“Are ye sure?” he asked, his throbbing manhood poised at the entrance of her wet, quivering sheath.
“Yes,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Yes.”
Morgana wanted him in a way she had never wanted anyone else. As he had explored her body she recalled the vividly erotic dream she’d had of him before it had turned to a nightmare, and it had only fueled her need. Never had she felt so safe, so in control of her body as she did when she was with Gregor.
Gathering her up in his arms, Gregor kissed her until she was dizzy and moaning. Only then did he thrust his engorged shaft deep inside her. At first, Morgana was blinded by the searing pain of her innocence being spilt. It bloomed in her abdomen like an angry red flower, threatening to steal her joy in the moment.
Then, as he began to rock his hips back and forth, the pain subsided and was soon replaced with an rising pleasure. Her uncomfortable gasps soon became heady moans, and she rested her ankles at the back of his knees to spread her legs wider. Pleasure unlike any she could have fathomed filled her from the tips of her toes all the way to the top of her head as they began to make love.
Morgana could sense Gregor’s need growing as he brought them both close, and it sent a thrill down her spine. His manhood ached to go faster, harder, and she wanted him to. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she innocently flicked her hips to see what it would do.
To her pleasure Gregor moaned deeply at her little tease, and took her bait. Suddenly he thrust himself even deeper, his impressive member stretching her deliciously. She could feel the tip of him prodding her womb, and it made a fresh wave of juices trickle over the both of him.
“Yes,” she moaned, her hips moving with his now. “Yes!” Morgana’s mind went peacefully blank then, blocking out any memories that didn’t involve Gregor’s pleasure-filled touch. Together they moved faster, harder, bringing one another closer to the precipice.
“Morgana,” Gregor groaned, his hand fisted tightly into her hair as his hips began to piston faster. When he came, she felt his explosion barrel into her, pumping his seed deep into her belly and filling her with warmth.
“Right then, come here you,” Gregor commanded, holding out his hand. After they had made love for the first time, they had lounged in bed speaking in affectionate whispers until he asked if she was ready to move. Thinking he meant to the table, she said yes, and was surprised when he had picked her, and carried her to his tub.
Morgana relaxed a little as Gregor smiled at her, and she took his hand. Gently he helped her lower herself into the tub. The cool water was cleansing, and it eased the soreness in her lower abdomen.
Though she had never been with another man, Gregor’s manhood had been…impressive to the say the least. In fact, even without proof she was quite sure that he was much larger than the average man.
Gregor stayed with her, washing her gently with soap and sponge until she could barely keep her eyes open any longer. Then, he held out a clean linen for her and wrapped her up tight in it. Back in bed, she passed out before her head even hit the pillow.
The next morning, Morgana awoke to her and Gregor curled tightly around each other. For a moment she thought about getting up, but found herself too comfortable in the embrace to move. Instead, she nuzzled her head back down on to his chest and thought about the night’s events.
After he had burst, Gregor had once more performed magic with his fingers to bring her another explosion of pleasure. Only after she was given her sweet release did he release her to clean her proof of her innocence off of her thighs. At first Morgana felt shame in the mess, but Gregor quickly made her feel at ease with it.
After making sure she and the bed were cleaned, he had pulled her once more into his arms. For the rest of the night, they kissed softly and cuddled into one another until she could no longer keep her eyes open. Even then as she drifted off, she felt Gregor’s fingers trailing slowly up and down her back, making her feel safe and relaxed.
For several long moments Morgana was at ease just lying in bed cuddled with Gregor and absorbing the warm summer morning. However, when Gregor’s manhood began to stir and harden, her wicked curiosity got the best of her. Pulling back the blankets, Morgana glanced down to see what exactly it was that brought her so much pleasure the night before.
Gregor’s engorged shaft pulsated as he slumbered, and Morgana wondered how he could possibly be asleep through it. The member had grown so hard that it stood straight up, nearly reaching his navel. At the throbbing red tip, little crystal beads were trickling out of his opening.
Intrigued, Morgana reached down and brushed her fingertips over his shaft. Immediately his member bobbed, and although he didn’t wake, Gregor moaned in his sleep. A wicked sense of pleasure as she watched his reaction, and she decided she wanted to feed her curiosity more.
This time when Morgana reached down and she wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft, barely able to make a fist around it. Slowly, she began to move her palm up and down, stroking the sensitive member from the base all the way to the tip, making more of those dewdrops glisten out of him.
In his sleep Gregor moaned, a low, primal sound that instantly made Morgana wet and curious for more. Stroking him up and down with her hand, she felt her arousal begin to build again, and continued her exploration. Slowly, Gregor began to rouse from his slumber.
“Good morning,” she greeted sweetly, peering up at him with a smile.
Gregor moaned, and his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer.
“What did ye find there, lass?” he asked, his voice a seductive mixture of arousal, humor, and sleepiness. Gregor’s mouth whispered kisses along her forehead, but he made no move to stop her from touching him.
