"No." He husked a laugh, a breathless hum that sounded so familiar. "Can I kiss you again?"
Instead of kissing her mouth, as she'd expected, Micah grasped her narrow waist with long fingers and bent forward, placing a tender kiss on each taut nipple. His tongue slid up, slick between her breasts, and he grasped them, nestled his face in the softness of the warm globes, muttering in a whisper.
"You've got the nicest tits." Caressing the smooth rounds, he suckled one, then both, before pulling her face down for a kiss, fingers wound through the silk of her hair; his hands trailed over her back, down her body. "The nicest ass. Never seen anyone more perfect... never." Ailill gasped when he grasped her buttocks, pulled her up to lie beside him. His kisses became suddenly more demanding, her flesh seared wherever his mouth lit, icy where it missed. She moaned softly as his tongue slid down the smooth, taut flesh of her belly, nudged the small hoop at her navel briefly before coming up to her mouth once more.
"I'll do right by you... I promise," whispered Micah. "You'll know it's me, this first time... not a brother who looks like me; we are not three peas in a pod." His words made her jerk in startlement, eyes seeking his own until he cut off any comment with his mouth. Raising up on his knees a while later, feeling drunk and unsteady, overwhelmed with desire, Micah sat back and simply looked at her. She was almost too perfect to be real.
"Now it's obvious," he growled softly, studying the crimson flush across her heaving chest, the raised plum-colored nipples, surely tingling from all the suckling he'd done. Moving back, he proceeded to kiss every inch of her body, making her writhe with ecstasy until he reached the triangle of auburn curls, the moist petals within. She stiffened involuntarily as he gently spread her thighs. "I won't hurt you. Lie still," he commanded, voice low, soft as a caress.
“Sweet Brigit... where’d ye learn to do that?” Ailill gasped moments later, the blood pounding through her head in a deafening roar. Her slender fingers were wound tightly in the silken mass of Micah’s hair; she rocked gently back and forth, in time with the waves rolling through her small body. The feel of warm fingers made her jerk against him, moaning softly, and he raised his head at last to watch her face flush with the rising tide of climax, his eyes glowing softly in triumph at her husky cry of release. When she quieted, falling away into a rather gelatinous pliability, Micah rose, kneeling between her legs with a look of rapacious gluttony that changed his features, glimmered in the very depths of his eyes; his kiss tasted of her, his clefted chin, wet with her essence, brushed against her's.
"I want you, Ailill. Touch me."
"Aye. Oh, aye. We shall be... one," she breathed, half moaning at the feel of him there, moving against her slick release, readying her again. Her fingers curled about his tumescence, guided him as he eased in as far as her barrier, his movement slow, stretching untried flesh with tenderness instinctual. Pausing, he reached up, smoothed her hair away from her flushed face, held her head with both hands, forcing her to meet his fathomless eyes.
"I have loved you since the first dream. I want you to know that, Ailill Bascna-Morna, Princess of Sidhe," he whispered, searching her stunned gaze, loving her for it. "I give myself to you, not as the queen you'll be, but as the beautiful woman that you are." Unsure if she might scream, or cry, or make any sound at all besides the husky moans she had so far tried in vain to muffle, Micah covered her mouth with his, poised just at the quick of her for one breathless instant, and plunged, bursting the bubble of her innocence in one smooth motion, filling her to the very root of his manhood.
The pain was a sharp, quick thing, gone in but a moment; he moaned loudly, feeling her own pain where she bit clean through his lower lip, drew blood in order to keep quiet, and when he began to move with a natural rhythm, to steadily caress her within, Ailill clung to him with a painful grip, wrapped strong legs about his waist to draw him in deeper still. He felt as if he were dying; a slow, perfect, sensual death. The words that escaped his lips were slurred, crazy, her own frenzied movements forcing him to some level, some realm unexpected; eldritch. She said something, but he seemed not able to understand, overcome with an inability to think at all, staring down into those eyes, so dark like his own, explicitly alien, and suddenly he was there. A brightness crossed his vision, a great burst of color and light; it caused him to break off eye contact as he sought another comfort, moving in an easy rhythm until she bucked and heaved with the continual wave crashing over them both. It seemed to go on forever; a climax of emotion, of erudite pleasure, until at last, Micah was sated to his very core. Collapsing atop her, the rhythm of her heart in perfect harmony to his own beneath his elfin ear, he sighed, long and deeply.
