If You Dare (27 page)

He leaned forward, careful to keep his shaft from touching her below, and placed his forehead against hers. “I canna do this tae you.”

She tensed; he felt it strongly. “You don't find me desirable.”

He reared back, shocked that a woman like her could
ever
draw that conclusion. “That's no' it.”

She turned her face away. “I'm waiting to make love to you, we both are unclothed in bed together, and you won't? I think it's because you've decided you don't want me.”

He snatched her hand and shoved it against his cock.
“Can you no' feel how much I want you?”

The minute she wrapped her fingers around him, her body went languid, and she looked up at him dreamily. “Now you're just trying to distract my thoughts. To pacify me, when we've learned how much I like this.”

He struggled for words.
Pacify
her? His brows drew together. It was important that she realize something . . . What was it? . . . Ah! “I vow tae you that I want you—”

“No, I think I understand what you're trying to tell me,” she murmured, never taking her eyes from her slow strokes. “You're a big man. You need a woman who is a match to you. Like with horses.”

“That's no' the issue—” He couldn't bloody speak when she looked at his cock . . . longingly, with regret.

She sighed. “I must be like a runt compared to strong Scottish women.”

He'd meant to be good. He'd meant to be noble to her.

“I will show you how desirable I find you. How perfect you are tae me . . .”

With flicks of his tongue, he kissed her neck, down to her breasts, stopping to lavish attention on her nipples. He loved how sensitive she was there, how much she craved that. Another night he would suckle her until she came. He'd fanta-sized about pressing his fingers into her only to savor her already squeezing.

He moved down her body, kissing her flat belly, forcing himself to pull his shaft out of her hand, though her fingers tightened on him to prevent him, and then her hand reached out, patting blindly for it, a reaction that pleased him mightily.

Finally, he rested his chest on the bed between her legs and cupped her bottom.

“MacCarrick?” she asked nervously.

With the first exquisite taste of her, his hands squeezed too hard. He was starving for her, but didn't want to frighten her. He forced himself to break away, to get control.

“What is this?” she cried. “You can't do this!”

She tried to wriggle out of his grip when he lowered his mouth to her once more. A long, leisurely run of his tongue, feeling her soft flesh. His eyes closed in pleasure.

She gasped, outraged. “You must stop at once.”

“Anna”
—her name came out like a growl—
“no force on earth could stop me.”

“You,” she began with a wavering breath, “you enjoy? . . .”

“Tasting you?”

She squirmed in embarrassment. “Yes!”

“I could lie between your legs and kiss you all night. But does this please you?” he asked before rubbing his tongue against her once more.

“No!”

He pulled back. “Liar.”

“It's wrong.”

“But does it please you?”

“It mustn't!”

“Let go. Let me bring you pleasure.”

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. “I can't.”

“Then all I ask is for you tae give me one last kiss and then I'll stop.”

In a pained voice, she finally said, “Very well.”

He bent down to her once more, licking gently, lulling her, before shocking her with the thrust of his tongue inside her. She arched off of the bed, moaning.

“Shall I stop?”

Her eyes still closed, Anna impatiently waved him on with the flick of her small hand.

He grinned smugly, then kissed her once more, sampling her, glancing up, loving her growing response.

It wasn't long before her taste was making him crazed and he was slowly grinding his hips against the bed. He spread her legs wide before him, forcing her to open to everything he wanted to do, and took her thoroughly, unable to get enough. Her head was thrashing, and she was lost now, needing to come.

He knew how much she wanted to, and it made him bear down on her madly, with little more thought than that of an animal. He removed his hands from her thighs and vaguely realized he was reaching for her breasts. With a groan, he put his arms to each side of her and clenched the sheets, head down, taking her with abandon.

She tried to pry them loose.

He broke away.
“No.
I'm no' . . . myself. I'll hurt you.”

“Take.
Please.”
She said the last as a moan, and placed his hands over her breasts.

Palming them, he groaned against her, tongue back to her soft, slick flesh, and she began to come under his lips, arching
her back, pressing her breasts into his hands and grasping his head. Her cries had him bucking against the bed with need of her.

He moved to take her waist, to hold her steady, and watched, awed, as she skimmed her hands up her torso and brushed twice over her tight nipples before her arms fell over her head. She was completely lost to what he was doing to her, and nothing had ever affected him so. He kissed her with all the hunger he felt, wringing her, making her come longer, to a torturing degree, until her quivering finally eased and she went limp.

Reluctant to remove his lips from her skin, he lavished attention to her thighs and hips, then lay beside her so her breasts were just before him.

“Wait, MacCarrick,” she said in sultry voice. “What about you? Did you? . . .”

“I'm fine,” he grated before circling her nipple with his tongue. He would be. Because he was going to wait until she slept and then take care of himself. He would never ask her to finish him now, not after the thwarted time in the coach and then after his taking her this way tonight. He had no idea what would happen when he finally got to spend, having never ached for it so furiously—

“MacCarrick, I feel grateful to you, very grateful because of these things you've shown me—”

“You feel
grateful
tae me for this?” He'd take much more away—he'd replay this over and over in his mind for the rest of his life, starting as soon as she slept.

“Yes, and I will feel uncomfortable unless I can reciprocate.” She placed herself under his arm, and rested her face against his chest. His body thrumming, he laid back and held her close, vowing he wouldn't ask her to make him come, even while feeling her breaths on him and shuddering. . . .

She began walking her fingers down his chest.
His nerves were screaming, his mind begging . . .

“Ah, God, yes!”
His back arched, his whole body rigid, when she handled him.

