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A flag should have been raised. He was being warned that she was in too deep. But he ignored it.
Ethan did not want her crazy about him. But there was a tug of satisfaction all the same.
And then he saw the flare of curiosity in her eyes. Her hand reached out and then pulled back.
He caught her fingers. ‘You touched me before...’
But she’d been lying then. And so she touched him again—tentatively this time, and without his guidance.
Had she known, Merida wondered, when she first held his hand, that she would hold him so intimately that very night?
Her amateur hand delivered bliss.
The pearl bead at his tip spread to become a silver pair, and he ground his teeth at the hunger he felt.
And then she lowered her head.
The tip of her tongue was a tease, and the heat of her lips elicited a moan from Ethan. How he wanted to push down her head, and how she ached for the boldness to do the same.
Lest he thrust—lest he come—Ethan raised her head up and lightly pushed her shoulder, so that she lay back, half on and half off the bed. Then he hitched her legs up and laid her straight.
Ethan looked down at her, taking in the riot of hair that splayed over the sheets. Her stomach was devoid of freckles, and he looked down further to the curls that hid the part of her he yearned to devour. She squirmed at the intimate perusal.
He leaned over her then, crawling up her body with cat-like stealth, until Merida got both his weight and a hot kiss, and in equal measure they were divine.
And then he looked down at her, and her wish was granted, for she had found out just how it felt to be in the path of his gentler gaze.
He parted her thighs and his mouth came near her ear. His ragged breathing was a delicious sound as she felt the first nudge of him at her entrance.
She squeezed closed her eyes and moved her hands to his hips, as if holding him back. But he pushed deeper in, then pulled back at her cry.
Merida could not get air into her lungs and her thighs shook at his sides. There was no slow torture with Ethan. He seared deep inside and she screamed.
So intense was the pain it was as if a mirror had broken before her eyes. And as he stilled, as she tried to gather in air, she wondered how the hell she had thought she could feign this.
When he started to move she wanted him to stop, to give her time to adjust to the feel of him inside her. But there was no way he couldnotmove.
The tight grip of her, and the heat they made, rendered it impossible for him to stay still. His body insisted that he thrust, and the fight within him was limited to trying to go slowly so he could savour it.
Ethan came up on his forearms and looked down at her, to discover her anguished look, but as he moved and gentled his strokes he watched the suffering recede.
‘Never pretend,’ he told her as he increased the pace.
And when her hips began to move with him, when her hands clawed at the pillows by her head, he moved her legs so they were wrapped around him.
‘Ethan!’
She was screaming—not from pain, but from being taken, from being discovered, from being found.
He started to thrust harder. She felt the rhythm build and her hands left the pillows, began scraping his back.
Hot and urgent, he built within her a frenzy she never wanted to escape.
And the real beauty was his intensity.
He shattered her defences and then gathered her again, her climax so intense that she felt as if she’d left her body. And then came the velvet of his moan, and the breathless shout of his release as Ethan spilled deep inside her.
He collapsed atop her and she lay there, feeling her senses slowly return and then the softness of his kiss.
