by Sasha Lord
He leaned forward and replaced his fingertips with his lips. Her flesh was warm and he could taste faint moisture at the corner of her eye.
“To figure out what we feel for each other. Time to be with you.”
“With me?”
“Without distractions.” He kissed her under the curve of her jaw, lifting her chin with a gentle nudge of his nose. “Without games.”
As she started to reply, he covered her mouth with his.
She quivered, her emotions tangled by the sweetness of his words and the pain in her heart.
He licked her lower lip and threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck.
Her thoughts fragmented, became unformed and disjointed. No games. No hidden motives. She arched her back and pressed closer to his warmth. She did not want him to stop. This was her dream—no, this was real.
He lifted her around her waist, just holding her, his head buried in her breasts. He inhaled deeply, feeling the cloak of her hair draped around his head. “I never thought I would feel happy again,” he whispered. “Not after my mother died and my father cast me aside. But you bring everything back to life. I know that the tigress is only part of you, but that part brought me out of the grave, while the other part of you, the lady, made me look at my life with new eyes. You forced me to reevaluate my goals.”
She wrapped his shoulders in her arms and rested her face atop his head.
He swung around and placed her on a wooden table charred with numerous blackened scars. She braced her hands behind her, her fingers sensing the hours he had spent working on the hardened surface.
Using his forearm, he brushed the dust from the table. Several tools clattered to the stone floor and the torchlight flickered as years of neglect were swept away. “I want to see your hair splayed across my workbench . . . I want your life to infuse my forge with new flames.”
His gaze bored into hers. Her breath quickened. Without conscious thought, she reached for him, sliding her hands beneath his shirt. He felt hot, his skin burning with an internal fire while the air around them remained cool.
He pushed her up, sliding her along the wood as he laid her back. He towered over her, briefly blocking her view of the ceiling as he straddled her, but as he rocked back, she gasped. Along the ceiling were racks of more swords, long and thin with glittering edges.
She was surrounded by finely honed steel. Beside her in rows upon the walls, beneath her in piles of discarded shards, above her in shimmering racks like spikes held in place by magical hands. But she felt no fear. Like him, the weapons were elegant yet strong. This was where he felt comfortable. She sensed that this was where he wanted to make love to her, to forge a bond between them that was stronger than the metal he loved.
Steel and fire. The torchlight danced around them as if it wanted to come alive and join the two humans on the table, to leap into her wild tresses and sparkle through her shimmering eyes. Like their souls, one full of fire, the other as hard as a blade, the room reflected and enhanced them, allowing them to merge together like a pool of red-hot liquid metal.
Kassandra gripped his shirt and struggled to untie it. Her blood burned with desire. She wanted him, wanted to feel his sword buried within her. When the cords knotted, she shifted her attention to his breeches, but her fingers shook so badly, she could not untie them either.
“The fire faery protects you still,” she growled in frustration as the pulse in her neck thrummed.
“Perhaps she is jealous,” he chuckled, but he reached for something tucked into the waistband of his breeches. Finding it, he held out a small, beautifully formed dirk.
She took it and held it to his chest. “The dirk that led me to you,” she murmured. “You trust me with a knife as sharp as this?”
“Would you cut me with a blade my mother engraved?”
She plucked the cord of his shirt away from his chest and sliced it. The dirk slid through the twisted threads with a faint whisper and his shirt gaped open at the hollow of his throat.
A thrill raced through Kassandra. There was something wild in the heart of the steel and it transmitted vibrations to her palm. Her blue eyes opened wide and she stared at him.
He stared back.
“You want to use it,” he told her.
She shivered.
“Which one are you tonight? The lady Kassandra or the wild tigress? Do you dare?”
She shook her head. “I am who I want to be . . . where I want to be. With you.” She slid the sharp blade through another cord, relishing the sound of it cutting and the feel of his muscles twitching. More of his chest was revealed and she touched the tip of the dirk to his skin. “You are at my mercy,” she whispered.