She stroked him as they'd done in the coach, her grip hard, as he liked it. He couldn't make her stop—he was too far gone. Apologies in advance.

She moved so slowly. Tormenting him up and down. Hard, tight, but slow. Torture. Didn't matter. He'd still come. He'd be insane, but . . .

His voice low and wretched, he rasped, “Whatever you do—whatever I do—doona take your hand from me. . . .”

“I won't. But I thought,” she began in a whisper before flicking her tongue against his chest, “I should lick and kiss
you
now?”

The thought of her licking his—

He erupted in her grasp, yelling out, heels digging into the bed and back arching, pumping his seed onto his torso. He reached around to seize her breast—clutching it, pawing it—and bent down to take her lips and tongue in a raw kiss. He ground against her hand, relentless, groaning between thrusts of his tongue, then tensing until there was nothing left of him.

It seemed hours before the world righted itself, and he finally stopped shuddering and released her breast and lips. “Did I hurt you? Did I hurt your arm?”

“No, not at all,” she answered, her voice unsteady.

He put his fingers under her chin to bring her face up again, needing to know how she reacted to his total loss of control—and to her first sight of a man spending. Would she be disgusted? Upset?

No, her eyes were excited, her breathing rapid, as if she'd just witnessed a miracle. His brows drew together. He wasn't a modest man, but he didn't know how to feel about her expression of utter delight for him spilling in front of her.
Should've been a means to an end,
something that occurred
as it would've in the coach, but she looked as though it was a trick she'd want him to perform every night for her. Worse, she looked
at him . . .
differently.

He pulled his shaft from her hand and his arm from under her, then left the bed, swooping the top sheet with him.

And he certainly didn't like that he had to wipe himself off while her gaze followed his every movement, her eyes wide and curious. He threw the sheet in the corner, then returned to bed. Not close to her.

If she noticed, she didn't act like it. She crawled to him, putting her head back on his chest. “That was amazing,” she whispered.

“It's no' exactly a feat.”

“Why didn't you make love to me? Am I too small?”

“No,” he said, in half truth. He'd never thought he would curse his size before he'd been between her spread legs, glaring down at himself.

“Then why didn't you? Were you afraid to get me with child?”

“That's no' the reason.” He wished that was the reason.

“Then what?”

“You still have your virtue. Your future husband will demand that.”

“Husband? I don't know if you realize this, but being kidnapped by a gang of mercenaries severely curtailed my husband hunt.”

“You could go to America. Marry a rich man there.”

“I don't want to go to America.”

“I read your letters, Anna.”

She stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I read the one from the railroader's daughter writing about her brother.” The brother had planned to ask Llorente
for Annalía's hand. “I've heard of their name before. They have more money than the queen. You could go there—”

“Aleix already turned down his suit.”

“Did he, then?” he said, his voice deadened. Why should that surprise him? Court had obviously lost his mind during those moments when he'd thought,
What if I just keep her?
Lost his mind thinking she might come to want him for more. “Still, there are options, but only if you're . . . intact.”

“Would you demand that of me?” She rolled over on her stomach and propped her chin on her hand. “If you were to be my husband?”

I'd take you any way I could get you,
he thought again. “I doona consider those kinds of things.”

“Why?”

“Because I never plan to marry.”

“Did a woman hurt you?”

“No.”

“I don't believe you. Why else wouldn't you want a woman to have all your own?”

“No woman's hurt me.”

“So the issue is that you don't want
one
woman. You want your harem.”

If she only knew. . . . After tonight, she'd
ruined
him.
Her hands brushing her nipples as he took her with his mouth.
Inward shake. “Why settle for one when you can have many?”

“It isn't as if men stop having other women after marriage.”

With you as his wife, this one would.

“But it's been repeatedly explained to me that though a man might require others, he has the need to possess one woman to call his own, the need to protect her and any children they have. It must be so, because both marriages and
affairs go on. If you ignore that need, you'll miss out on so much, MacCarrick,” she said softly but with conviction. She curled up next to his side again and laid her arm over his chest. His eyes briefly closed with pleasure.

“Enough of this talk.” Perhaps before he let her go, he would explain to her that not all men were like that. That she should expect better.

Let her go.

Let passionate, brave, beautiful Anna go. She'd come along as punishment, no doubt. For all his sins. She was his perfect torment.

“So after you reunite me with my brother, you will just leave me behind like all the others.”

He didn't hesitate. “Aye.”

“Then I thank you for not ruining me further. Because I
will
have a family and children.”

Barely hiding his exasperation, he asked, “Then why had you no' married earlier?”

“I won't tell you—you'll think I'm silly.”

“Tell me.” When she didn't answer, he squeezed her to him. She sighed. “I was waiting for someone . . . for someone I could love. I know you probably think it's a fanciful notion, but I've seen it.”

Court had too. His parents had been mad for each other. “Then you could marry where you chose to?”

She nodded against his chest. “In the beginning, yes, but I couldn't find anyone, so the choice was taken from me. After Pascal, I understand how vulnerable I am as long as I'm unwed.”

He'd avoided asking her about her future because he'd known he wouldn't like her answer, but now he said, “What will happen to you once your brother retrieves you?”

She yawned, then murmured in a drowsy voice, “He'll take me to Castile and get the family to find a husband for me
who'll overlook the scandal. I suppose it won't be so bad.” She ran her smooth thigh over his legs, relaxing against him, her body warming for sleep. “MacCarrick,” she whispered, drifting, “if I'd known husbands touch like you do, I'd have been much more eager to wed.”

Court, the blackheart, the mercenary who'd sell his sister for a pound, just took a direct hit to the chest.