Adrienne Basso (21 page)

Finally his lips closed around the warm, moist center of her femininity. Grace cried out. “Ewan, I . . .” Her head jerked restlessly back and forth, her hips began moving in wild abandon.

Inflamed by her response, Ewan laved the tiny pearl nestled between her soft folds, stroking her with the urgency that was pounding through his own veins. Her taste and scent were arousing him to maddening pleasure. His cock had never felt so hard, his lust had never soared so high, so fast, so intensely.

Slowly. Slowly.
A sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip. She was wet, hot, and clearly ready for him, but he would bring her to pleasure with his mouth first. Ewan moved his tongue in a steady circle, allowing her whimpering cries and undulating hips to guide his actions.

It didn’t take long. He felt her release starting to shudder through her body and he doubled his efforts. “Let it happen,” he whispered. “Come fer me, Grace.”

He covered her completely with his mouth and she screamed. A long, loud, high-pitched keening wail of ecstasy. The sound of it filled Ewan’s heart in a way he never expected. Mine! Yet beneath the bolt of possessive fervor was a need to protect this woman with everything he could muster. To nurture and share this intense emotion. To love.

He shifted from between her legs. Rising to his knees, Ewan gazed down at her. Her breathing was still erratic, her eyes closed. One arm was splayed limply across her stomach, the other was resting against her forehead.

But for Ewan, the best gift of all was the sated, satisfied smile on her delectable lips.

Grace was floating. Her body felt weightless, awash in a sea of pleasure that surrounded her in total bliss. She opened her eyes and stretched her back. Moving the hand positioned across her forehead down to her chest, she laid her palm flat against her body and felt the wild beating of her heart.

That was . . . indescribable!
So many thoughts and strange emotions rumbled and collided through her mind. She wanted desperately to voice them, to talk to Ewan about what had just occurred, but coherent speech was beyond her at the moment.

Craving contact, she reached out and ran her hand down his thigh. Ewan jerked at her touch, his blue eyes flaring. His breathing was heavy and unsteady. It was then she realized how rigidly he was holding himself, how hard he was struggling to stay in control.

She stared at him with fascination, her senses coming to life. “Come, husband. Let us make some real noise.”

His mouth curved in a beautiful, conspiratorial smile as she reached for his tunic. It took little effort to remove his clothing, but there was no time to admire his muscular form. He pushed her against the mattress and leaned over her, bracing his elbows on either side of her head.

The hunger she saw in his eyes made her feel deliciously wanton—and powerful. Never before had she seen such desire reflected back at her from a man’s eyes. It erased any of the doubts that had started creeping into her head about how much Ewan wanted her. The truth was plain to see and it made her giddy with wicked delight.

A husky sound rumbled deep in Ewan’s chest as she molded her body to his. She kissed him, throwing every shred of longing she felt into the act, saying with her lips and tongue and body what words could not adequately express. He answered with another throaty moan and a hard thrust of his hips.

Boldly she nibbled at his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth and then slowly releasing it. Her fingers moved over his shoulders and muscled back, feeling the raised scars of his wounds. He was a warrior, a protector, and she knew that she could trust him with her life.

Hardly believing her daring, Grace continued her exploration, running her hands down to his trim waist, to his muscular buttocks. ’Twas a heady feeling to lie beneath such a strong man, his hard body pressed intimately against hers. Pushing the hair from his face, she smiled up at him, hoping to convey the depth of her emotions.

Her heart nearly melted when he smiled back, that boyish grin that made dimples appear in his cheeks and his eyes sparkle with mischief. Overcome with emotion, Grace swallowed, then shook her head. This was a joyful, rapturous moment between them. There was no cause for tears.

She kissed him playfully on the lips, then brought her hand down to touch the hardness between his legs. He groaned and bucked his hips. Grace smiled and stroked slowly upward with her fingertips, touching along the length of his penis.

He rumbled something in a harsh growl; Grace was too intent in her examination of his fascinating male appendage to try and understand him. She stroked him rhythmically, excited by the smooth velvet flesh, tantalized by the pulsing shaft that grew longer and thicker with every glide of her hand.

