"We're married. I believe I've already informed you of our shared assets. What's yours is mine, and I wanted to see the inside of my new home." His tone was as emotionless as ever, but when he turned to face her--his gaze burned.
What's more? "You're still hard." The words rushed from her, as unstoppable as a freight train.
He raised his chin, as if proud. "Partway, at least."
"You mean it gets bigger?" she asked, suddenly breathless.
He might have smirked. "A lot bigger."
Definitely smirked. "Is it...for me?" Please, please be for me. "Or for all the beauties at the feast?"
"I don't want those other women..." He roved his gaze over her breasts--her aching breasts--and between her legs, where she now throbbed. Then he added, "To die when you throw another jealous fit."
Who? What? How? Me? "As if you have room to talk! You were ready to murder William, the man you need to win your crown."
His nostrils flared. "This is true."
Wait. He'd just copped to his jealousy?
"I told myself I'd stay away," he continued, "that I'd avoid the cut of the sword, yet here I am, only a few short hours later, willing to deal with the complications and fallout. What do you think that says about me, lass? No, stay silent. Do not answer. I'll tell you what it says."
As her entire world seemed to pivot on its axis, he cupped his groin and grated, "Yes, this is for you. I want only you."
23
Puck's words echoed in Gillian's mind. Avoid the cut of a sword--that's how he saw her? A sword? Stay silent--how dare he issue such a command! Only you--her knees wobbled.
Then he stiffened, and she wanted to screech, because she knew what would happen next. He'd go cold.
"If you turn into Ice Man right now, I'll poison your next meal," she said.
Looking like the very definition of detached, he winged up a brow. "Keep acting like a shrew, and I'll willingly eat it."
Shrew? How dare he?!
Gillian stalked closer, certain she was a bomb--with a rapid countdown clock. But, as their gazes remained intertwined, neither challenger willing to glance away, her inhalations became his exhalations, and she realized they were breathing each other's air. Anger morphed into arousal.
Tremors ruined her attempt to appear unaffected. Tremors, and her ever-hardening nipples. Probably the passion-fever flushing her skin, as well.
Have gone so long without his touch. Need it.
As if he'd read her mind--and was more than happy to oblige--he jolted into action. Moving too quickly to track, he clasped her by the hips, backed her against the wall, and flattened his palms next to her temples. As his big body caged her in, the scent of masculine carnality enveloped her, and she felt her lids go heavy.
His muscular frame seemed to swell before her eyes. Suddenly he was bigger, stronger. Veins bulged as if he could barely hold himself in place--as if aggression filled him to the brim. The look he gave her...ravenous.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, and oh, she sounded eager. Already too turned on to care.
"I'm putting you where I want you."
Well, thank goodness for that. She liked where he wanted her. "So you do, in fact, desire me? You haven't reverted to the Ice Man?"
"I think the beast between my legs answers both questions, lass."
Her mouth curled up at the corners. "Did the king of apathy just crack a joke?"
"He merely spoke the truth." As he toyed with the ends of her hair, he tickled her scalp. "I used to summon ice to prevent punishment from the demon. Now I do it to protect us all. You should be grateful for it. If I did even half of the things I'm imagining..."
Summon the ice, he'd said. He truly froze his emotions? How? Magic?
"What kind of punishment?" The weakness he'd once mentioned? "And protect us all from what?" she asked, then the rest of his words registered and she shivered. What did he imagine doing to her?
His eyes narrowed, and he stiffened.
All right. He could keep his secrets. For now. "Sometimes you thaw, though. I've seen it."
A nod. "The ice doesn't melt on its own. I require an outside source to make me feel something hot. Like rage."
"Or desire." Desperate for contact with him, needing to gauge his degree of arousal, she placed her hand just over his heart. Hot skin, like molten gold poured over granite. Racing heartbeat.
His desperation matches mine. The knowledge sent feminine power rushing through her.
He took her by the wrist and lifted her hand--pinned her arm above her head. "Touching the bird tattoo is--"
"Off-limits." Yes, she remembered. "Why?"
"Because I said so."
Fair enough. Again, for now. Later... "What if, one day, you stop feeling entirely and remain the Ice Man?"
"I've often wondered the same, but right now I cannot imagine being in a deep freeze ever again." He brushed the tip of his nose against hers. "You are no longer afraid of intimacy."
"No."
"The strength you needed to overcome your past traumas. The strength you need. I'm in awe of you, lass."
