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He had no illusions he would get any sleep tonight, but he must try.
She did not look at him when she lay down on her side nearer the fire, or turned her back to his side. He did the same. The blanket was not wide, which forced them to lie rather close.
He must have dozed off because next thing he knew was he had turned to her and she to him, burrowing herself in him, fast asleep. He tried to sneak back, but she came closer, surely seeking warmth for the chilli night. No other choice other than adjust the blanket to keep her warm. She left him no room to place his arm. The idea of touching her deliberately unleashed a rush in his blood. Slowly, nearly losing control, avoiding waking her, afraid if she awoke, he would send everything to the devil, he wrapped his large hand around her. The long fingered, strong hand fit perfectly on tiny waist, warm, soft. Inviting.
The heat of her skin seeped to him, bringing her scent of woman and aniseed. Her warm breath caressed his throat in feathery puffs. How a woman could send him to a paradise that tasted like the veriest bottom of hell he would never fathom. He lay there awake for hours before pure exhaustion pulled him to a restless sleep.
Soon before dawn, he opened his eyes to an inferno of heat. Not from the weather, well understood, for the morning air came colder still. She had come over him. Full over him, belly to belly, hip to hip. Damn, chest to chest, her full mounds crushing on him. Under the blanket, their bodies glued, intimate, like they had been designed for each other. Her head furrowed in his throat, her breathing on it. They were so close, her lips a half inch from his skin. The need to move and make those cushions connect with his neck the very definition of desperation.
The worst was still to come. He became so hard, so near insanity he fantasised turning and pinning her to the ground to pound in her blind and mindless until both got gut-wrenching satisfaction. Every single muscle on his body went dead rigid. He locked his limbs tight, frozen for fear of acting on that fantasy. Hands fisted to whitish point, shoulders stiff, jaw ticking, he looked up to the nightly canopies and did not even breath.
If he thought this was bad, then he was in for a horrible disappointment. She moved. Just a flyspeck degree that he could not even define aa a move. But his unbearably full blown erection registered it. Very much. Too much.
Her hair had gone lose in the night and covered his shoulders. With her non-move, strands slid to his agape shirt caressing the skin, and plunged him in the most sadistic torture one might conceive. The fact that her arms came to hug his thick upper arms made the torture all the more sophisticated.
He would not hold it for long.
Deflagration loomed close.
He was lost.
He had been lost for some time.
At that precise second, she lifted her head, abrupt, sleepy, hands coming to his chest.
Ifrinn!
Their eyes merged in the incipient light as he watched it down on her.
“Oh, sod it!” She murmured, finally awake.
And scrambled from him as if he was a serpent.
Good she did it, because now there came this sense of loss, frost and incompletion. He had to deal with it.
He did not know how to deal with it.
Aileen trudged to the brook’s bank calling herself a thousand names in Gaelic, English and even some in French. How could she be so stupid as to sleep all over that… that devil?
And then she called herself a thousand kinds of fool for being asleep. For missing the imprint of his length along hers. For failing to inhale his scent consciously. For not gauging the thickness of his muscled arms. For having felt his… manhood for only a fraction of a second.
Dear me! He was… he was… damn! He was gigantic!
It was not like she had not ever seen a man naked before in her life. With three brothers who got hurt now and again, tending for them gave her a very… exact idea of the male anatomy. And its… states.
What a state!
Dear me! He was… magnificent! All of him.
Eyes up to the lighting sky, she called herself a fool—once more—for being witless enough to yearn for such a ninny thing. Miss the feel… huff!
She washed her face and her neck in the icy water in a vain attempt to cool her primed body, achieving not an ounce of it.
Hair done tight and prim, she paced back to the clearing. Meet those flashing green eyes? That would not happen in a darn couple of years!
They walked back to the manor mainly in silence as she continued ruminating the last days—and nights—in not so positive a view.
~.~.~
