Compromising Positions (10 page)

“And this is where the silvermoon grows,” he said. “I’ve ne’er seen it anywhere else.”

“It only grows at a wulver spring,” she replied. “They say it’s because Asher wept into their secret spring when Ardis was murdered by the witch, Morag.”

“Ardis was murdered?” Donal blinked at that, but his fingers didn’t stop moving, stroking, petting her.

“Aye, but their child was t’first wulver,” she told him. It wasn’t easy to continue with the story, considering how distracted she was by his body—and her own. “A lil boy with red hair and red eyes. He’s our first descendent. Asher raised ’im alone but they say Asher visited the spring e’ery full moon, and wept fer ’is lost love.”

She was glad the story was over, because she couldn’t possibly think anymore. Something inside her was growing, taking control. It felt a little like the tension she experienced just before she changed from human to wulver form. Except this was more intense. Every nerve ending felt alive, her senses keen. The smell of the man beside her, even to her human nose, was intoxicating. She wanted to devour him.

“’Tis a sad story.” Donal’s whole hand, not just his fingers this time, slipped behind her head, cradling it against his shoulder.

“Aye,” she whispered, but she wasn’t thinking about the story, or Asher and his lost Ardis, even if the feelings coursing through her were so similar, bred into her, generations of matings just like the first.

“I ken Asher’s tears,” Donal said softly, the briefest of creases appearing on his brow. “You can’na find fault wit’ a man who weeps when all he loves is taken from ’im.”

“’Tis always a risk t’love.”

Oh, what a risk it was. Kirstin had heard it said her whole life, had listened to wulver women lament their inescapable love for their mate, had seen Sibyl’s pain at the thought of losing Raife, and still, she had never fully understood, not until this moment.

To love this man would mean risking losing him. And that would mean losing everything.

“Aye, ’tis a risk.” Donal nodded slowly, “But when a man finds what he wants more than anything; else, there’s nothin’ can quiet the fire inside him.”

Kirstin saw that fire in his eyes, felt it in her own loins, in the heat of his body as he leaned in toward her, so close she was dizzy with him.

“Not e’en the spring water of Asher and Ardis,” he murmured, before pressing his lips to hers.

His kiss was everything she had dreamed it would be.

Her mouth opened under his, letting him guide her head, slanting his so he could press his tongue deeper, probing the soft recesses of her mouth. She let out a soft moan when his hand moved to the small of her back and he pressed himself fully to her, the hard, ridged planes of his torso against the yielding softness of her breasts.

Her body responded instantly to his touch, as if a fire had been lit inside of her. Kirstin wasn’t inexperienced—her kind didn’t have any qualms about doing what came naturally. But the act, to her, had always been one of comfort and warmth, nothing more than a closeness that felt, well, pleasant. And that was all. The male wulvers she’d been with—just two, in her pack, who she had a particular affection for—had seemed to enjoy it far more than she ever had.

“Kirstin, yer so beautiful,” Donal whispered as they parted, his gaze moving from her eyes down to her mouth, as if he wanted to capture it again. “So vera sweet. I’m afeared we should’na be ’ere, doin’ this... but I can’na help meself when I’m ’round ye.”

“Aye.” She touched his cheek, feeling a day’s stubble there, the roughness of it thrilling her. “I feel the same.”

“I’ve been dreamin’ of kissing ye since I met ye in the woods yesterday.” He slowly traced the outline of her lips with one finger. “I’m surprised I held meself back this long.”

“Is that all ye wanna do?” The disappointment in her voice was obvious, maybe too obvious. “Jus’ kiss me?”

“Nuh.” He chuckled, moving his hand down to her shoulder, running one finger over her collarbone, spreading gooseflesh over her skin. “But I’m afeared I can’na do everything I want. Not unless ye wanna come wit’ me now to the vicar t’say yer vows. And I thought, mayhaps, you’d like a lil longer courtship than one day.”

