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‘Lovely,’ he breathed, pushing her back onto the bed and falling beside her. Wolfric slid the fingers of one hand down the back of her thigh and back up again, in a leisurely manner, while staring into her eyes. ‘Tell me how you like to be touched.’
‘I don’t know,’ she sputtered, her face turning pink.
‘No, you don’t, do you?’ Wolfric smiled at her in a way he hoped was reassuring. ‘You have a beauty spot on your lip and another between your breasts. They are delightful. Are they real?’ he said, his fingers grazing one pale peach-pink nipple.
‘Of course, they are,’ said Orla with a frown. She peaked under his thumb.
‘It’s just that some women stick them on to draw men’s eyes,’ said Wolfric. ‘It is a kind of lure. But you don’t need such arts, do you? In fact, I think you scoff at such adornments.’
‘I…I do.’
Wolfric smiled into her eyes as his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh, and Orla stiffened. She let out a little squeal as they found their way between her legs and began to circle.
‘Do you like that? Does it excite you? You have to be truthful now, lass.’
‘No, it does not excite me. It just tickles is all,’ she said, burying her face in his neck.
‘Liar,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘If you don’t like it, why are you so slick and ready, lass?’
‘How can you shame me by saying such a thing?’
‘There’s no shame in this. ‘Tis a sign of passion, is all, and it stirs me, Orla. More than you could know. It sets off a terrible need in me.’
She was wet enough for his fingers to glide easily over her cunny, making him long to have her. But he had to delay his pleasure. He could not hurry through this like a green boy and finish before she did. And he was not leaving the bed until he had given Orla the greatest pleasure of her life.
‘You smell good,’ he said, breathing in her skin, ‘of grass and flowers and the outdoors.’ He kissed her full mouth as he slid two fingers inside her, his thumb circling still. Orla gasped and raised her hips to meet his hand. ‘And you have the smoothest skin.’ He gently curled his fingers inside her, just a little, and she bit her lip and moaned.
‘Wolfric, no,’ she gasped, staring up at him with wide eyes.
He stopped moving and stared back at her, on fire with desire. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want you to,’ she squeaked, but even as she said the words, her hand came about his neck. ‘Oh, to hell with it,’ she cried and she pulled his mouth back down to her own as she squirmed against his hand.
Wolfric kissed her deeply, fighting the urge to plunge inside her and possess her totally as Orla’s tongue slid over his, and her nails dug into his head. Instead, tenderness overcame him, and an insane urge to please Orla more than himself. Wolfric slid down her body and pushed her bunched shift up and out of the way. Easing apart her long, lovely thighs, he bent his head to the moist, hot heart of her. She let out a strangled little cry as his tongue caressed her sweet pert bud, and though it was the sound of victory for him, Wolfric no longer cared.
He could think of nothing but Orla’s body writhing under his touch, her enthusiasm stoking his own passion to breaking point. When he had brought her to a peak, and she had gone limp under his hands, he entered her quickly, and in moments, reached his own, gripping, shuddering release.
Confusion took Orla as her heart slowed its frantic beat. Wolfric held her afterwards, his arms wrapped gently about her. He had gained his victory, and he could have revelled in it, but he did not. To Orla, that was some small mercy. Yet still, she wanted to cry.
No man had ever made her feel beautiful before, and Wolfric did not do it with words. His hands, his mouth, his passion, and the pleasure he seemed to take in her body had done it for him. Could she have been mistaken? Was he good at feigning such things? She hated to speak first, but she needed reassurance that what had felt like a joining of souls as well as bodies was real to him, too.
‘Did you mean what you said, Wolfric?’
‘What?’ he said, raising himself on one elbow and running a hand through his hair.
Was it the effects of lovemaking, or did he look especially manly, despite the bruised face, with his tousled black hair and smooth muscles? ‘Those compliments you gave me,’ said Orla, trying to sound nonchalant.
‘Aye, every word, though I do not recall them exactly. My mind was on other things. But you certainly have what it takes to please a man, Orla. We should wager more often.’ He grinned and gave Orla a sound slap on her bottom. ‘Now, I cannot stay abed all day. I must rise and find my father.’ He went about the room picking up his clothes and then stopped and grinned at her. ‘After that, I am going to survey my new land at Wildwood Glen. Are you coming or not?’
Orla fumed. Damn the wretch for being nought but a land-stealing, loathsome, money-grubbing bastard. Wolfric had got what he wanted out of her, and now he was back to being an infuriating, teasing, gloating pig. Well, she would not rise to his bait.
‘I lost your infernal wager.’
‘A sweet victory on my part, I must say. But you pleased me, so I will throw you a bone like the obedient little bitch you are. Come. It will please me if you do.’
‘I have done enough of pleasing you, so the answer is no.’
‘Excellent. I will have them saddle Midnight at once.’
