glare at her.
“How dare you!” Her arms dropped to hang straight at her sides, fists so tight that her knuckles went white where the blood ceased to flow. She took several stiff strides back.
“Me?” He shook his head, marveling at her gall. He took a step forward, followed by another and another, intent on closing the distance between them. “If it weren’t for me, you would be on your back servicing some Highland brute right now.”
Her nostrils quivered with anger. “I seriously doubt it would have come to that.”
“No? You were willing to take that risk, were you?” He grasped her arms and gave her a little shake, the burn in his blood heating to dangerous degrees at her foolish words…to say nothing of what the feel of her in his hands did to him. “Damn fool, your mistake is not knowing when to hold your tongue.” He shook his head. “Have you never considered you might not know all the answers? That someone else might know more about a situation than you?”
For a moment, he thought something flickered in her eyes. An emotion he couldn’t name. Then the dark veil returned, hiding everything from him, hiding her.
Rather than answer, she tugged her arm free, inching back until she bumped into the bed. Which was fine with him. The bed was precisely where he wanted her. Ever since he had carried her from the hall, he’d been consumed with one purpose.
With a hand on her shoulder, he shoved her down, watching in satisfaction as she toppled back in wide-eyed wonder.
“I take that as no,” he growled.
“I don’t claim to know everything—”
“No?”
“It’s not in my nature to let a man I hardly know lead me,” she said in that starchy voice of hers. As if she were addressing one of her servants and not an equal, not a man burning with a feverish hunger for her.
A man I hardly know. Is that all she considered him? A stranger?
She held his gaze. So proper. So cold. Her eyes dark and fa
thomless as the night sea, pretending nothing existed between them.
His eyes dropped to her bodice, to the rise and fall of her breasts beneath—the slight mounds that would fit his hands perfectly, that he had craved to taste and explore for long enough now. But no more.
He would have passion and heat from her.
And he would have it now. This very night.
He climbed onto the soft mattress, his knees on either side of her hips.
She blinked several times, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she tried to pull herself back with her elbows.
“What are you doing?” her voice trembled on the air.
He squeezed his thighs around her, trapping her beneath him and stopping her from scrambling free.
“I’m going to have you, my little Duchess,” he growled, grabbing her by the back of the neck and hauling her up off the bed, flush against him.
Panic widened her eyes. “You’ll force me?” she sneered.
“There will be no force involved.” He smiled, flexing his fingers along the soft skin of her nape, relishing the crush of her breasts against his chest. “Before we’re through, you will have loved and begged for every moment of it.”
“Arrogant pig,” she hissed. But despite her words, twin flames gleamed at the centers of her eyes and her hips shifted, nudging his hardness, seeking him out even as her words denied him. “We both know that this won’t be—”
His lips crushed hers, intent on silencing her, punishing her, destroying her infuriating attempt at indifference.
Until his lips met hers. Until he tasted their softness, felt their fullness. And quite simply, he was lost. His lips gentled, tongue sweeping inside her mouth, consumed with a need that had nothing to do with punishment…and everything to do with desire.
Chapter 13
His mouth tasted of man and heat and heather-kissed winds. Hunger surged inside her, dark and dangerous, ravenous as a beast released to prowl the woods. It had been so long since she felt the warmth of another. Perhaps never.
Astrid clenched her hands and shoved them between their bodies, trying to wedge the two of them apart, resisting the overwhelming temptation to flatten her palms against his hard chest and feel him, savor the hard press of muscles surrounding her.
She willed her lips to still, willed her body not to respond to the magic of his mouth on hers, coaxing forth feelings and emotions long denied. New feelings. Terrifying, exciting feelings she had been so careful to stifle. Freed from a dark well, they spiraled through her like warmed wine, dizzying, exhilarating, emboldening her as nothing before. A strange, intoxicating elixir she could not resist.
His hands slid into her hair, scattering the remaining pins. Her scalp tingled beneath his hands. Her fingers trembled between them, yearning to unfold, to caress and explore his pulsing warmth.
With a strangled sob, she let all her resistance slide away and parted her mouth, meeting the slick glide of his tongue with her own.
Opening her hands, she clenched fistfuls of his vest and returned his kiss with wild fervor, pulling him down over her, sinking back into the soft bed.
He growled low in his throat, dragging his mouth over her jaw and down her throat. Astrid opened her eyes and shut them again, afraid that she would wake from this dream.
His fingers moved to the tiny buttons at the front of her gown. His hands fumbled, shaking over the small buttons.
“Damn buttons,” he muttered, his voice strangely hoarse.
She set to work on his clothing, shoving the vest off his shoulders and pulling the shirt over his head.
His hands trembled over each button as she leaned up and rained kisses over his jaw, neck, and chest, skimming her palms over his hard chest, scraping her nails through the short crisp hair, stopping to trace the small dusky circles of his nipples.
