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The others eyed him and did not need the order repeated. The three of them scurried to the woods on the other side of the road.
But Freya was in a rage and started racing after them like a lunatic. A strong hand grabbed her ankle, and she fell on the gravelled dust, branch flying forward. “What do you think you are doing, woman?” Drostan’s low masculine voice gave her pause.
She rolled on her back launching him a vexed look. He came over her and pinned her body with his hot wall of muscles.
Her breath sawed, her skin sweated, her teeth gritted. Hair falling around her face, eyes shooting fire, she was the image of a warrior-queen.
His large, dusty hand caressed her flushed face. “Shh, easy now.” His voice soothing. “It is over.” He reiterated the mantra several times before it produced any effect.
Only then did her eyes focus on him. With a lengthy sigh, her head rested on the ground. Their stares clashed and the relief of seeing him unharmed almost turned her into a mellow puddle.
His old-whisky irises perused her face with a strange expression on them. Like a vice, it imprisoned hers with zero possibility of detaching from it.
“I am more useful to you dead than alive.” He murmured, his glare never leaving her.
As if love had anything to do with useful. As if she would not give everything she owned and did not own to go on living in a world inhabited by him.
Somehow, she found her voice which did not yell. On the contrary, it came soft and breathy. “I will remember it next time.” Trying at a jest, she did not want this horrible attack to happen ever again.
And his mouth dived on hers. Quick, precise. Hungry.
Call it adrenalin. Call it relief for his safety. Call it longing. Call it whatever the darn you want. But for the life of her, she had no chance of resisting. In between moans, she opened for him. And the world disappeared. Simply disappeared in his tongue tangling with hers.
Forget the middle of nowhere. Forget the thugs. Forget the dusty ground. Her arms circled his thick neck, her melted body moulded to his taut one. The scent of him in her nostrils, the bunched muscles holding her, the stubble prickling her lips. She wanted more. And more.
The gravel dug on her back. Her hair plastered on her sweat. The frosty November wind swirled around them. She felt none of it.
His fingers merged in her scalp. His sensuous mouth moved for more access. His hardness pressed on her middle. And she felt each atom of it.
He kissed her as if there was no tomorrow. As if there were no other women. As if the heat they produced would save the country. The planet. The universe.
Not nearly enough!
But she tried. Oh, that she did. She turned the kiss around and invaded his mouth with her famished, shameless tongue. And he let her. He caught it with his teeth, caressed it with his own tongue, closed his lips around it and sucked as he would her breast.
Dear me!
He came up for air and their ragged, laud breaths mingled vaporising the cold air. She lifted her head and caught him back, caught him unaware. It was his turn to moan. They kissed more open-mouthed. Deeper. More boundless. The caress so erotic it owed nothing to actual lovemaking.
“Mommy.” Came the frightened call from the shadows in the woods.
Immediately, Drostan halted. Still breathless, he ogled her as if trying to ascertain this was really his wife. That the torrid kiss effectively happened. “I am coming, son.” He emitted, attention still clung to her. In agile movements, he stood up and strode in the direction of the child’s voice.
The distancing of him gave her the chance to recompose. Up on her feet, she dusted her clothes in restless slaps. Her heart did not cease thundering as she tilted her head to the sky attempting to gobble fresh air and put her breathing to rights.
How did she get so carried away by his touch that her mind blanked out from her own son, for pity’s sake? That she had been fighting three brutes did not excuse it. She should have been more alert. This never occurred in four years of caring for her son. The whole distress was putting her out of her mind, but she must get a grip. No use flogging herself over it, she decided. It would not repeat in the future, she would make sure of it.
Drostan re-emerged with Ewan on one arm and pulling her mare with his free hand. They exchanged a glance heavy with meaning.
At the sight of her, Ewan jumped to the ground and came to her. She crouched down to take him in her arms. “Are you alright, my love?”
His head fell on her shoulder when he nodded. “I did not hear anything, and I thought you gone.”
“Never, my love.” She hugged him tighter.
“Your mother saved the day, mo bhalach.” Drostan interposed, conveying with his stance that her little lapse meant nothing in the whole picture.
The boy eyed her smiling. “You did, mama?”
