Cormac gave a final pat to Pip’s velvety head and straightened, nodding at Alan’s foresight. The man might have injected himself into Cormac’s life, but he was helpful to have about.
Alan bowed and gestured for Cormac to follow him. “Your lady awaits.”
His lady.
His pulse quickened to think of her in her private rooms, waiting for him. The woman he would marry.
The threat of Edmund edged into his thoughts, but he shoved that away. After all, Cormac had plans for the following morning. While Alan led him through the castle and up to Isolde, Cormac shared what he had in mind and ordered Alan to speak with Matilda and ensure all was handled accordingly.
“It will be done, sir.” Alan inclined his head and indicated the door in front of them as they came to a stop.
Cormac rapped softly on the heavy wood, and Matilda appeared. Pip craned his neck to look into the room, but Alan immediately sank to his knees and held his dog back. Matilda smiled at the dog and his master as she slipped from the chamber and allowed Cormac to enter.
He pushed the door closed behind him to enter the receiving room. Dark, heavy wood chairs with plush, red velvet padding sat near a fireplace, and a chest of drawers filled the small room. One door off to the side was cracked open with the golden glow of candlelight just beyond. His pulse hammered in his veins, and he walked silently over the thickly woven carpet to where he knew he would find Isolde.
He entered the room and drew up short at the sight before him. Isolde stood before the fire, her hair unbound and falling around her in auburn waves, wearing only a silken robe tied at the waist. It didn’t show any more flesh than the gowns she usually wore, mayhap even less. But her hardened nipples pebbled beneath the rich fabric.
“I feared you might not come,” Isolde said in a low voice, silky and intimate.
He swallowed and pushed the bolt on the door, locking it.
“Do you want some wine?” She approached a small table with a decanter and two pewter chalices. Without waiting for an answer, she lifted the wine, accidentally knocking one of the goblets over.
Despite her eagerness, she was obviously nervous. As any maiden would be. How he wished that he possessed Graham’s ease with women. What Cormac knew very well, however, was how he felt about her.
He joined her by the table and straightened the goblet. “I dinna need wine.” He took her slender hand in his. “Ye’re all the intoxication I need.”
“Me?” Isolde flushed. “Intoxicating?”
He gently stroked the knuckle of his forefinger down her cheek. “We dinna have to do this now, lass. We can wait—”
“For the morrow?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I saw Edmund the Braw at the joust.”
Cormac had seen Brodie’s champion before and knew how his presence alone could intimidate. “Then ye understand why I’m insisting on going in yer stead.”
Her eyes widened. “He’s undefeated. You could be—”
“I willna,” Cormac said.
“You could be killed,” Isolde said.
Cormac poured her a goblet of wine and handed it to her, but she did not drink it. “I will do anything to keep ye safe, Isolde.”
“And I you.” She set aside her wine and reached for him with both hands.
He came to her and pulled her into his arms. Her robe was slippery under his hands, her curves naked beneath.
“I wish we could leave here,” she whispered.
Except there were too many complications and they both knew it. The Ross clan would go after Cormac, or Lord Easton, or Cormac and Isolde. This feud would not be over until it had been handled properly, and Cormac refused to start his marriage to Isolde on the run.
He brushed the top of her head with his lips. Her hair was cool and smooth like her robe. He put his fingertips to the underside of her chin and tipped her face up so he could meet her eyes. “Think only of our wedding tomorrow and nothing else.”
A slow smile spread over her lips. “There may be more for us to think about.”
His blood immediately went hot, and he lifted a brow in silent question.
She draped her arms around the back of his neck and rose up on her toes, so her body pressed to his. It was all the invitation he needed. He held her to him and lowered his mouth to hers, ready to claim her as his wife.
13
Isolde would convey with her body what her mouth could not to Cormac. That she could not allow him to sacrifice himself for her. That she preferred to spend this last night being alive in his arms. That even if she was found out and forced to marry Brodie, she needed at least this memory to carry her through the rest of her days of misery bound to a man she did not want.
