And it’s adorable in a way that makes my stomach clench.
He keeps talking, his fingers still grazing my cheek, but I’m not listening anymore. His voice is a hum in the background, drowned out by the heat of his touch.
“Then ye’d need help back to the castle.” His accent curls around each word, and it's extremely dangerous for all my lady parts.
“Can't have ye go missin’ on my watch. It’ll give us a bad name.”
His thumb brushes my cheek and I doubt he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s still too busy rambling about my ankle and imaginary distress.
But all I can focus on is his touch.
His presence is suffocating in a way that makes me want to drown in it. My body, on the other hand, has stopped giving a single damn about logic.
It doesn’t care about castles, or storms, or even my self-control.
All it wants is him.
And I knowwith humiliating certainty,that if his hand drifted any lower, he’d feel exactly what he’s doing to me.
The aching tension between my thighs and the pulse that refuses to be ignored, is all-consuming. And I don’t know how much longer I can fight it. My mind is losing ground to the pull of him, to the way his gaze darkens like he knows exactly how close I am to unraveling.
Shadows cut across his face when I look up, masking the tension coiled in his body.
His expression doesn't crack, but his fists curl and loosen, like the control costs him.
“You were worried about me?"
His entire body stiffens and the storm overhead is nothing compared to the one in his eyes.
“And yer wee ankles.”
Before I can decide whether to laugh or shove him, his lips are on mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s ravenous and desperate.
The force of it knocks the breath from my lungs, and a needy whimper escapes before I can stop it. The second it leaves my lips, he groans, like it’s the only sound he’s been waiting for.
His hands are everywhere—gripping, pulling, owning. The one on my face slides into my hair, tangling at the nape of my neck as he tilts my head back, taking full control of the kiss.
His tongue teases, then takes, sending a jolt down my spine. Whatever resistance I had, crumbles under his touch.
And I fucking melt.
My fingers fist in his soaked shirt, needy and shameless. It's the only way to keep up with the storm he’s unleashing between us.
He growls into my mouth, and I can feel his teeth graze my bottom lip. His grip on me tightens, anchoring me in place.
I press my body into his, chasing the friction, needing more. I barely register the chuckle that rumbles through his chest as his hands grip my waist with an ease that’s both possessive and claiming.
His mouth trails along my jaw, and his breath is hot against my damp skin. His lips pause at my ear. “Ye kiss like you’ve been waitin’ for me.”
Cocky bastard.
“Maybe I have,” I whisper.
That was the wrong thing to say.Or was it the right thing?
His hands are suddenly gripping my ass, lifting me like I weigh nothing, pressing me against his body. My legs wrap around his waist before I can think better of it.Gravity's a bitch, and I'm not about to fall on my face now.