He still straddled her, his large, heavily muscled body towering over her small prostrate form. He could crush her, overpower her, kill her with one blow. “Yes,” he replied quietly. “I am completely at your mercy.”
Chapter 22
She smiled, her lips curving slowly as her cheeks flushed with heat. Using the dirk, she sliced down his linen shirt until it lay open. Underneath, his hard flesh shimmered with a fine coating of sweat, reflecting the orange torchlight. Twin nipples rose small and hard amid a swirl of black hair.
She switched her attention to his breeches, reveling in his swift intake of breath as she lowered the knife. Using the tip, she plucked the cords loose, then cut them free of the lace holes one by one.
As she concentrated, her breath bathed him in moist warmth and his erection swelled larger. As the cord strings sprang apart, his rod strained to be free, pushing dangerously close to the razor-sharp blade. Then suddenly, as Kassandra’s hands swept downward and she cut the breechcloth, his cock jutted forth as strong and proud as any sword.
He gripped her wrist, then gently but firmly lifted it over her head and pinned it to the table.
“You do not trust me,” she taunted him.
“No. Your anger is too easily aroused and your temper is too tumultuous, for you are a red-haired seductress.”
She licked her lips, oddly pleased by his words.
His gaze dropped instantly to her mouth.
She saw his shift of attention, and licked her lips again, this time more slowly.
“You have a beautiful mouth. Full, red lips. A dark freckle at the right corner.” His hips twitched.
She looked at his cock, so close to her mouth and so tantalizing. Lifting her head a little, she flicked her tongue out and faintly touched the tip.
He sucked in his breath and jerked back, but she lifted her knees and braced him.
Slanting a daring look up through her lashes, she peeked her tongue out once more, this time tasting a salty substance that made her taste buds blaze to life. “Let me,” she begged. “You said we could do as we wished.”
His eyes darkened to deep forest green and his expression sharpened to chiseled alertness. He tilted his hips forward, his actions still wary.
Pushing him closer with her knees, she shifted his body close to her mouth. The head glimmered with tight, translucent skin and the shaft strained toward her, ignoring its master’s hesitancy. Kassandra swirled her tongue over the tip. It pulsed in reaction and a bead of white liquid trickled forth.
Kassandra licked again, fascinated by the reactions she caused, then lifted her head higher and wrapped her lips around him.
They both gasped as they felt simultaneous rushes of heat. His head dropped back as his resistance melted away and he gave in to the incredible sensation of her mouth around him. Her tongue explored and stroked, making his mind shake as his body bucked in pleasure. Her mouth was heaven and he wanted to live deep within her cavern forever. He felt his ecstasy rising, ready to explode.
But he abruptly pulled free, pushed her knees apart and lay flush upon her. “Not yet.” He slid down her body, spreading her legs and rapidly untying her skirts. His hands were more steady than hers, and the strings quickly fell apart. He yanked her skirts aside and rapidly removed her underclot
hes, laying her bare to his gaze and open to his touch.
He kissed her inner thigh, tickling her in a sensuous, delicious way.
She drew in a quick breath and tried to clench her legs together, embarrassed about her own reactions.
“You kissed me,” he growled. “I get to kiss you.”
Her thigh muscles relaxed slightly, and she let him push her knees apart, but she bit her lip anxiously.
He kissed her other thigh, then suckled gently.
Thrills raced up and down her legs and her toes curled. Her head fell back and her hair tumbled down the far side of the table as she braced her elbows on the black-scarred surface.
His mouth moved closer and he breathed against her dark red curls, stimulating the center hidden within.
Her hips twitched and fierce longing ripped through her. Her hesitancy disappeared as desire raged and suddenly she wanted his kisses, wanted to feel his heated mouth against her. She opened her legs farther, splaying herself for him, for his pleasure and for hers.
His tongue found its way to her and his first taste of her beautiful womanhood almost sent him over the precipice. He groaned, feeling closer to her than he had ever believed possible. She smelled like rich musk and tasted like ambrosia. He licked again, the sensitive buds upon his tongue finding the central rose, tasting the delicate petals and relishing her quivering responses.