She gathered the ferocity of her emotions and poured it all into her passion. Her mouth explored the warmth of his as she brazenly licked his lower lip, enticing him to deepen their kiss.
His hands ran through her hair, which sent up wafts of rosewater blooming from her long tresses.
“Ye smell so good,” he groaned. His mouth traveled down her jaw to her neck, the scrape of his unshaven chin sending delicious prickles of pleasure dancing through her. His kisses shifted lower and brushed over her collarbone where her pulse no doubt thudded with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer.
She reached for him as he kissed her body, desperate to feel all of him this time, not the hint of sensations through so many layers of metal and thick cloth but skin to skin. His hands glided down her silk robe as he explored the curves of her body with strong, sure hands. Her skin tingled with the most exquisite awareness so that every stroke of his hand left a humming sensation in its wake.
She ran her fingers over his tunic, sampling the strength of his torso from atop his clothing. His muscles were solid under her exploration. Masculine. Perfect.
His fingertips whispered against the sides of her breasts, and a moan escaped from her throat. He leaned back slightly to watch her as his thumb brushed over her nipple. She sucked in a sharp inhale of delight. A throb of desire began at her core, its tune coming in pulses of need.
In a slow, careful move, he nudged aside the lapel of her robe to display one breast. Her cheeks burned with shyness, and she lowered her gaze to avoid watching his reaction. Instead, her focus fell on his large hand as he cupped her with great care, setting her skin aflame with such intimacy. His thumb swept over the bud of her nipple and circled it with a delicate touch that made her heart gallop. The little pink nub drew tight with pleasure.
“Ye’re so verra beautiful, Isolde.” Cormac reached for the length of silk belting her waist and pulled.
The bow she had hastily tied while rushing to prepare for Cormac’s arrival slipped free and cool air whispered over her skin. His gaze dipped to the gap where her body was visible between the blue silk.
He slid his hand beneath the robe to her bare skin. The contact of his fingers on her nakedness jolted through her with a crackle of energy so great that it made her gasp. His caress brushed her back first, sending a series of decadent shivers down her spine, then lowered to the curve of her bottom as he drew her closer to him.
His mouth met hers with a fierce hunger that burned through her reticence and heightened her desire. Their kisses turned frantic as they panted between suckles and licks. He kissed down her neck, his chin rasping her sensitive skin while his soft lips continued to worship her.
His hands were both on her bottom, fitting their bodies together, pelvis to pelvis as they moved in lustful tandem. She grasped the hem of his tunic and pulled it upward. He released her and pulled the garment over his head, followed by the linen beneath. He stood before her, chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.
She’d known he was strong but had been ill-prepared for the powerful lines of his chest and rippled stomach, and how muscle truly could sculpt the body as surely as a chisel set to marble. His gaze raked down her body to where the gap of her robe had widened.
Knowing exactly what she wanted and willing to do everyth
ing she could to get it, she shrugged out of the robe and let it fall to the floor. Only then did she remember the bruises on her body from her fight with Brodie. They would be unseemly. Decidedly not ladylike. But his green stare did not hover over her ribs or her arm.
Nay, it raked over all of her with desire, and she knew that despite her injuries, he found her desirable.
It was she who closed the distance between them while he remained in place as he stared. She pressed her body against his, so the dark sprinkling of hair on his chest prickled against her sensitive nipples. He studied her with an intensity that made her wonder if he was memorizing every inch of her. Still watching her, he sank down to his knees and parted his lips over her left nipple.
His tongue flicked against the little pink nub before drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth. She cried out and clung to his broad shoulders to keep from sliding to the floor. One strong arm tightened around her while the other caressed and teased over her other breast.
The whole world seemed to melt around her as his tongue swirled against her nipple. He switched to her other breast as his hand went first to her waist, then her hips, then slowly, tantalizingly, toward the apex of her thighs where lust pulsed hot with ravenous need.