"I diewith you," he whispered hoarsely, drunkenly, and passed out.
It had been all that she could want and more; the sensations coursing through her, a pulse of life everlasting, a rush more primitive than she herself; the beat of her heart, valid proof of life, had surged, beaten itself into a frenzy, felt as if it might explode at the end; she lay still, silently thanking the gods by name as her heart slowed to its own preternatural rhythm. Micah's sweat-damped hair lay across her neck, a glossy black manta; his head, turned to the right, rested between her breasts, his breathing deep, heavy. Hewas heavy; his limp body, more leaden by the minute, covered her like an overheated blanket, his penis, softened with release, still connected them as one, sizable enough that even in a flaccid state he filled her. And, oh! how he'd filled her; consumed her; nearly devoured her. He was a pleasure seeker, through and through; more like his kin than he could know. Or, perhaps he knew far more than she'd suspected? Perhaps that knowledge, supposedly buried until the change to everlasting was completed, had shown itself prematurely to this man, for one reason or another.
She could think of but a few reasons that might happen; living under the cruel thumb of Kiah Morna for nearly two decades was a possibility. He abused the brothers regularly. She knew it, was infuriated by the knowledge; there was nothing she could do. James had made promises in her intentional absence that otherwise would not have been made, if she had hied back here as he'd demanded too many long months ago. Even if she had, Ailill could not possibly erase nineteen years of horrible memories, could not change what was already past. But she could put an end to the brutality of the blackheart now, the soulless fiend who had, more than once, sought to ruin the entirety of the Tribes, the union of the Red and Black. Sensing uneasiness trickle in, she quickly pushed all thought of the usurping bastard out of her mind.
He had thoroughly stunned her; she thought on the mystery of it for a long moment, unwilling to admit that she could find no answers. Micah had called her by her true name, the link she shared with him in bloodlines, in life. Not a single person existing in this land knew her true identity, except her kin and Kiah Morna. Not even he would have bothered to tell the twins anything; nay, especially not him, indeed. It seemed Micah was learning things bit by bit; she silently cursed her own eyes, windows into her soul. But perhaps it was more than that; she felt a connection much more far-reaching than sexual pleasure whenever she touched him. It was an enigma she hadn't the will to question now. Her legs were going numb.
It was hard to believe that Micah had fainted with the intensity of loving her; a lass, possibly... but a big, strong, healthy man swooning from it? She found the idea highly amusing; grinned up at the ceiling though he wasbecoming uncomfortably heavy, nearly crushing her into the thick ticking of the bed. The intense feeling of satisfaction that had welled up after the loving was over brought a smile into her eyes. She wondered idly why anyone would want to wreck that by lighting up a cigarette, puffing smelly smoke in place of the intoxicating musk of sex; she'd read that people did that, in the cheesy novels of two hundred odd years ago; had always thought it stupid. She really wished Micah would awake, her legs tingled so.
Shifting to find a more comfortable position, she gasped softly in surprise when his head turned suddenly, his lips kissing the spot between her breasts; his
hands slid up her sides, grasped her wrists with untold strength, pinning them up near her head. His look was absolutely ferocious, dark with desire that was instantly apparent in her moist cleft.
"Och, ye fill me s-" He cut off her words with a sharp nip to her lower lip, swollen from his earlier kisses, the blood still tingling just below the surface. Her back arched with the sudden rush that shot from her mouth to her toes. He took her, hard, unrelenting in his desire to reclaim her; pounded into her with a force unknown before, rapid thrusts that brought a husky cry to her lips within moments, fingers curled tight with the need to touch him, to grasp that firm rear, scratch that smooth, graceful back until it bled. All thought left her, her existence moving solely on sensate currents, ribbons of breathless heat. One peak, then another, and still he did not give in to her cries, her struggle to be freed of the bonds of his strong hands. He slowed, drew back to look at her, continually moving in her, on her, slipping, ever slipping, in and out.
"Please... oh, sweet Brigit, oh please..."
"Who am I?" he demanded on a breath, a rumbling growl. "Say my name. Tell me who I am!" His movements teased, drove her mad with need. "Tell me!"