He slid his hands underneath her buttocks and lifted her higher. She was pliant to his ministrations, yet panting with pleasure, held still by need yet shaking with uncontrolled reaction. He buried his face deeper, merging with her, licking and tasting faster and faster as she screamed with delight. The intensity escalated, soared and swirled around them. His own pleasure burst forth, risen by the beauty of her response, by the knowledge that he was able to do this to her.
“Now!” she screamed and he slid off the end of the table, planted his feet and dragged her to the edge with him in one smooth motion. Without pausing, he plunged his cock into her drenched core and slammed into her.
She screamed again, calling his name as she gripped the sides of the table and encouraged his fierce attack. “Harder, harder!” she shouted as her inner sanctum clenched and pulsed, caught in the throes of a long unending climax. “Join me!”
He pumped thrice more, then shouted his own release deep within her, his spear shaking with powerful contractions, pouring his soul deep within her womb.
Her legs fell open. . . . Her toes relaxed. She took a deep breath, then released it in an exhausted rush as he collapsed on top of her. His weight lay across her, his head pillowed between her breasts, heavy but welcome. He, too, breathed deeply as if he had finished racing across the Highlands and only now had reached his safe haven.
Their combined heat slowly cooled, and the night breeze snaking in through the open doorway chilled their flesh despite the flickering torchlight. Cadedryn stirred, then rose off her and reached on the ground for her discarded skirts. He draped them over her, closed his own breeches as best as he could, then lifted her into his arms.
Kassandra snuggled against his chest, her lids shut in drowsy surrender. “Where are you taking me now?” she murmured.
He stepped out into the moonlight and made his way across the courtyard without the benefit of a torch. He knew the way; he had traveled it often. Entering the great hall, he ignored the startled looks of the staff and wound his way up the stairs, past the chamber where Kassandra had changed, and strode with her in his arms until he reached the master bedchamber. Kicking open the door, he paused. This was his parents’ room. This was the place of their love, the place where he had been conceived. He looked down upon Kassandra’s drowsy face.
“Here,” he finally answered in a whisper. “Where you belong.”
She woke slowly, aware of streams of sunshine and the aroma of hot cider. Her eyes still closed, she stirred, smiling at Triu-cair’s faint chatter and the maid’s irritated exclamation, but her eyes snapped open when she heard Cadedryn’s low voice.
“Leave the platter,” he said to the maid. “The lady still sleeps.”
As the door closed, Kassandra sat up and glared at him. “Why am I in your room?” she queried. “I chose the chamber with the great mantel. The maid will—”
“The maid will say nothing.”
“I shouldn’t be here! My reputation—”
“No one here cares about your reputation. You promised me a fortnight.” He looked at her angry face and raised an eyebrow. Her tousled hair cascaded around her shoulders in a fetching mess. He was too happy to argue with her, and he mentally vowed to ignore her furious face and make her happy as well.
“I did not promise to sleep in your bed.”
He shrugged and handed her a cup of cider. “Very well. You are not obligated to sleep here.”
She frowned, taken aback by his easy capitulation. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear as her mind sought a suitable reply. How was she to argue a point he did not disagree with? She looked around the room and wriggled her toes. The bed was quite comfortable. “What if I decide I want to sleep here?” she challenged.
He shrugged again and turned slightly to the side, hiding a secret smile. “As you wish.”
Her fist clenched. This was getting complicated! “Without you,” she added snidely.
“I prefer my old room. All my belongings are still there. Feel free to utilize this chamber at your will.” Smoothing his face, he sat on the chair next to the bed, tore a piece off a steaming pastry and popped it in his mouth. “Would you like to see my stables?” he asked.
Their debate forgotten, Kassandra’s face lit up. “Yes!” she cried. “And your hay storage and the grain bins and—”
He held up his hand and laughed. “I meant the horses. Most people are interested in the horseflesh, not the husbandry.”
