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Moved over her with slow, deliberate relish, pausing for a moment when it reached her crotch. His nostrils flared as if he could tell she was wet and ready for him. She trembled under the scrutiny even as a wash of heat swept through her. Centered in her woman’s place. She wanted him so bad, she throbbed with it. And he knew it.
So much for playing hard to get.
He lowered his mouth again to hers in another dizzying kiss. He tasted of whiskey, and she drank him in, lost in the freedom of hands and lips and flesh. He backed her against the bed, dropping her onto the quilt, pinning her beneath him as his teeth grazed a line down her neck. He explored her, running his hand down her stomach, over the swell of her hips. Drawing her deep into a whirlpool she couldn’t escape. Wouldn’t if she could.
He lowered his mouth to her breasts. Slid his tongue over the swollen mounds, taking a nipple between his lips. She jumped under the mind-blowing pleasure-pain sensation that radiated along every nerve. He tongued the hard bud until she moaned. Until she writhed beneath his expert lover’s touch. He switched his attentions to the other. But this time she was prepared.
She leaned up in a plea for him to take more into his mouth. He obliged, the slick tease of his tongue combined with the scratch of stubble on her sensitive flesh transforming the earlier fires into a conflagration that consumed her.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, his fingers were inside her. She arched her back, gasping against the searing rush. Heard the blood pounding through her as he carried her on a current of desire. “Conor. Please,” she moaned, and this time she knew she was begging for more.
She closed her eyes. Conscious thought had left her. She was acting on pure lust. He rolled away, the mattress sagging as he tore off his breeches.
“Look at me, Ellery,” he purred.
She obeyed, swallowing hard. He was naked. The satiny gleam of his skin complete from head to toe. And as absolutely perfect as she thought it would be.
He rolled back on top of her, spreading her legs, his cock poised to enter. But he held back, his self-discipline as firm as his manhood.
She couldn’t take anymore. Her control snapped. She guided him home, gasping against the burst of pain. His mouth found hers, silencing her cries.
Her inner muscles closed around him. And as he lay there, letting her adjust to his presence, the pain was replaced by a new and different sensation. She shifted, eliciting a hiss of in-drawn breath from him.
“Bleydhes,” he ground out from a clenched jaw. She smiled up at him in the darkness.
“What does that mean?”
The reaches of his black-gold gaze were impenetrable. Unknowable. “It means she-wolf.”
“I can live with that.”
She’d barely finished speaking when a knock on Conor’s door crashed through the bliss like a dousing of ice water.
Heaven help her. What had she done?
Who the hell was bloody knocking? Conor had never been closer to murder than in that moment.
Ellery broke away. Her eyes were glazed with lust, her lips parted and swollen from his kisses. Her mop of curls lay damp against her brow.
He rolled onto his back, his chest heaving. Still rock-hard and apparently staying that way if Ellery’s reaction was anything to go by. “Go away.”
Ellery struggled to get out from under him, her eyes wide with panic. “I should never have come here—like this. It was a mistake.”
The knock sounded again. “Conor, I need to see you.” He cursed. “Damn it, Jamys. I’m fucking fine. Top of the world. Go. The Bloody Hell. Away.”
There was silence on the other side of the door. His cousin’s sense of timing may have been horrible, but he wasn’t stupid.
Ellery rolled up and off the bed. He threw a hand out to grab her, grimacing for the expected pain to follow. Nothing.
He’d have been grateful to Ellery for taking his mind off the sting of healing if she hadn’t replaced it with a mind-seizing, gut-churning passion. That sure as hell wasn’t supposed to happen. And she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be here. He’d cocked it up this time.
“You decided to heed Morgan’s warning?” he asked, ignoring his remorse, hoping to tease a smile back into eyes clouded with shame.
She fumbled with clumsy fingers at her robe’s ties. Flushed. Nervous. “I’m sorry, Conor. I’ve made everything a mess.”
He stood, taking the ribbons from her hopeless fingers. Tied the robe closed with infinite care. Knowing he couldn’t console her without making things worse. It was better this way. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
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