“I couldn’t agree more.” He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. “Now let us get busy knocking ourselves out, as you call it.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” she murmured as he didn’t rip or chant away her dress but removed it painfully slow. Made all that more painful because hedidflick away his own clothes, so she got to admire him the whole time.
Touch him but not have him.
Not yet.
Eventually, once he’d tortured her upper half with his talented tongue and lips, he flipped her onto her belly and continued slowly pulling the dress down. She clenched the blankets when his mouth followed in the wake of the material. He nipped and licked and massaged her back from her butt all the way to the sensitive area behind her knees.
By the time he pulled her up onto her knees and wedged her thighs apart, she was soaked. Throbbing. Begging him to take her. To end the pleasurable pain that pulsed through her.
“Not yet,” he rumbled. “Not that way.” His mouth came close to her ear as his fingers explored. “Not until I know ye’ll be properly tired in the end.”
“I promise I’ll be....” She trailed off on a groan when he plunged two fingers into her, only for his mouth to join in the fun. She shuddered in pleasure when she realized he had flipped onto his back and pulled her up until she straddled his face.
She groaned again when he grabbed her backside and urged her to move. Take her pleasure. Ride everything he had to offer. So she did, climaxing so hard in under a minute she wasn’t sure she would ever recover.
“Ye will,” he groaned against her center, the vibration of his deep voice delicious against her sensitive flesh. “Again and again until I feel ye’re ready.”
She tried to deny him, but when he started licking and forced her to move again, her body took over, and she rode him. Again and again, over and over, peaking too many times to count.
It was one of those times when her body simply wouldn’t stop shaking with release that he finally came behind her again. Her arms were useless, so she rested her upper half on the bed and moaned in pleasure when he kept her on her knees and plunged inside her.
“Hell,” he groaned. “Ye feelsogood,mo chroí.”
He massaged her backside in obvious appreciation before he continued moving. Slow at first, then faster, pressing so deep at this angle that she whimpered. Sobbed as he thrust, and she sank to her belly. As he moved his whole body against her. Hit new spots. Evoked new sensations. Drew a release from the depths of her that hit so hard, he roared in release, too. He held himself like that for a time, pulsing inside her, until he pulled her against him and spooned her.
“I love you, husband,” she whispered, cozying back against him.
“And I, you, wife.”
He said more, but the words were lost to her as she drifted off.
Or so she assumed because the next thing she knew, she ran through the forest in New Hampshire. Raced after a boy who always stayed just out of reach. Who ducked beneath a huge boulder that overhung an alcove only to vanish by the time she got there.
How had she forgotten this? How had she forgotten her childhood dream of the little boy who urged her to follow him? Catch up with him? He had seemed so eager. So desperate to show her something.
Fearful that she might not keep up.
This time she did, though, when she made her way under the rock, then into a cave where she heard the boy calling out to her.
Come to him.
Find him.
So she kept going, only to exit into a rainy forest different from the woods she had just been in. The boy she had been following crouched next to another wounded boy beneath a beautiful young oak tree.
He looked from her to the injured boy, worried. “Can ye help my brother?”
Even though she shook her head because she had no idea how to help him, she drifted closer. Felt compelled as she crouched beside the wounded boy as well.
“I do not need help,” the boy grumbled, scowling at her with dark, suspicious eyes. “’Tis just a minor wound.”
“’Tis not minor,” she replied in their tongue with their accent, somehow understanding it. His wound was deep and bleeding heavily. He would not survive it. “Ye need to find a healer.”
“Ye are a healer,” the other boy said, pacing behind her now. “And ye’re his only hope.”
“She is not,” the wounded boy sneered, startling her when he tore off a swath from the sleeve of her gown and tried to wrap his wound with it. “I can take care of myself.” He jutted out his chin. “Just like I took care of that crazed horse with but a slice of my blade.”
