He exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I ken I was behaving foolishly,” he admitted, stepping closer still.
The space between them narrowed until there was little left at all.
“I feared I would lose control,” he said quietly. “That I would want more than ye were ready to give… and so I kept me distance.”
Arianna held his gaze, her heart steady. “That is for me to decide,” she said softly. “And I do want more,” she added, her voice quiet but certain. “I am ready… to be yer wife in truth.”
The words hung between them. For a heartbeat, Ian did not move, then he reached for her, his hands firm but careful as they found her waist, drawing her close.
He kissed her. It was not hesitant, nor uncertain, but filled with everything he had held back: relief, longing, and a fierce, unspoken devotion.
Arianna responded without pause, her hands rising to his shoulders as she leaned into him, meeting him with equal warmth.
Ian pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath uneven. “Ye’ve nay idea what ye’ve given me,” he murmured.
Arianna smiled softly, her hand lifting to brush against his cheek. “I think I do,” she replied.
This time, when he kissed her again, there was no doubt, no fear, and no distance left between them.
Ian’s hands trembled slightly as they rose to the fastening of her gown, his gaze searching hers for any hesitation. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.
Arianna shook her head, her fingers already working at the ties of his tunic. “Daenae stop,” she whispered. “Not now.”
The fabric of her gown loosened beneath his touch, the heavy wool slipping from her shoulders inch by inch as his hands followed its path. His fingertips brushed her skin, warm and reverent, as though committing every inch of her to memory.
Arianna drew in a soft breath, her body awakening beneath the simple graze of his touch, her hands sliding beneath his tunic to feel the heat of him.
“Ian…” she breathed, his name little more than a plea.
He exhaled sharply as her fingers traced along his chest, the strength of him rising and falling beneath her touch.
“Ye undo me with but a touch,” he said quietly.
She smiled faintly, though her breath came quicker now. “Then ye ken how I feel,” she replied, her hands moving to push the fabric from his shoulders.
His tunic fell away, followed by his kilt and the rest of his garments, piece by piece, until nothing stood between them but the soft flicker of firelight. Ian’s hands returned to her, gentlernow, guiding the last of her undergarments from her frame as though each movement mattered. The air felt warmer, charged, as his hands settled at her waist, then moved upward, tracing the curve of her arms with aching care. Arianna shivered, though not from cold, as her hands came to rest against his shoulders, holding him close.
“I have thought of this,” he admitted, his voice low against her lips. “More than I should.”
“And I,” she answered softly.
He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, his hands rising to cradle her milky breasts.
Arianna leaned into him, her arms wrapping around him as she felt the steady beat of his heart against her own. His touch moved along her back, her shoulders, her arms, each caress deliberate, each one sending warmth through her like fire.
“I am here,” she whispered against his mouth. “And I am yers.”
There was no rush, no urgency beyond the quiet pull drawing them closer still. They moved together as though learning one another anew, hands exploring with tenderness, holding, tracing, anchoring. And in that closeness, in the soft murmurs and shared breath, Arianna felt her world narrow to him alone, safe, wanted, and wholly alive in his arms.
Ian guided her gently to sit upon the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at her waist as though reluctant to let her go entirely. The fire cast a warm glow across her skin, and for a moment, he simply looked at her, his expression softened by something deeper than desire alone.
“Ye’ve endured more than I care to think on,” he murmured, his voice low. “Let me ease some of it from ye.”
Arianna tilted her head slightly, watching him with quiet curiosity. “And how do ye intend to do that?” she asked.
Ian gave the faintest hint of a smile before kissing her breast. “Like this,” he moaned.
He pressed his lips carefully on her. His large fingers enveloped her mound. His thumb pressed lightly against her pink rosebud, working slow, deliberate circles that sent warmth spreading through her.
