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His deep voice rumbles through me, his words teasing my overwrought body. I nod, take his hands in mine and let him know that it is the same for me.
He lifts me, handling me as easily as if he were reaching over the side of his boat and pulling in the baited lines heavy with the catch, and I cannot get enough of that feeling, for I am proud—proud to be wanted by him—and pride is an unfamiliar emotion to me. A bastard child, I was unwanted and spurned by a bitter mother then thrown onto the streets by her angry employer. There was little opportunity for me to do other than survive; selling everything I could steal, selling myself. I came to Carbrey to be somewhere no one knew me. It was only Ewan and his kind that welcomed me, at first. I bonded with them, for they drew on a side of me I had not discovered on my own, a side that flourished quickly. And then Hettie brought Irvine to Carbrey, and they married. Before long a shadow divided them. I believe that shadow is Ewan.
Hettie strayed first, and now Irvine comes to me, and he comes to me because he has to, because he cannot deny the desire he feels. I see it there in his expression and neither could I turn away from him, even if my life depended on it. Oh, but his hungry gaze makes me ache. It also makes me greedy and unruly in my soul, and dark, dangerous emotions rise in me.
I want him to be mine and mine alone, but we are entangled, us four, hopelessly entangled because of Ewan. The clawing need makes me despise his wife and the bairns she carries. It would be a simple task to make Irvine run away with me, and then I could surely take him for my own. The villagers would spurn us forever, but do I care? My coven would frown heavily on me. Ewan chastises me daily for the poor attention I bring upon myself. To lose them
, to lose the circle that has taken me in, would deplete my power. But would that loss not be as nothing compared to the gain? I want him. I want him down there on the mossy ground where the massive oak roots plunge into the earth. In this hidden spot we have mated all summer, rutting and crying out like feral creatures in heat.
I kiss him fervently, my mouth against his neck, my hands moving inside his shirt for a touch of the coarse hair upon his chest and his solid, warm body. In his arms, I need to be stripped naked, to be pressed against him, bare skin to bare skin. I undo the lace at my breasts and pull my dress open so that my breasts can be against his chest.
He lifts me higher against him. “Wrap your legs around my hips,” he says.
Clinging to my man, the scratch of the rough bark at my back is nothing to the thrust of his shaft through our clothing. “I must have you,” I say.
But he breaks the kiss.
His eyes turn wild. “Tell me this, have you put a spell on me? I can take it, if you have, but I must know the answer, for the worry of it is pulling me close to madness.”
His unhappiness over this question has arisen before, and it has made me unaccountably frustrated these past few days. It hangs between us and mars our long summer of secret passion. I cannot show him how angered that makes me. I do not want him to be afraid of me. I shake my head, desperate to reassure him. “It is not so.”
Aside from the first wee charm I used to draw his attention to me, I hadn’t practiced any more enchantments upon him. I hadn’t needed to. The other men, they wanted me, but they were scared because of the rumors that I am a witch. Not Irvine. I soon learned that his lust for me was so strong that I had merely to beckon my finger and he came. Oh, how that knowledge burned in me. This glorious man, this virile, passionate man, wanted me. That made me feel more powerful than any magic ever could.
He nods, slowly, and I sense that he wants to trust me even though there is a frown upon his forehead. It breaks my heart to see it there.
“I need you, Irvine,” I tell him, and we are locked into the moment again. I nod at the ground and he lifts me against him as he drops to his knees. I’m so eager that I cannot undo the belt of his breeches fast enough. He teases me, but somehow I manage it. His member springs free; it’s upright and reaches to his belly, and it is so thick and large that my cunny drips at the very sight of it.
I drop down and kiss the swollen head of his upright shaft, before taking it into my mouth. His massive body arches and he groans as I suckle on him, his ballocks lifted high against his body. The taste of him makes me feel as if I am drunk on him, his potency and his musk a lure that calls upon the very quick of me. I throw my head back, lift my skirts and prepare to mount him.
Even as he grips his mighty shaft at the base and offers it to me, he stares up at me, his gaze holding mine. I mount him and claim him into my body, looking directly into his eyes, wishing for something else, wanting something that I cannot ever grasp.
When I pause, he half sits, pushing his rod to my center.
With his arms around me he locks me against him, and then he kisses my mouth, stroking my hair in that way he does, as if he is afraid to hurt me in doing so. That tender gesture when I am so very full with him makes my heart feel as if it is breaking. I whisper words of love against his mouth and I grip his head in both hands, my cheeks damp with my tears.
Desire and frustration drive me and I ground down on his pole, taking it deep inside me. When it touches the deepest part of me I throw my head back, so close to ecstasy that I have to moan aloud as I rise and fall upon him. The sun is warm on my bared back and I am bathed in pleasure. Irvine reaches out, his large palms grasping my waist as I ride the length of his pole, and here in this field I am his woman and he is my man.
Then something changes.
Did a chill wind blow through the wheat just then? Or was it a sense of foreboding that came over me?
I shiver. I pause.
Even before the dark shadow falls over us, I know that we are no longer alone.
It was the car lurching to a halt in a layby that pulled Zoë back from the vision. She still had her head back against the headrest, but she knew where she was and kept her eyes closed, savoring the intensity and the emotion that had been conveyed to her. This time she’d been intrigued.
“What is it?” It was Grayson’s voice.
She felt his breath warm on her face.
Slowly surfacing, she opened her eyes and looked his way. Concern filled his expression, and his beautiful gray-green eyes looked dark under drawn down brows. She wanted him. Her hips rocked against the seat, her pussy damp and aching to be filled the way Annabel had been in the vision, filled with potent male virility. But Annabel and her lover had been interrupted, and the overriding need Zoë felt in that moment was to finish what they had started. The goal burned within her. She would have completion, and she would have it with Grayson.
“Did you have another vision?”
She nodded, but she didn’t want to talk about what she’d seen in the vision, not just yet. First, she craved his closeness and his passion—out there in the open fields with the sun on her bared breasts.
The corner of his mouth lifted, his expression softening. Shaking his head, he touched her shoulder, connecting with her deliberately. “You always look so sexy after you have these visions.”