"Micah... Arram Bram Kael MacDuff Mac Morna," she hissed painfully, eyes glittering with tears at the forced admission. "Prince... of the Black Branch... of Alba, Chosen of Sidheto become an everlasting King of the Realm... of Faerie."
"And I am not whole without my brothers, the tierce. Say it!"
"Ye arena complete without the tierce, three brothers; three kings for one queen. Micah, please! Oh, god... oh, sweet Brigit's fire..."
By the time he released her, Ailill could barely move; back arched like a bow beneath him, fingers clenched tightly in the bedclothes, she was lost to herself, saw only Micah, moving on her, in her, his perfect, chiseled face awash with angry tears, with the truth of himself, bourne on a dream, put into words by the only woman who was his match, his equal; the only one who could ever fully complete him. In that moment of eternal closeness, where two souls became one, Micah wept silently for the childhood he knew he had lost, his seed spilling deeply, painfully, into her womb, frantic with the need to claim her as his own just this once.
It was she who swooned, a brief respite, mere seconds lost as her body gave in to Micah's demands. He held her close, heaved a sigh of utter despair, another of growing contentment as he watched her eyes flutter once, twice. When he knew her to be awake, aware, he rolled away, carefully disengaging himself from her lucid limbs, and met her blue gaze with one to match.
She looked... beautiful. Flushed with exertion, with their joining- far more primitive than the first. She looked disheartened; he had demanded from her what she had not been ready to give, knowledge of himself, his true identity.
He knew not from where the knowledge came, the tiny woman's enchanted nature, her tribal name; the fact that she was a powerful crowned princess- destined to become an even more powerful, far-reaching sovereign; the queen of two vastly different worlds. Poised at the quick, seconds away from taking her long-guarded innocence, claiming her as his own, an image had come unbidden- Ailill, seated upon an ornately decorated throne, surrounded on all sides by heavily armed men who looked not unlike himself, the similarities, in fact, had been striking; a delicate, bejeweled crown of interlaced silver and gold had topped that fiery mane, a gem, talismanic, glowing softly between her arched brows, above eyes of deep green, a perfect match to the silken gown, the velvet robes that hid her exquisite body too well; And the men, each of them, shown perfect, statuesque, dressed as finely as Herself, at ease in full Highland regalia, the tartan of kilts, plaids, a dark, unusual weave, as ancient as time itself. Only the long raven locks shown darker, each glossy head graced with its own crown formed in similar fashion to the tiny queen's.
It was then that he had known, the name suddenly rolling from his tongue with an ease that made it apparent he'd said it countless times before: Ailill Bascna-Morna, Princess of Sidhe.
Rubbing an arm across his face, a hand through his hair, Micah stilled suddenly, his fingers gently touching his ear, the small nub at the back far more prominent than before, than even an hour ago. Reaching automatically for his face, prodding the familiar features delicately, he peered down at Ailill through parted fingers, a denial forming on his tongue that refused to be given voice. She stared back, a reluctant smile crossing her face at intervals; she seemed pleased, which relaxed his increasingly wary demeanor.
"Aye," she said softly. "You've got questions and I have all the answers, I hope. I have questions, as well." Pulling herself up to sit cross-legged on the bed, a frown crossed her solemn features, a look of unease that drew Micah closer.
"What's wrong, Abby?" His eyes followed her own, peered down her chest, looking for damage he might have caused. "I'm sorry," he blurted, "I was too rough. I hurt you somewh-"
"Nay then, lad," she cut him off, a finger to his lips even as she reached for the towel she'd thrown down at the foot of the bed. "It is only, I, mphmm, it appears I am leaking." Meeting his eye with a frank look, she erupted in giggles, helpless to stop them as she moved from the bed, towel clutched between her thighs. Embarrassed, Micah flushed, tried in vain not to look there; an impossibility. Especially when she laughed outright at his reaction.
"Sweet Brigit, Micah! It seems ye spewed like a newly stoked volcano!" exclaimed Ailill, taking a step back at his warning look, clutching her belly as she howled.
"Jesus, Abby, y'all sure know how to embarrass a guy." But he was laughing, too. A slow laugh, spreading a smile to his lips, his beautiful eyes. She allowed herself to be caught when he reached for her, held close to his heart for a few staccato beats.