His hand hovered there, stretching out time for one heart-stopping moment before letting his touch sweep over the cleft between her legs. He straightened and kissed her mouth as he stroked her most intimate place.
She shook with overwhelming pleasure as his tongue brushed hers. His incredible fingers slid over her sex, settling at the apex where the most exquisite bliss made her tremble. She moaned against his lips and arched closer. Wanting more.
Desperate for all of him.
His fingertips probed against her and eased inside carefully while he continued to administer small, maddening circles to the bud of her sex. Her breath came out in hard pants, and tension tightened through her core. All at once, and much to her great disappointment, he removed his hand from her. She whimpered in protest, but he swept her into the strength of his muscular arms and carried her to the massive bed where he lay her atop the velvet coverlet.
Her body was on fire for him, trembling with anticipation. He stretched over her, his bare chest grazing against her hardened nipples. He kissed her lips first, then her neck, followed by her breasts. She rubbed her thighs together to still the aching lust, but it only served to make her more desperate for his touch.
He continued downward, crawling backward as he did so, his mouth at her ribs, then her navel, then…
He spread her thighs with gentle hands and lowered his head to her sex. Isolde gasped sharply. Mortification. Shock. Pleasure. Oh, such pleasure as his wicked tongue flicked out and licked between her thighs. Heat tingled through her palms and feet and traveled inward to tighten at her core.
Everything within her seemed to vibrate with enough force to make her shatter. She grabbed the coverlet beneath her, and suddenly the tension exploded into total euphoria that left white stars blooming behind her eyelids.
When she opened her eyes again, Cormac was grinning up at her. He slowly eased off the bed and untied the band around his waist. His eyes were like firelit emeralds, bright with desire and fixed on her as he slid his hose to the ground, revealing his powerful thighs sprinkled with dark hair. Between his legs was a patch of black hair with a column of flesh jutting from it, hard and pulsing with a beat that matched her own heart.
She had never seen a man without his clothing before. She opened her mouth, but did not know what to say. Cormac’s smile turned somewhat sheepish. “I’ll be gentle with ye, of course.” He hesitated. “And if ye’ve changed yer mind…”
“Nay,” she said quickly. “I want you. I want this. I’ve just never…seen a man…” Her speech faltered, and a blush heated through her.
He nodded, evidently expecting such a response, and stepped closer. “I’m hard where ye’re soft.” He ran his hand over his length, then shifted to brush his fingers between her thighs where her core still quivered from the force of her release. “We’re made to fit together, ye and I.”
She gazed up at him and tentatively reached for the unfamiliar bit of male flesh. He watched her as her fingertips explored him.
The skin was exquisitely smooth, like hot silk. But beneath, he was hard as stone, all except the tip, which was spongy and made him hiss in a breath as she explored. His muscles were tense as she stroked his length, and she considered the ways he had thus far brought her pleasure.
Gauging his reaction, she squeezed lightly. An exhale shuttered from between his teeth. Aye, he liked it. The same as she had enjoyed his ministrations.
Encouraged, she leaned forward, keeping her stare on him and extended her tongue to lick the swollen tip delicately.
Cormac stiffened at the touch of Isolde’s tongue to his prick.
She immediately backed away. “Do you not like it?”
Cormac opened his mouth, but only a little croak uttered out.
“Have I hurt you?” she gasped.
He shook his head.
The fear on her face melted into a coquettish smile. “You liked it?”
He cleared his inoperative throat. “I dinna expect…”
“I enjoyed what you did to me.” A pretty blush crept over her cheeks. “I want to please you too.”
She leaned forward once more and looked up at him. He dragged in a slow breath and nodded.
Her small tongue flicked out over the tip of his cock once more. His ballocks tightened at the sweet pleasure. God’s teeth.
She licked the underside next, tracing him up from the root.
