Gunnar picked up his pace, fucking her with abandon as she moved below him.
"Don't stop," she said. Her voice was low and breathy, as sexual as he'd ever heard a woman. He plowed into her, each thrust meeting them, it seemed, deeper than the last. Gunnar could feel his second release approaching, could feel the pull of need. One of his hands moved to her throat, pressing down. Asserting his dominance.
She was his, and he would make her his. He pushed inside again. Harder. Stronger. He could see the pleasure written across her face, feel her pushing back against him as he fucked her. Then, with a last hard push, he exploded inside her.
A moment of deep, harsh breathing, and then he bent down to kiss her. His.
She was finally his.
Twenty-Three
Gunnar rolled to the side of her and they laid together, both breathing hard. The thoughts and anxieties that had been running through her head since nearly the moment that she was called to leave her cozy little cottage were… oddly quiet. It was a comforting sort of silence.
Even the sounds of fighting had died down, and now everything in the night had settled into a heavy stillness that rested on her like a blanket. Deirdre's entire body tingled with the last stirrings of pleasure, and for a moment she thought she might turn over to have another go at trying to find her place with Gunnar.
Instead she turned on her side, noticing that her breasts spilled out of the top of her dress, but not especially caring. Watching him was an experience in itself. Sweat slicked his forehead, matting thin strands of hair that fell into his face down.
His chiseled features were distinctly foreign. Nothing English about them. And yet, Deirdre thought, they seemed somehow perfectly suited. As if she'd been waiting all these years for him, and now that he'd arrived he was everything that she'd expected.
The thought that within an hour she'd be far, far away from here only helped to calm her further. She could have fallen asleep if she wanted to, just closed her eyes and let herself drift away. Absolutely perfect.
She watched Gunnar pull himself up to seated with his powerful abdomen. Before a month ago, she'd never met a man with so many muscles, except perhaps the blacksmith. All she had to recall him was when she'd been eight, and the memory was patchy.
Even what she did remember, he was nothing like her Gunnar—it threw her to think of him that way. She hadn't asked for him. Hadn't particularly wanted him. And then, over the weeks, something had changed.
No use thinking like that, she chastised herself. It's only going to get you hurt. Let things happen, and when the dust settles, that's how it will be.
The way
he was looking at her, though, was a little upsetting. Something was wrong. Something that set off every alarm bell in her head.
"What's wrong?"
"There's a problem."
Deirdre had already felt this once before. As if her heart was stopping in her chest. The knowledge that whatever was about to happen, it wasn't going to be what she'd planned on.
Problem? They were past problem. She'd thought that they had solved what few problems she had left just now. More problems?
She didn't say that. She was quite proud of how well she managed to keep herself in check, actually, considering how furious she felt.
"The English know they're coming."
She held back the desire to answer 'So?' This was something that was important to him. Anyone could tell that. But why did she need to worry about it? What was the point of sneaking around if he was just going to join back up?
If he wasn't going to join back up, how exactly did he expect to help them deal with this?
"There's an ambush. Less than two hours' march north. They'll be wiped out."
Deirdre could see on his face that he was struggling to come out with whatever it was, but her blood was beginning to boil.
"So you want me to deal with the fallout, is that right?"
His lips drew a line straight across his face, showing his discomfort—but he didn't deny it.
"What do you expect me to do? Protect them with my magical safety bubble?"
"Just stay with them, try to save as many as you can. Please. It's not fair—"