“Does this feel good?” she asked, stroking him. Gregor began to laugh, but it dissolved into a moan when she gently squeezed him.
“Ye insatiable thing,” he whispered, capturing her mouth with his own.
Morgana moaned, reveling in the feeling of his lips against hers. Boldly she threw her leg over his hips, and in response he grasped her by the thighs and dragged her fully up onto his torso. Straddled atop his hips, she felt his length pulsating between her legs, and began to rock her hips slowly back and forth.
She gasped and moaned as shivers of pleasure ran up through her body. Slowly she gyrated her hips, her soft petals straddling his manhood. Beneath her Gregor lay relaxed, letting her take her time with her exploration. His hands ran small traces over her skin, worshipping her back, her waist, and her breasts.
Every touch sent pleasure coursing through her, coaxing her to continue. When she couldn’t take anymore, Morgana eased her hips up just enough so that the head of his member could rest at her sheath, then held herself there. She wanted him to be inside of her again, to fill her and move inside of her like the night before, but she was too shy to ask.
“Show me what ye want lass,” he whispered, nibbling her ear. Between her legs, she felt his hips flick suddenly, causing his manhood to nudge at her opening, and she moaned.
“I–I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, slightly ashamed of her need and novice.
Gregor chuckled, the seductive sound driving her arousal even further. He gripped her hips with his hands and with his own, slowly thrust himself up into her hot, tight sheath, filling her once more. Immediately she felt her walls moisten and clamp around him, as if locking him in place.
“Gregor,” she moaned, pleasure flooding her as he began to move his hips beneath her. At first they rocked together slowly, his hips taking them an easy, intimate pace as their mouths parted and came together in sultry kisses.
After a few moments she began to grow bolder, moving her hips faster and rising herself up to sit proudly at his hips. Gregor’s eyes glowed with heat as he looked at her, and he gave her complete control to ride him. With each rise and fall of her hips, the soreness from the night before dissolved into immense pleasure. Once more she felt the spring in her belly tighten.
“Morgana,” Gregor groaned, his fingertips digging into her hips. “Lass, ye’ll make me spill.”
His voice, so full of erotic need was like music to Morgana’s ears, and she began to flick her hips faster. She knew that she should slow down, that she should let him catch his breath, but the pleasure in her mons was growing, and she could feel the spring about to release.
Together they began to move faster, more urgently. In a flurry of arms and legs, Gregor rolled her beneath him to take control. His hips began to piston harder and faster, driving them both to the brink in a matter of seconds.
When she came, her orgasm rippled throughout her entire body, causing her tight, wet sheath to clamp around him and milk his shaft. Quickly he followed her, shooting his seed deep into her womb as they both gave in to their need.
For several moments after they simply laid there, locked in place and catching their breath. Morgana’s body felt tingly and languid sprawled out beneath him, and she wondered what it would be like to be there all day. Would it be so bad to be confined to Gregor’s bed? Letting him explore her as she explored him?
She didn’t know much about sex, but what she had learned in the last eight hours had been quite the fun lesson, and she was eager for more. If given days to explore, there was no telling what other delightful lessons she could learn. She certainly enjoyed how they left her mind blank and her body relaxed.
As Gregor kissed down her neck, he asked what she was thinking. When she told him he chuckled, and told her he would love to do just that. As he did so his mouth travelled back down to her breasts, his tongue performing delicious acts over her nipples.
“We have to get up,” she laughed softly, her fingers stroking his hair. “I have to check on Zeus.”
“Dae we though?” Gregor asked, continuing his ministrations. “As the Laird of Henwen I feel I could choose to spend the day in bed worshipping me betrothed if I so wanted.”
Morgana smiled at his words. His betrothed. It had such a lovely sound to it. Though they weren’t really engaged, she still enjoyed the sound of it, perhaps even enjoyed acting like it. Even if it wasn’t real, she decided to be thankful for the affection and protection that Gregor’s little white lie had brought her.
Chapter 22
Devil Horns Falls
Father Monahan looked wildly around the darkened tent, searching for anything that could help him get loose from his bonds. With no light and limited leash though, his efforts once more proved useless. It had been two days since a guard had last come to bring him food or water, and he could feel his body collapsing in on itself. If he didn’t get water soon, he feared the worst.
When Sir Fordun had first demanded that Father Monahan come with them, he had felt an overwhelming sense of pride fill him. He had been chosen by the great witch-hunter himself to help him on his quest to slay Morgana, and had thought it was a privilege. Within the first day of traveling however, he realized he had made a horrible mistake.
At first he had questioned the man, asking him why he would retreat. When he was met with nothing but silence he then tried to question the guards, but they too acted as if he didn’t exist. Wanting answers, he had ridden back up to Sir Fordun’s horse and demanded to know where they were going and why they were turning their back on the witch.