“Why?” Kirstin shook her head, smiling, bemused. “I’m a wulver, Donal. I know me own nature better than most men e’er will. I know who ye’re t’me. I knew it the moment we met.”

His eyebrows went up, a smile playing on those full, oh-so-kissable lips. “Who’m I?”

“Yer Donal MacFalon,” she said simply, as if it explained everything. And to her, it did. He had eclipsed everyone and everything until she could see naught else. “Yer the man I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime fer. Yer me one true mate.”

“Aye,” he breathed, kissing her again, this time with a soft assurance that spread through her like warmed honey, filling all the cracks and crevices in her soul. It was like coming home, like breathing after coming up from being underwater, lungs bursting, and finally breathing the air your body craved.

“I’ve ne’er experienced anythin’ like this a’fore,” he confessed, kissing the corner of her mouth, then licking it. “I do’na understand it.”

“Ye do’na need t’understand it,” she murmured, tilting her head back for the press of his lips on her long, slender throat. “Ye jus’ need t’feel it.”

“I feel as if I’m fallin’ in a dream, and I’m afeared to wake up. Kirstin, I want ye,” he growled into the hollow of her throat, his teeth raking her flesh, sending needlepoint pricks of sensation all the way to her fingertips. “I
need
ye.”

“I’m yers,” she admitted fully, to him and to herself. She didn’t care if he was a man and she was a wulver, if it was unconventional, or even impossible. Laina had said it would come like a lightning strike, that you couldn’t mistake the feeling for naught else, and she had been correct, even if Kirstin hadn’t really believed it. Until now. “I’ve been yers since the day I was born.”

“Och, lass, the things I wanna do t’ye...” he groaned, wrapping his arms around her, encircling her completely so she was lost in them.

“Stop talkin’ and do ’em,” she moaned, turning toward him fully and sliding a thigh over his, hooking her wet foot around his ankle.

He let out a low growl as claimed her mouth again, He wasn’t gentle anymore. There was no holding back. Kirstin encouraged him, wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his deep, probing kiss, feeling his hands moving over the soft curves of her body through her plaid. But it wasn’t enough for her. Not nearly enough.

Donal let out a strangled groan when Kirstin’s hand moved under his plaid. The MacFalon was a true Scot, so there was no barrier between her fingers and the heat of his erection. She wrapped him in her fist, claiming the MacFalon sword as her own in one easy stroke, making the man’s arms tighten around her until she thought he might break her spine.

“I can’na hold sway wit’ what ye do t’me, lass,” he panted in her ear as she pumped him slowly in her hand. “I can’na stop where this is goin’.”

“I’ll die if ye stop.” She nibbled his lower lip. The man’s honor was too ingrained. He was far too used to maidens who teased and tempted, who withdrew to protect their precious virginity. “I do’na want ye to e’er stop. Make love to me. Make me yers.”

Her eyes met his in the slant of sunshine coming from the window high above and she saw the lust in them, knowing it was reflected in her own. There was no holding back from this for either of them. It was a force out of their control, compelling them forward, drawing their bodies together. She could no more ignore the urge to mate with this man than any woman could deny the force that brought wee bairns into the world from their full-moon bellies.

“Och, lass, please.” Donal’s voice was hoarse as she rubbed her thumb over the mushroom-head of his cock, feeling sticky wetness. And still, he tried to do the honorable thing. “I can’na...”

“Aye, ye can.” Kirstin took his hand and guided it between her legs, to the center of the universe. He cupped her, moist and swollen, just one thin piece of cloth separating him from the Promised Land. “’Tis yers. Now and always. Fer the takin’.”

His mouth moved against hers as he moved her body underneath his on the rock. He was careful not to put too much of his weight on her, but Kirstin wanted it. She wanted all of him. They rolled together on the flat rock, Kirstin caught between the earth’s unforgiving stone and Donal’s hardness. Their plaids were easy garments to remove and made a buffer between their skin and the rock beneath them when Donal spread the material out.

“Come t’me, lass.” Donal stretched out in his shirtsleeves, holding his arms out to her.