He moaned. Because he reached the end of her buttons and could now shove her dress to her waist or because of her hands and mouth on his chest she could not be certain. Nor did she care. He made quick work of stripping her free of her dress, the feverish movements of his hands exciting her only more. Her undergarments followed, the cambric a flash of white on the air, doves flying over their heads.
Naked beside him, not a moment of shame or hesitation seized her. It was as if she were someone else entirely, someone unafraid, someone willing to trust, to give herself over to another. To him.
His hand roved her thighs, callused fingers and palms rasping her tender flesh. His blue eyes shone darkly in the firelight as he stared down at her.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and she believed it, believed she was, believed he meant it. Not too thin, not too pale, not too strange with her liquid-dark eyes and fair hair. Not herself at all.
Propping herself up on her elbows, her hands reached for him. He watched her, eyes burning, his large body unmoving, still as stone as she unfastened his breeches and shoved them down his narrow hips.
Head cocked to the side, she studied that part of him for a long moment, biting her lower lip as an unfamiliar heat swirled through her, pooling low in her stomach. Her belly contracted and she fidgeted restlessly in attempt to ease the throbbing ache between her legs. Her hand reached out and touched him with a single finger, something she had never done before, never wanted to do.
A tremor rushed over him as she wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him, luxuriating in the feel of him, silk on steel in her hand. Encouraged by the sound of his rough approving growl, she stroked him, her fingers gliding over his length, her breath increasing, matching the harsh sound of his.
He swallowed visibly, his throat muscles working.
Excited beyond endurance, every nerve in her body screaming with a desperate urgency, she parted her legs, leaving herself exposed to his searing gaze. Cool air rushed over her, caressing that most vulnerable part of her.
One hand still holding his throbbing member, the other clutching the counterpane, she urged him closer, thumb rolling leisurely over the velvet tip of him, eyes never moving from the taut lines of his face.
A bead of moisture rose up to kiss her thumb and want twisted deep inside her. She rubbed the evidence of his desire over him.
Guided by her hand, his body came closer, beautiful and glistening in the firelight, his hips widening the gap between her thighs.
Squeezing his pulsing length in her hand, she teased him at her opening, nudging him against her, watching hungrily as his eyes dilated with desire. His chest lifted on a ragged breath as she traced the head of him over her folds, rubbing him in her moistness, tormenting herself—tormenting them both.
“God,” he gasped, eyes burning blue fire as he bucked against her hand, trying to bury himself inside her.
She smiled coyly and shook her head.
“What are you doing to me?” he groaned.
Making it last. Making it so good and so perfect that it would be enough. Enough for a lifetime.
Unable to stop herself, or the siren that she had become, a siren that she never knew she could be, she bent forward and tasted him, savoring him with a single, deep lick of tongue.
He shuddered, his hand diving into her hair, tangling in the loosened strands, gripping her head as she took the head of him in her mouth.
Her gaze flicked upward, relishing the sight of his head flung back, the tendons in his neck stretched taut, the muscles in his chest strained tight with tension. Urged by some dark, unknown part of herself, she devoured him, loved him with her mouth, fueling her arousal as she wrenched groans and cries from deep within him.
Leaning back, she released him, beyond teasing, beyond delaying the desire that had turned her into a wanton creature.
Falling back on her elbows, she met his gaze. “Take me,” she whispered.
He came over her, his arms falling on each side of her, caging her in. His gaze held hers, dark and dangerous, feral as a jungle cat cornering its prey. He prodded her opening with his hard heat.
Legs wide, sh
e lifted her hips to meet his first thrust, ready for it, taking him in as deeply as she could, crying out and arching beneath the invasion that stretched her, filled her to capacity.
Leaning forward, her hands clawed down his back, seizing the tight mounds of his buttocks, urging him on, needing the ferocity of this union, the sense of coming apart inside herself from his each and every thrust.
He dragged his mouth down her throat to her shoulder in a blistering trail.
“Harder,” she gasped in his ear and he increased his thrusts.
In answer, he plunged fiercely, burying her deeper into the soft bed.
She moved beneath him, desperate for more, for all, for an end to the torment, an end to the aching emptiness…for him to never stop…never leave her.
“Astrid,” he gasped, biting down on her shoulder.
She arched beneath him, breasts pressed into his sweat-slick chest, his crisp hair against her nipples incredibly erotic. He followed his bite with a kiss to the bruised flesh, his tongue licking and laving, sliding upward, over the column of her throat.
She let go then, surrendered, muscles squeezing and tightening in a blinding flash of pleasure and pain.
Her vision grayed at the edges and she wondered if she had perhaps died, the feelings rippling through her too great, too powerful, too…much, reminding her with startling suddenness why she hid from such tumultuous emotions.
Her muscles relaxed, body liquefying into a puddle as he moved a final time inside her, the heat of him pouring into her.
She lay utterly still for a moment, her legs spread wide beneath him, his large body heavy and sticky atop her, his member still twitching inside her.
As the pleasure ebbed, so did the feelings, the emotions she had allowed herself to feel. Like water spilling from a cup, they poured from her, fleeing from the hidden depths of her soul.
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