Connor smiled then, slow and tender, and his mouth came to rest at her sacred place. Eva gasped as her fingers pressed into his shoulders.
“Oh what are ye doin’, Connor?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’m obeyin’ yer order to show ye what a woman and man do,” he said.
With those words she felt his tongue do what his thumb had been doing. Massaging her rosebud. He flicked it back and forth on her as his strong hands scooped her bottom and drew her against him.
Eva wiggled in confusion. She didn’t understand this sensation that was growing between her thighs. She wanted to move away simply because it was too much. The pulsing grew and grew.
“I… somethin’ is happenin’ to me. I feel it inside me,” she said.
“Aye, give into it, lass. I want to taste yer juices,” he growled.
Eva felt her body tense. She squeezed her thighs against him as a sudden release shuddered through her.
“Oh, Connor. Connor,” she groaned.
He growled as he slowly licked her and drank her juices. Eva twisted the sheets in her fingers. Her body trembled. She had never known a feeling like this.
For a long moment they stayed that way, wrapped in quiet warmth and unspoken promise as he softly kissed her thighs.
Eva felt calmer than she had in years, her body eased, and her heart strangely light.
Whatever lay ahead for them, she knew this moment would linger with her. And for the first time, the thought of what was to come did not frighten her at all.
In fact, I want more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next morning, Connor woke to the pale morning light slipping through the small window, casting a soft glow across the bed. Eva lay beside him, her breathing slow and even, a loose curl resting across her cheek. He studied her with a quiet satisfaction, noting the calm strength in her face even in sleep.
“Aye, she will make a proper wife, one who willnae bend too easily nor break when the world presses hard,” he whispered.
He rose carefully so as not to wake her, pulling on his shirt and boots with practiced ease. Connor spared her one last look before slipping out, a rare softness lingering in his eyes. Then he closed the door behind him and headed down the creaking stairs.
The tavern below was already stirring, the hearth crackling and the scent of bread thick in the air. The innkeeper looked up from wiping a table and broke into a grin at the sight of him.
“Mornin’, me laird,” the man said, bowing his head.
Connor returned the greeting with a nod, “Fine mornin’,” and took a seat near the fire.
“Well then,” the innkeeper said, bustling over, “was the room to yer likin’?”
Connor accepted the cup of tea set before him and took a slow sip.
“Indeed it was,” he replied, voice calm and assured. “In an hour, send up a good breakfast and tea to the room.”
“Of course, me laird,” the innkeeper said.
Connor watched the man move, then added, “I’ve another thing for ye.” The innkeeper paused, attentive. “I’ll be bringin’ me bride-to-be to Brawna the seamstress later this day, so send word I’ll be there.”
The innkeeper’s eyebrows shot up with delight, and he waved over a scrappy stable boy hovering near the door. He bent close and barked the message, and the lad’s eyes went wide with importance.
The boy bowed deeply to Connor, nearly tripping over his own feet before bolting outside. Connor hid a faint smile behind his cup.
Villagers began to trickle in as the morning wore on, caps in hand and faces hopeful. Connor greeted them easily, motioning for them to sit when they requested an audience.
One man spoke of a fence knocked down by last week’s storm, another of grazing lines disputed near the loch. Connor listened without interrupting, his expression thoughtful and steady.