She stretched her body, pressing her breasts against the solid wall of his chest. She marveled at the feel of him, hard and heavy and solid, reveled in the heat that simmered between them. Teasingly, she rotated her hips, trapping him snuggly between her thighs. As tendrils of fire radiated through her body, she buried her fingers in his hair and drew his face close to her own.

“Kiss me,” she commanded, and he eagerly complied.

Her lips grew swollen from his endless kisses. With each one she arched herself into his hardness with complete abandon, breathlessly kissing him back. Her head was swimming in a haze of trembling excitement and it felt so good, so right.

“I can wait no longer, Grace,” Ewan rasped. He dropped his head and grazed her breasts with his teeth. “If ye aren’t ready fer me now, then ye’ll never be.”

She stifled a groan and shifted her legs. Ewan pushed them wide with his knees, settling himself between them. She could feel the tip of his hard penis seeking entrance. Ears ringing with a surge of anticipation, Grace reached up and cradled Ewan’s face between her hands, meeting his eyes, wanting their joining to include far more than merely their bodies. Silently, Ewan complied with her wish, allowing her to see the haze of desire shimmering in his eyes.

They stayed locked in place for a long moment and then suddenly, without any warning, he plunged into her. Tears misted her eyes—not from pain, but from joy. At the sight of them, Ewan ceased moving. “Am I hurting ye, lass?”

“Nay, oh, nay.” Grace wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “’Tis truly glorious.”

Her legs tightened and she wiggled her hips to show him she meant every word. Every part of her tingled with the feel of him stretching and filling her. Need pulsed through her, an ache that only Ewan could assuage. She caressed his back, her nails lightly trailing over the muscles as he rocked back and forth, urging him to continue. The slow thrusts quickly built in intensity. Grace raised her legs and Ewan growled, driving into her with deep, hard strokes, claiming her with a possession she found breathless.

He slid into her again and again, torturing her as he deftly maneuvered his hips.
By all the saints, the man had not exaggerated his skill or falsely boasted about his prowess.
Grace clung to him as he teased and played with her, bringing them both to the edge of release and then suddenly stopping. Prolonging the anticipation until they were both nearly out of their minds.

She felt herself reaching, straining for the pleasure that was just beyond her and then the white-hot sun burst over her. But this time it was far more beautiful, for Ewan joined her in bliss. She heard his strangled moan deep in his chest as he found his release, felt the hot, potent seed fill her womb.

He collapsed atop her, his body still pulsing inside her. She stroked his head soothingly, marveling at how utterly her life had changed, how rich and filled with promise it had become.

After a time, his harsh breathing slowed. Grace continued to pet him, wanting so much to hold and capture the moment. Yet she knew it could not last. She gave him one final hug, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment invading her heart, knowing what would happen next.

First, he’ll pull away. Next, he’ll kiss my cheek. Then the tent will fill with the sound of his snores.

Ewan lifted his head. Grace tensed, bracing herself.

“The first time, my lady wife, was a mere tease.” He nuzzled her neck. “Now we get serious.”

Chapter Twelve

Grace woke just as the dawn began to break. All was quiet both outside and inside the tent. Turning over, she felt privileged to witness a rare sight—Ewan reposed in sleep. He was sprawled on his back, his dark hair tousled, his limbs spread wide. Though they had joined their bodies together—several times last night—this act of sleeping together felt strangely more intimate.

For here, in this moment, Ewan was truly vulnerable. His guard was relaxed, his barriers lowered. Sitting up, Grace edged closer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. A faint trace of stubble darkened his angular cheekbones and framed his lips, curled now in a satisfied smile. He looked surprisingly boyish, though there was a weariness to the fine lines at the corner of his eyes that could not be ignored.

He was a man with responsibilities that were never completely abandoned or forgotten, even in sleep. Grace dabbed the sudden tears in her eyes, vowing that she would not become a burden to him. She would be agreeable and gracious, kind and noble. She would be a wife that made him proud, a companion that brightened his days, a lover that emboldened his nights.