He made a fist with his hand and squeezed to maintain control. “Ye can suck it,” he offered. Realizing how foolish the instruction sounded, he added, “if ye like.”
She gave him a wicked little grin and parted her lips over him. Her warm breath bathed over his impossibly sensitive skin before she drew him into her hot mouth and suckled.
It was too much. If she did much more, he would lose his seed right then.
“Stop,” he groaned, pulling himself free of her sensual mouth.
“Have I done it wrong?” She bit her lower lip.
He wanted to pull that lower lip free and slide his cock back into the hot, sweet temptation of her mouth. “Ye did it exactly right. Too good.” He shook his head, unable to put the thoughts together to explain himself properly. “I want ye.”
She took his hand and lay back on the bed, pulling him with her. Her breasts rose high and round on her chest. A bruise showed like a shadow on her ribs. Not as dark as the one on her arm, but enough to make him move with extreme care over the top of her, lest her injuries were greater than she let on.
She spread her legs to cradle his pelvis against hers, her center open for him, pink and glistening with evidence of her desire. He braced himself over her with one arm and used his free hand to guide his prick toward her damp center. She arched her hips upward with desperate eagerness.
But while he had never lain with a virgin before, he knew the first time brought some pain. Loathing the thought of hurting her, he nudged the very tip of himself inside her and hesitated.
Isolde sighed with longing. “Aye.”
“It may hurt,” he cautioned.
“It couldn’t possibly.” She writhed under him. “Not when everything feels so good.”
He eased deeper in, pushing against the resistance of her tightness, having to use more effort than he wanted. Even the scant inch of him within her was enough to make his body tremble. Everything in him demanded he shove inside her and take her.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not at the cost of her discomfort.
He released his prick and braced himself on the other side of her, framing his arms over her while every muscle in his body shook with forced control.
“Please.” She whimpered with impatience. “Do it now. I can withstand pain.”
“I dinna want to hurt ye,” he gritted through his teeth.
Suddenly, she swept her leg over him, and he found himself flopped onto his back with her straddled atop him. “You won’t hurt me,” she assured him. Then she held him by the root, so his erection jutted straight up, aimed at her center, and penetrated herself with him.
Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened in a startled gasp.
They both froze, him in a mix of horror and at the exquisite grip of her tight sheath. Her, most likely in surprise at the pain.
She shifted atop him. The slight wriggle of her hips against his made a fresh wave of bliss wash over him.
She drew a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do.”
He put his hands to her hips and rocked her forward as he flexed his pelvis up. Her brows furrowed. He repeated this move several more times, slow and careful until the intense concentration on her face changed with the flutter of her lashes. Her brow smoothed, and her lips parted.
She followed the rhythm without having his hands guide her, rolling against his body. Her discomfort had impeded his enjoyment. Now, however, knowing she took pleasure in their union, he was free to revel in the mating of their bodies.
“Put yer hands on my chest,” he instructed.
She did as he instructed and leaned forward, shifting her hips over him. He thrust into her, matching his pace with hers as her sex gripped him and squeezed with each meeting. Her breasts bounced in time with their rhythm, her small pink nipples hard and tempting him to suck them into his mouth. He cupped his hands around her bosom, thumbing the little buds as the weight of her bosom jiggled in his palms.
Isolde moved faster, and he matched her pace, both of them in a desperate frenzy of pushing, squeezing, thrusting, gripping, everything growing hotter and tighter until she threw her head back with a screaming cry. Her fingers clenched at his chest, and her sheath spasmed around his shaft, milking him toward his own release.
His climax took him hard, crashing over him and drowning him beneath a sea of euphoria that drew on for an eternity. Isolde bent forward and collapsed on his chest while the final waves of his crises lapped over him, and he became aware of their heartbeats pounding frantically against one another. He curled his arms around her and held her while their bodies cooled.
The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights Book 2) Page 11
