Chapter Twenty-Two
Elspeth slid her hand around Cyrus's neck into his hair and pulled him closer, reveling in the sensuous feel of his lips on hers. Saints! She should not do this. He was not hers to kiss. She knew this with her mind, but her heart, body, and soul said otherwise. She could not believe the excitement that quickened her entire being when he touched her. 'Twas as if he lit her spirit on fire. No other man had made her crave being kissed and consumed with his passion. No other man inspired complete trust and safety.
Cyrus claimed she bewitched him, but the opposite was also true. Surely, he was a warlock instead of a warlord.
With his hand along her jaw, tilting her face upward, he stroked his tongue along her lower lip. A bizarre yearning burned inside her. It made her heart beat a turbulent rhythm. She had thought herself experienced, but she was not. Never had the two other men she'd had relations with made her feel such mad and wanton urges. 'Twas why she considered her reaction to him unusual. She hadn't known such desires existed for women.
"Damnation. You taste like heaven," he said gruffly.
"'Tis the carrots," she murmured, then knew not why she'd said such an inane thing.
He chuckled, but quickly deepened the kiss, teasing her tongue with his. He was the one who tasted delicious… like fine wine and powerful male. Her fingers wound into his long hair as his mouth rendered her senseless.
Groaning, he lay back and dragged her onto him, startling her, for she had never lain on top of a man before. "What is…?"
"Shh." He pulled her down to his mouth and kissed her again. On the outside of her skirts, his hands slid up her thighs. "I know not what this madness is, but I don't want to resist it," he murmured. "Do you?"
"Nay."
Through the belted plaid, his shaft rubbed against her. She pressed herself more firmly to him, savoring his hardness. He moaned, then kissed her chin and down her throat, pulling her upward. Through her clothing, he brushed his whiskered cheek and his mouth over her breast.
The stab of desire was so intense, she drew in a sharp breath, then spread her legs and straddled him. Lifting his hips, he growled in appreciation.
Overcome by her own needs, she tugged at his plaid, while he dragged her skirts upward. The rush of heat only grew more intense.
He drew her mouth back to his. "Elspeth?" This time, his deep voice didn't demand; it requested.
"Aye."
He slipped his hand beneath her petticoats and skimmed along her upper thigh, then between. His hilt-roughened fingers stroked her ever so gently. The surge of desire and delight was so powerful she gasped.
"I can wait no longer to be inside you."
The heated yearning in his words seared her from the inside out.
"What say you?" he asked.
"Aye. Now." She dug beneath his plaid, which was halfway up his muscular thighs, and found what she was looking for. Such a magnificent man. The skin of his shaft was fevered and his flesh hard as granite.
With a guttural moan, he gently took her lower lip between his teeth. How could he have so much patience? She was hungry for him. But she liked that he wasn't moving faster than she was.
"Show me what you want, lass." His voice rumbled, deep in his throat.
Though she thought it should be obvious what she wanted, she loved the way he called herlass. It seemed to be an endearment.
She squeezed his shaft. "I want you."
He rasped a curse, then pulled her skirts up to her waist. "How about this—you take what you want?"
She halted. "What… do you mean…?"
"'Tis up to you." He spoke through clenched teeth. "Go on, then."
She could not believe he wanted her to take the lead. "Why?"
His addictive midnight gaze held hers. "Have you ever wanted to do this before?"
"Aye, in the tower… with you."