Ewan released a soft sigh and shifted, causing the woolen blanket riding his hips to drop lower. Not one to overlook an opportunity, Grace enjoyed a leisurely perusal of his body. Broad shoulders, with long, lean muscles cording his arms and chest. There was an intriguing dusting of body hair on the top of his chest that continued over his abdomen and became a thin line from his navel down to where it disappeared beneath the covers.

Grace felt the familiar fluttering inside at the sight. She studied his face, marveling at all the perfectly formed details.
Beautiful
seemed such an odd word to describe such a hardened, tough warrior, but it fit him perfectly.

Ewan let out another sigh and shifted, turning away from her onto his side. A sudden wave of desolation washed over her. Needing to reestablish their connection, Grace slowly lowered herself until she too lay on her side, facing his broad back. Carefully she smoothed her hand over the raised scar on his shoulder, then traced another one on his side.

Badges of honor, no doubt acquired in battle. They stood as a testament to his skill and courage and a stark reminder of the violence that had marred Ewan’s life. ’Twas no wonder he longed for a different existence, away from war, away from conflict.

Gradually, she inched forward until she was pressed completely against him. His muscles were hard, unyielding. She skimmed her chin along the line of his shoulder and decided that she liked sharing her bed with him. Liked the feel of his warmth beside her; even the gentle sounds of his snores were a comfort.

She inhaled his scent and sighed, nuzzling her face into the wide space between his shoulder blades. Pleasure sparkled through her veins. It was strange sleeping with a man. Strange, yet wonderful.

The bed she had shared with Alastair had been large and wide. She had slept in it alone for most of their marriage, since Alastair had been off fighting with King Robert. Yet even when he was at home, they slept on opposite sides of it. There had been a distance between them that went beyond a physical separation. Alastair had been kind and affectionate and she the same, yet she never felt completely comfortable and relaxed in his presence.

Perhaps over time that might have changed. Perhaps not. Grace could never be certain. But now she had a chance to change the course of her future. She need never sleep alone again. She could lie down beside Ewan each night and wake up in the same place the following morning.

Grace smiled, deciding then and there this was something she very much wanted to continue doing—for the next fifty years or so.

Ewan woke to the feel of gentle fingers exploring his back. He grinned at the delightful sensation. ’Twas a dream come to life to feel those delicate, inquisitive fingers, made even better because they were Grace’s hands. His lady wife.

Jesus
—
he was married. To Grace.
She trusted him with her secrets and her safety. Finally, she was his and he would do all that was necessary to keep her.

An unknown emotion curled in his gut and he closed his eyes for a moment. Happiness? Excitement? Love? The last had him nearly choking. Troubadours and virgins spoke of love. Not warriors.

Still . . . ’twas hardly the worst thing in the world to love your wife. Brian McKenna was clear proof of that fact.

An unexpected image of his mother swam before his eyes. Huddled in front of a meager fire, her hands pressed over her face as she cried silent tears. Her moans of pain as she lamented the mistake of devotedly loving a man who had turned against her, who had failed to appreciate and return that love.

Aye, loving your wife was a fine aspiration. As long as she loved you, too.

Ewan swallowed. ’Twas clear that Grace was a woman slow to trust, slow to open her heart and let a man glimpse what she held inside. Could he win her heart? Could they build a life together that included love? The idea took root in his mind and swirled around. No doubt it was a risk. But was it a risk worth taking?

Grace’s breath whispered against the back of his neck and she murmured his name. A shiver of desire ran through him, diverting his thoughts. Love was something to ponder. Lust, on the other hand, was something he completely understood.

Grinning, Ewan turned onto his back. Need, mixed with yearning, filled him as he beheld his wife. Their eyes locked and for a moment he lost himself in their depths. She favored him with a sultry look that heated his blood, making his rod stand firm.

“Ride me,” he suggested, his voice husky.

Her long tresses covered part of her face, yet Ewan swore he saw her blush. She hesitated, her breath coming fast. He worried he might have shocked her, then bit his tongue before he uttered an apology. She had shown him last night that her passion was equal to his own, though she was not yet completely secure in her role as a wanton female. It was his duty to encourage that behavior.