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He gulped, his thoughts tumbling over each other. What he should choose. Why he should choose it. What she might desire herself. But honestly? There was one place he wished to touch more than any other. So…
He did it. Brochan reached up and cupped her jawline, tracing his thumbs over her cheek bones.
Her pupils exploded over her irises, and her lips parted. She blinked rapidly, layers of her calm disintegrating before his eyes until only vulnerability remained. “I don’t understand. You can select any part of me and you start there? Why?”
“Because I can.” Because she wasn’t just a body to him, even though he wished she were.
“Oh.” Eyes wide, she nuzzled his palms. “Where do you wish to touch me next?”
Brochan glided his fingertips to her bare shoulders. The softness of her skin turned the innocent action into brutally erotic caresses, and he nearly roared. His breaths grew labored, the air around him—around them—growing thicker.
“Where else?” she asked with a thick voice, tilting her head to bare the elegant expanse of her throat. Making a suggestion?
He licked his lips, staring at her racing pulse. I’ll only touch her there. I won’t lick. I’ll resist my needs. Will resist…
Brochan leaned forward and glided his tongue over the spot. The barest flick, and yet she moaned in response. Music to his ears.
His aches…agonizing. Consuming. Here. There. Everywhere. Sweat broke out on his brow as he bent his knees, forcing her closer to him. The added pressure nearly fractured his resolve. He’d wanted this to be about her, only her, and yet...
“Beast,” she breathed, as if the description were the sweetest endearment.
The fractures spread…resistance shattered. He flipped her onto her back swiftly, catching her and easing her to the ground softly, then rising to loom over her. A single word left him. A command. “More.” He’d never felt more beastly.
Splayed beneath him, she smiled with something akin to tenderness.
This. This was how he liked her best, he decided. Pinned by his strength. His willing captive. He could do anything…
Instinct took over. He touched her everywhere except the places she expected. He mapped the shells of her ears. Along her jawline. The entire length of her collarbone. A caress of each finger, even the spaces between them. Up both arms, lingering in the dips of her elbows.
Goosebumps sprang up as he manipulated the fabric of her gown and explored her belly. Her navel fascinated him. And her legs! He swallowed a groan. The backs of her knees… Was there anything softer? Oh, the sounds she made. Gasps and moans. Breathy sighs.
“You’re driving me mad,” she murmured. How shocked she appeared. How flushed and wonderfully needy.
What a heady thought. “I’m having fun, as you advised.” Enjoying himself for the first time in…ever.
She shivered beneath him. “Don’t you want to do more?”
“And rush this?” Had no one else taken the time to learn every nuance of her? Unless… He froze. “Do you wish me to hurry?”
“No!” she burst out, and his strain evaporated. “I’d be happy if you never stopped.”
Truly? Emboldened, Brochan uttered what he hoped was a dejected sigh. “All this chatter has made me forget where I was. Now I must start over.”
She gaped at him. “Start over? Like, from the beginning?”
Her next whimper drew the beginning of a smile to his lips. And yes, he absolutely started over, caressing her face, collar, arms, fingers, legs, belly. Her tremors never ceased. Nor did his.
When he could take no more of the sweet torture, he bent his head, claiming her lips, soon dizzy with need. He yanked the top of her dress. Careful, careful. With kisses and nips, he descended the length of her vulnerable throat and played with another part of her...
“Brochan!” She scraped her nails through his hair.
The urge to behold her expression too powerful to ignore, he lifted his head. Jolt! She likes this. Likes me. Her eyes were closed, her red lips puffy and parted.
Her eyelids cracked open; her whiskey eyes glazed. “More, Brochan.”
“Yes. More.” Never had he experienced anything like this. Never had he experienced anything like her.
Growling, he flared his wings and propelled himself to his knees. Determination injected straight into his muscles, his bones. Woe to anyone who tried to take this female from him.
* * * *
Viola trembled as Brochan examined her, no doubt studying the effects of his touch on her body. His features were tight, his horns flared and as straight as a ruler. His eyes glittered, his pupils eclipsing his irises. Only a rim of silver remained. Every breath caused his chest to heave.
He’d taken control, making her ache beyond reason. She needed…him. Just him.
“If you were mine, you would lack nothing. I would make sure of it.” His gravelly tone contained a note of possession.
“Do you want me to be yours?” I might agree.