Those words... Groaning, she undulated to rub her core against his massive erection. "So you've got me where you want me, warrior, and you're in total awe of me. Whatever are you going to do with me?" How she found the wits to speak, she wasn't sure. Want more. Need it.
He hissed, his grip flexing on her wrist. "I'm going to have you. I'm also going to let you go one day soon."
Were the words a promise or a warning? Did he hope to frighten or entice her? Like, Hey baby, you don't have to worry about me becoming a clingy stalker because I'm going to bail ASAP.
"Wrong. I'm going to have you," she said, "and let you go one day soon." I won't be used and abused. I'll hump and dump.
Something dark and primal flashed over his expression. "You are mine. Say it."
He could dish it, but not eat it? "I'm--" she hesitated, giving anticipation a chance to build inside him "--my own."
Was that thick, drugged tone really hers?
Well, why not? She'd wanted this man for centuries. And now, here he was, hers for the taking. They were so close they actually shared space. So close she could feel passion-currents rushing along his skin.
Any time she inhaled, her nipples brushed against his chest, sparking heat and friction. Any time she exhaled, her hips arched of their own accord, seeking more contact, more friction.
Puck took her face in his hand, his thumb on one side of her chin, his fingers on the other. An aggressive hold, and yet, still she wasn't afraid. "If you will not tell me you are mine, you'll show me."
He didn't wait for her response, but released the arm he'd pinned overhead to squeeze her ass with splayed fingers--covering as much ground as possible--at the same time swooping down to claim her mouth. This wasn't an easy exploration but a fierce demand. A stamp of ownership unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Between sensuous forays of his tongue, he massaged the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
Waited so long for this. The sweetness of his flavor maddened her. He was a drug. Her drug. All masculine heat and hardness, devastating her senses. Little mewling sounds escaped her as she wrapped her arms around him and rocked her core against him, again and again, unable to stop the motion. Every new collision with his erection made her hotter, wetter.
More. I need more. Five hundred years of frustration had turned her wanton. Or maybe Puck had done the honors? "Touch me. Touch me now," she demanded.
"Tell me where."
"Inside. Go for gold now, savor later."
/> "To me, all of you is gold."
"Inside," she insisted.
"What if I wish to play with your breasts first, hmm?" He reached under her leather halter to knead a breast and toy with a nipple.
"Please, Puck. Please."
"The warrioress pleads with me now. She is needful." With his free hand, he delved under the hem of her leather skirt. "Very well. You'll get what you're begging for."
As his fingers skimmed her inner thigh, she clawed at his back, probably drawing blood. So good!
"Between your legs...like this?" One of those exploring fingers edged closer to her core, only to dart away just before contact.
He teased her? Now? Different impulses hit her, one after the other. Free his erection, and grind. Walk away, leaving him aching for all the centuries he'd spent away from her. For this! Throw him down and ravish him.
"Do it," she commanded. "Feed me your fingers."
He obeyed, those naughty fingers shoving her panties aside, parting her and driving into her aching core.
With a voice like smoke dusted gravel, he said, "You are soaked for me."
Gillian's knees gave out entirely; if not for the hand pressed between her legs, the heel of Puck's palm rubbing against her little bundle of nerves while his fingers probed, she would have fallen and...and... "Don't stop! Please, don't stop."
He thrust a second finger deep inside her, and she went off like a rocket. Just like that. Just boom, finished. Finally! "Yes, yes, yes!" The most sublime pleasure exploded inside her, leaving no part of her unaffected. And he wasn't done! As she came apart, he continued thrusting those fingers, scissoring them to stretch her before feeding her a third, prolonging her climax--enriching it.
A scream fled past her lips, but he swallowed the sound and deepened the kiss. Good thing. He possessed the oxygen she needed.
William was right. Kisses were survival.
Inner walls clenched and unclenched. Her mind fogged, derailing her thoughts. Languid heat stole through her, a thief in the night, stealing all reason, leaving her limp and gloriously satisfied.
But the satisfaction didn't last long. Gillian only wanted more. More Puck. More passion. More contentment. Nothing compared. One orgasm wasn't enough. She desperately needed another. She needed sex. Now. Right now. No more waiting.
Except, when she reached for the waist of his pants, he lifted his head to meet her gaze, his irises bright and wild, set ablaze, and she stilled. With his tangled black hair, he looked as crazed as she felt. Crazed, and hauntingly beautiful. Flawless of form and face. Absolute male perfection--a man transfixed by a woman. Needful of her, and her alone. No others would do.