She grinned self-consciously.
His laugh faded and he stared in awe at her lovely blue eyes. How could one woman be so beautiful? Last night, in the moonlight, she had glowed, and in the forge, she had burned. Now she fairly sparkled with infectious enthusiasm. “To be frank, I am not certain about the hay and grain, and I know little about the pastures. I have focused my attention on controlling the breeding and understand the bloodlines.”
She shook her head dismissively. “Breeding is only part of the horse. You must also manage their environment in order to produce a truly outstanding animal.”
He bowed his head. “I am honored to learn from you. ’Tis clear that my lands need help. Shall we spend some time exploring? I’d like my people to know that I have come home to help them.”
She smiled and pointed to a wrap hanging at the end of the bed as she slipped one bare leg out from under the covers. “Could you please hand me that?”
Cadedryn’s eyes flared. “I have seen you as you are.”
Kassandra flushed and pulled her leg back under the blanket. “Not in the daylight. Not like this.”
“Like this?”
She sighed in exasperation. “If you won’t hand it over, please leave so I may dress.” Then, to Kassandra’s horror, Triu-cair bounded onto Cadedryn’s lap and snatched the rest of the pastry from the table. “Stop him!” she shouted, the covers slipping from her shoulders to her waist.
Cadedryn leaned back as he chewed his own pastry, trying not to react to the sight of her pink nipples. “If you want it back,” he informed her, “you must catch him. He’s your weasel.”
“Augh!” she cried as she watched Triu-cair nibble the delicious treat. The weasel grinned at her and lifted his lips in a version of a smile. “You thief!” She slid a quick glance at Cadedryn, who appeared uninterested in her plight, then she leapt naked from the bed, snatched the wrap and tackled her weasel. The two tumbled and rolled, a mass of screeching and scrambling, until a ruffled and empty-handed weasel dashed to the other side of the room and Kassandra sat triumphant and unclothed in the center of the chamber.
Cadedryn’s brow lifted again. “Where is the p
astry?” he asked in amusement.
Kassandra opened her mouth, showing a glimpse of the half-chewed prize, then swallowed with obvious relish. “No one does me ill and survives my wrath,” she announced haughtily.
Cadedryn’s face stilled and he turned to look out the window as unwelcome thoughts invaded his mind. He understood her statement all too well, for he had lived by it all his life. Unfortunately, someone had done ill to him, and had most definitely avoided his wrath. Whoever had murdered his father had unfinished business with him.
But today was not a day for retribution. Today he wanted to enjoy life and learn everything he could about Kassandra.
At the top of the far hillside, two people sat on horseback and surveyed Aberdour Castle. Both were displeased with what they saw.
“I thought you killed him,” the woman hissed furiously. “Why are the flags announcing the earl’s presence flying upon the ramparts?”
The man clenched his fists and glared down the valley. “He arrived yesterday, accompanied by that woman. He should have died! I saw the blade plunge into his chest. How could he have survived? That woman,” he spat. “She is the cause. She saved him. Everything is her fault.”
His companion turned and stroked his snarling face. Her expression smoothed into softer, more comforting lines. “What are you going to do about him? About her?”
“It was foolish to attack him as I did. Now he is warned. He will be more vigilant.”
“He has no idea what we plan. He knows nothing.”
“He will suspect. First his mother and father, then the attack on Kassandra and now him. He is highly intelligent. The coincidences will not go unnoticed.” The man’s face became contemplative and he scratched his chin. “We must use his own thoughts and feelings against him.”
The woman turned away and looked over the sunlit castle. Nowhere in Scotland had she ever seen such a magnificent fortress, yet few had ventured to visit since the Caenmore family had fallen into disgrace. She smiled with satisfaction. A few words whispered here . . . a rumor repeated there . . . For all those years, it had been a simple task to keep Cadedryn isolated from society. After such work, he should have been easy pickings—a cowed, insecure man who desperately sought approval from anyone. He should have been thankful to marry a woman such as Corine.