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“Do you still want more?” he rasped.
She was so excited she was trembling. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Take it in your mouth.”
The air left her lungs. Trembling jolts of excitement arced through her. Deep inside, long-forgotten muscles were awakening, tightening and releasing in little, erratic bursts. He fisted one hand around the base of his erection, and when she opened her mouth, he guided it in.
Hard and thick and hot, he filled her. She loved the feel of him, the taste of him, thick
and taut, but silky smooth, pushing into her mouth.
He kept one hand loose around his shaft, the other almost motionless on the side of her head, and his hips barely rocked, back and forth, as she suckled him, sometimes with small, testing, teasing strokes, no more than a flick of her tongue, then with sudden, long, open-mouthed descents, taking him in deep.
“Jésu, lass, more of that,” he muttered, his voice low, uneven. The hand in her hair tightened, holding her head steady, then his hips thrust forward with a hard jerk.
Shaking, she took him in as deep as she could, one hand pressed to his hewn thigh for support, the other gripped under Tadhg’s hand, circling the root of his shaft. Together they pumped him in long, rhythmic, shockingly hard strokes. Her hair fell in a curtain around her face, down his legs. He lifted a length of it, held it over his palm, so he could watch her suck him in. He made a low sound, almost a growl. She felt burned by his potency, his hard intent for her.
Their pace quickened sharply, quickly, then the muscles in his legs stiffened and his fingers tightened in her hair. Breathing hard, he tugged her mouth away and a moment later, thick and slippery, his hot seed burst out across his stomach and streamed down their joined hands.
Her breath came so fast her head spun. Her knees barely felt capable of holding her up, were trembling as if she’d run for miles. She leaned forward almost in a trance to taste the thick, slick, still-shuddering length of him, but he hissed the moment her breath touched him.
With a hand on her elbow, he lifted her to her feet, twined their fingers together, and said softly, “Now, lass, I will see to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HER BODY THRILLED.
Holding her hand lightly, he used a rag from their packs to wipe her hand and his belly, then flung it aside and took a step back, keeping their hands entwined, stretching their arms out like a bridge until their fingertips barely touched. His gaze raked down her body, to her bare shins, then came back up. It glittered with desire; he was not even close to done.
“Turn around, Maggie.”
If her legs had felt weak and trembly before, now they were shaking. Her body felt woven from the fat cords of desire and silvery threads of cold, shivering excitement as she followed the low command.
He stepped up behind her, hard and silent. His body exuded heat; she felt it before they even touched. “Let’s take this off,” he murmured by her ear. His fingers tugged on the chemise.
She dragged it over her head. He did not help, did not touch her. She stood for what felt like hours, naked before him. Then he touched.
He gathered her hair in one hand and laid it over her shoulder, so it fell down the front of her, over one breast, half her belly, a thigh. Then he skimmed his open hands lightly down the front of her, one skating under the heated fall of her hair, the other in the fire-touched air of the cottage, passing lightly over her bare skin. He was so gentle, barely brushing the curve of her breasts, the soft roundness of her belly, the tops of her thighs. The breath stopped in her lungs as he paused there, then rushed out again as he came back up her body.
He stroked down again, a little harder this time, a little closer, skidding over sweaty skin, skimming her pebble-hard nipples. As he passed them, he pinched them softly between his knuckles and squeezed. Hard.
She flung her head back and banged his collarbone.
He reached over her shoulder, curled his arm around her neck, and leaned to her ear. “Lean over.”
She did, tipping forward a little, so her bottom pushed against the front of him, and her throat gently pressed into the bend of his arm. He skimmed his other hand down the front of her body again, but this time slid one thick finger deep between her thighs, high at the apex of her. It was excruciating, perfect pressure into slippery-hot flesh already seared by desire. She gave a broken cry and her head dropped forward.
She tried to spread her legs, to give him more room, but he wouldn’t let her. He made her stand still, legs together, while he tortured her, tormented her, giving her just what she wanted but never enough. His finger pushed in, then slid out, long, hard strokes. Then he slid a second finger in, stroked them back and forth together, caught the hard nub at the apex of her between his knuckles and pulled it with him as he went, slippery and hard.
“Tadhg.” She flung her head, the breath stopped in her lungs. It burst out in a loud, guttural gasp around his name.
He did it again, and again, alternating between deep strokes, swift, rhythmic flutters, and hard, glancing touches, so fast they were almost snaps, spinning her into a state of mindless arousal.
“Is this what you wanted, Maggie?” he murmured against the side of her head.
“Yes,” she gasped, shaking her head. “No. Please.”
He shifted, and the muscles of his thighs flexed against the back of hers as he moved his arm to curl around her belly. Then he pushed the curving length of his erection forward, nudging it between the soft flesh of her upper thighs, slick with her desire.