"You shouldn't feel abashed, Micah," Ailill muttered softly, moving away. "It isn't natural for our kind, embarrassment, no matter how undignified the situation."
"Undignified? Y'all compared me with a volcano!"
With quick motions, she stripped the bed, the evidence of their encounter there upon the pale yellow sheet, a bloodstain in the shape of a dotted vee not quite in the center of the bed. "The mark o' Venus," she muttered absentmindedly, giving the corner a quick yank, wadding the sheet into a ball as she went on.
"Really? Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Her eyes took him in; all of him, from head to toe. "A mountain o' strength and beauty, feelin's as deeply bedded as yon lava chamber beneath Yellowstone, fit to burst with no notice. Aye, it's what I saw in you, and no mistake. Jacob is the same. The real question is, when you erupt, will the words flow free and hot as pahoehoe, or will they cut as deeply as obsidian shards."
Deeply affronted, only half-sure of what she was implying, Micah glowered behind her back, glanced around for a towel or blanket, something to wrap about his waist; his filthy clothes were still on the bathroom floor. His eye passed over the small stack of clothes set out on a chair, moved back as recognition hit home, and settled there. He could feel Ailill's eyes upon him and shot her a cool look.
"I don't have a short fuse, Abby. And neither does Jacob. If anyone's got a short fuse here, it's y'all," Micah accused, his irritation showing dark across his face. "You lack patience with your own parents, who only want the best for you. You insult them just for wanting y'all to come back from Scotland and I tell ya, if I ever spoke to Kiah the way you speak to James-"
"He'd beat you senseless, Micah, and what's more," she interrupted, her calm tone underlaid by a blazing fury. "Yon wicked fiend would get away with it yet again! How many times, Micah? How many countless times has he brutalized you, beaten ye near to death in your years with him? How many times has the blackheart touched you, left ye questioning your very existence? You've been raised by a beast; a foul, wicked... aye, adhiobhuil! He stole you, usurped all that you'd any right to for all these years and you don't know anything, except what you've only just learned."
His look was absolutely wretched, humiliated; it took her breath away to see it. But a door had been opened, her tongue suddenly finding a will of i
ts own.
"Aye, I know... I've known since that first time when Kiah nearly killed you, left you broken, shattered. It was you who found me, nay t'other way around; youwho cried out your pain with such force that ye crossed the barriers, flew on the shadows of night to find solace, and found me, a wee lassie of but ten years. You made the connection and I did the only thing that I could, Micah. I allowed you to see me, not a dream, not fully; but you'd already lost so much, you'd already built up a fortress about yourself. I couldn't find you, though I tried my hardest. You are the reason I am forced back here, the reason I am so embittered with my parents, my kin. You and Jacob. I am meant to lie with you, both. 'Tisna a choice."
"You... " He stared at her in disbelief. "You only did... this," he growled, gesturing at the bed with one clenched fist, "because you had to? Because you didn't have a choice! Christ, Ailill. Do they teach girls how to fuck with a man's pride back in Scotland? Is that where you learned to be such a pretentious bitch?" Swiftly, Micah turned on his heel, strode toward the door. "God, I am as gullible as a kid. Fuck!" Eyes dropping to the chair near the door, he grabbed up the stack of clothes he'd noticed earlier, his size just as he'd figured, and with startling suddenness, swung back, face clouded with bitter fury.
"Y'all planned this! Don't fuckin' deny it, princess. Well, y'all got what you wanted; a... what, a stolen son,a... a goddamn stud horse, to take your virginity. That was the first time, slow and gentle- my gift to you. Happy impurity, Abby! When y'all head back to Scotland, to that 'sickly lad' you seem to be so enamored with, just remember to tell him that the second fuck was all mine! Micah's. Mine! And remember, too, that it was Iwho brought you to that point of pleasure, of pain; my bodythat you writhed beneath and pleaded for like a wanton. Not his!"
Tossing the clothes to the floor at her feet, Micah turned to make as grand an exit as was possible buck naked, half-hard with his angrily uttered words, only half-insult even with the sudden turn of events. He'd thought to lie abed all day, Ailill's smooth, warm flesh at his mercy, there for the taking as many times as it might take for her to admit loving him; foolish thoughts; humiliatingly naive. The moment his fingers touched on the cool brass knob a soft click was heard above the din of incensed silence, halting him where he stood.
Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) Page 16