In response Sir Fordun swung his metal-gloved hand out, backhanding the priest so strongly that it knocked him off of his horse and into the dirt. Fordun hadn’t even spared him a backwards glance as he ordered his guards to gag and bind him before setting him atop his horse.
Father Monahan had scrambled like a fly trying to get loose from a spider’s web, but Fordun’s men had seized him roughly to do as they were told. By the time he had been sat back up on his horse he had been gagged, tied, and given several more bruises. The rest of the journey hadn’t been any kinder.
Each night they stopped for camp he was tied to a post in a small tent with no sleeping roll or even a blanket. His gag was only taken out when someone brought him food or water, and he had learned quickly that if he attempted to call for help the rations would be replaced with more beatings.
They had travelled like that for what seemed like an eternity, and then two days ago someone had ripped off his blindfold and gag, revealing that they had arrived at a set of waterfalls. Though there were no falls near Henwen, the priest had seen them before in his travels to Rome and found them to be beautiful.
The ones they had come to however were nothing like the ones that he had remembered from the Italian countryside, which told him that they were nowhere near where they were supposed to be. His last shred of hope in Fordun died then, and he realized his fate.
“Simply breathtaking isn’t it?” Fordun had asked him, his smile crazed. “They’re called The Devil’s Horns. Rather fitting don’t you think?”
“What are ye going to dae to me?” he had asked. Fordun had simply laughed and shrugged.
“Whatever I need to,” he had replied, already walking away from him.
Fordun had brought them to the base of twin waterfalls that had descended from so high above they appeared to be raining from the clouds themselves. In the large pool where the water cascaded, there was a large vortex that pulled water down into an unknown abyss. Surrounding the embankment was a thick swatch of cattails and several large rocks; one of which was stained a disturbing red.
Father Monahan knew, when he saw that rock, that he had made the ultimate mistake. Whatever was about to happen to him was not an act of Godly salvation, but retribution. He had let his fear of Morgana’s beauty and gifts drive him into the very arms of the devil, and now he had to pay the price.
Outside of the tent the priest heard footsteps approaching, and he quickly positioned himself back at the pole. The flap opened to two guards, each holding a torch. The bright light burned Father Monahan’s eyes, and he shrunk away from them.
“Time to get up,” the one said gruffly, cutting him free from his tether. “Lord Fordun wants to see you.”
“He’s nae a laird, he’s a devil,” Father Monahan shot back, ripping his elbow out of the man’s grip. His backtalk was met with sharp punch to his gut, and he doubled over in pain as he fought to draw breath into his lungs, but the man gripped the back of his robes and forced him to stand upright.
“I suggest you call him whatever it is he wants you to call him,” the guard advised, his voice full of disgust. “This is not a man you want to upset.”
Not waiting for him to reply, the guards dragged him out of the tent. Outside he was met with the bright glow of a massive bonfire and the sound of chanting. Standing around the bonfire in a large ring were Fordun’s guards. Fordun himself was standing in a smaller circle between them and the fire, his arms outstretched, and his head flung back toward the sky. He was naked from the waist up, and had a strange symbol drawn in dark red on his chest.
“What is this?” Father Monahan asked, digging his heels into the ground. In response to his indignation the guards merely lifted him up until his feet were dangling only inches from the ground and carried him that way.
“Ah, dear priest,” Fordun greeted. The guards surrounding him had broken the circle just enough to allow him to be brought in. Once there his two captors flung him harshly to the ground and quickly exited.
“I’m so glad you’re finally ready to join us.”
“What is the meaning of this?” The priest asked again, fear coursing through him as he looked wildly around the scene. “Are ye the devil? Dae ye even hunt witches at all?”
Fordun laughed, and shook his head. “Of course I do,” he replied, taking a step closer. “They just aren’t the only people I hunt.”
Father Monahan looked around, frantically looking for anything he could use to defend himself. In a moment of desperation, he lunged for a stick from the fire, but was met with a punch in the stomach so forceful he dry heaved as he buckled to his knees.
“Pick him up,” Fordun commanded, sounding bored. His gu
ards did as they were told, dragging him to the center of the circle of salt that Fordun had placed on the ground. The moment they let him go he tried to rush out of it, but an invisible forced stopped him.
“Please,” the priest begged, becoming frantic. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything.”
“I’m afraid that can’t happen,” Fordun replied, feigning sympathy. “But don’t you worry.” He drew a dagger from a sheath at his side.
“This will all be over very soon. I wish I could tell you it wouldn’t hurt, but I would be lying.”
Father Monahan’s pleas were cut off when a cloth was tied over his mouth. In front of him, Fordun began speaking Latin as he read from a small, black book. At first the priest could understand him, knowing the language himself, but after only a short time his words came faster, lower. Soon he wasn’t able to understand the man at all, but could only watch in horror as real evil manifested itself.
Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 15