Somewhere near dawn, she stirred, and blinking in confusion, she opened those glorious blue eyes to stare at him. The smile that was forming on her lips froze and she grew rigid for an instant before memory assailed her.
When she tried to pull away from him, he couldn’t stop himself, but kissed her, long and hard.
Sorcha felt his powerful arms surround her and the sweet pressure of his lips on hers. Her own mouth opened and his tongue slid gently between her teeth, touching and probing, creating feelings within her as magical as this crumbling old building.
A gray light began to invade the forest, and mist rose toward the trees, cloaking the cottage in its thin lacy veil.
Hagan’s body was warm and inviting, his lips possessive, and though she knew she was wading in dangerous waters, she could not stop herself from taking the next step, through the ripples and over the ledge if needs be. Her mind was already swimming when he reached beneath the mantle and felt her skin.
Goose bumps rose on her flesh and he touched her breast, causing the nipple to stiffen. He took in a swift breath as his thumb grazed the dark bud, and a liquid warmth rolled deep within Sorcha. She felt the mantle being stripped away, shoved beneath her as a blanket, knew that she was naked beneath him and didn’t care. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, running his slick tongue over her skin, tasting of her and making her shiver with desire.
She knew she wouldn’t stop him, they’d come too often to this precipice only to pull back, but this time, alone in the woods, with the embers of the fire glowing red and the forest coming alive with the morning, she couldn’t resist.
He took her breast into his mouth, teasing with his tongue, nipping gently with his teeth, until she arched upward, her spine bowing as she strived to get closer to him.
He kissed her and ran his hands along her body. “Not yet, little one,” he whispered as skilled hands skimmed her rump, then grazed the inside of her thighs.
Something hot and moist blossomed within her and she bucked. Her eyes were open and she watched while with one hand he caressed her, and with the other he tore off his own clothes. His body, hard and sinewy, gleamed in the firelight, and a thin sheen of sweat covered hard muscles.
Her throat felt as if a noose were slowly tightening over her neck as she watched him. Though her own body was screaming for more and she was shivering in anticipation, her eyes devoured every inch of him, seeing the slick muscles, the dark hair beneath his arms and at the top of his legs, the long shaft of his manhood, anxious and ready.
She closed her eyes, certain he would pierce her, but instead he settled over her and kissed her breasts and stomach, moving lower, making her squirm with a need so fierce, she could think of nothing save loving him.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Not yet.” He parted her legs and breathed on her in a way that made her hips lift from the ground. His hands grabbed her buttocks and held her near as he pressed his face even closer and he tasted of her.
Sorcha gasped, her heart thundering, her body moving of its own accord as he loved her with his mouth. She writhed and cried out, wanting more until, in a steamy moment of heat, the earth shattered and her soul rocked. With a cry as primal as that of the forest, her body wrenched and convulsed, and stars grew bright in the early morning light.
He laid her gently back on the mantle, and she sighed. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“You will,” he promised, and he spread her legs with his knees.
“But—”
“Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
She lifted her face to his, pressed warm lips to his mouth, and felt his arms surround her. She’d thought she was finished, that he’d wrung every emotion he could from her, but she was wrong, for the loving started all over again.
His tongue worked its magic, his hands brought her to dizzying heights of desire. Her blood, so recently cooled, ran hot again, and soon, as his fingers touched and probed her, she was moving anxiously beneath him, wanting more. So much more.
It had taken all Hagan’s determination to go slow with her, for he’d wanted to thrust into her hard and fast, pouring his seed into her and rearing back his head in a triumphant male mating call. He could think of little else but burying himself in her sweet lush body, but he’d held off, digging his fingers into the dirt, silently cursing his need to think of her, feeling the sweat run down his spine as he’d loved her with his mouth. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed it, she’d tasted sweeter than any fine wine, but it hadn’t been enough.
But now, as she writhed beneath him, begging him to end her agony, he knew giving her what she’d needed first was worth it. He wrapped his arms around her and, with his lips claiming hers, pressed into her. He felt the resistance, the tightening of her abdomen, the swift intake of her breath, but he couldn’t stop and he thrust past the thin barrier of her maidenhead, feeling her warm and oozing, hot and steamy, surrounding him.
She cried out and he tried to be gentle, taking it slow, gritting his teeth against his own desire as he sheathed himself in her silken warmth and waited a heartbeat before slowly withdrawing again.
She whimpered at the loss of him, and he entered her yet again. She was tight and frightened, but slowly her body opened to him, joining him in his rhythm.
Her fingers delved into the deep muscles of his shoulders, touching the very wound that she had inflicted, and she stared up at him and watched his skin gleam with sweat, the sinewy muscles tightening as her mind began to spin a private tapestry of color and light.
A force built within her, hotter and hotter, pulsing with need, thundering in her ears until, with an earth-shattering cry, he thrust himself into her one last time and an exploding of sweet pleasure caused her to arch up and accept the seed he spilled from his body to hers.
“Sorcha, sweet, sweet Sorcha,” he whispered hoarsely as he fell upon her, crushing her breasts and twining his fingers in her hair. He sighed loudly and stared into her eyes. “So you were a virgin.”