Kirstin pulled her shirt, its long tail hanging down to mid-thigh, over her head, and Donal groaned when he saw her bared to him. Then she did as he bid her, stretching out beside him on their plaids, letting him touch her everywhere, the sensation so sweet, so beyond words, it was sublime.

Kirstin expected him to mount her, take her, claim her. This was the wulver way, and she rolled to her belly in anticipation, but Donal was not eager to force himself on her, not right away. Instead, he kissed the wings of her shoulder blades, the dimples at the small of her back, his tongue moving down the split of her behind, making her flush with heat. He drove her mad, with his tongue, his hands, his words.

By the time he flipped her over and pushed her knees back, she was so ready for him, she was sopping. And still, he didn’t take her. His big, calloused hands moved over the soft velvet of her thighs, parting them so he could get his broad shoulders between them. She moaned when she felt his breath, hot against her throbbing sex, and cried put when he began to feather kisses on her mound.

Nothing had ever felt so good.

His tongue was magic, and he seemed determined to devour her from the inside out, to drink her up completely as if he wanted to drown in her juices. Her hands moved through the mass of his hair, trying to pull him to her, but he wouldn’t be budged. The sweet torture went on and on until she thought she couldn’t stand it another minute.

That’s when he finally—
finally
—knelt between her trembling thighs, his cock rising up like a sword between his. The man still had his shirt on and she tugged at it, wanting all of him. Donal peeled it off over his head and she gasped at the sight of him, broad chest and ridged abdomen from years of training. His arms were heavily muscled from wrist to shoulder and she grasped his upper arms in both hands as he propped himself over her, gazing into her eyes.

“Are ye ready, lass?”

“Aye,” she agreed, too breathless to say much else. “Please, do’na make me wait another moment.”

He didn’t. He parted her flesh easily, with perfect aim, sinking in swiftly, all the way to the hilt. Kirstin howled, digging her nails into his upper arms, arching beneath him at the sensation of being filled, being taken. She’d never been face-to-face with a man this way, at this moment. Donal claimed her, not just with his body, but with his eyes, pinning her beneath him.

He waited, watching her face, arms tense, thighs bulging against the supple softness of hers, his cock throbbing inside of her, so big it almost hurt. It felt as if he had penetrated her all the way to her womb, piercing her insides and making them spill forth more of her wetness. Kirstin licked her lips and then bit down on her bottom one as he began to move.

“Och, lass, ye feel s’good,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment as he withdrew almost all the way and sank back in again. She whimpered, arching up, wanting more. He opened his eyes to look at her, eyes searching. “Are ye’ll right?”

“Please, do’na tease me,” she pleaded, using every muscle she owned between her legs to clamp down on him. Donal let out a low moan, hissing air between his teeth on his next intake of breath. “I’m n’delicate. I will’na break, I promise ye.”

His eyes lit up at her words and he leaned in to claim her mouth once more. Kirstin let him have that, too. She let him take it all. She was his, meant for this man—for this moment. Her body writhed under his as he began to thrust, his tongue and cock making the same, delicious motion, a hot, velvet friction that built up and up. Any experience she’d had before of quick, awkward fumblings in the dark and a fast, rough hump that left her aching and somehow wanting more, were completely taken over by this singular experience.

This man knew exactly what he was doing, every movement, every whispered word, every touch. He knew just where to touch her, and when, and how. Donal drew her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked it, his thrusts coming deeper, harder. When she thought she couldn’t take another moment of sensation, of that breathless, aching need, his mouth moved lower to her swaying breasts, capturing a dark-tipped nipple between his lips and sucking that instead.

“Och, Donal!” she cried, looking at him in awe, wondering if there was some pleasure-string connected between her breast and her sex, because it felt as if his mouth was on them both at once.

“That’s it, lass,” he panted, hips grinding into hers, making little moon-like circles, his steel heat buried so far up inside her she could have sworn she tasted him in the back of her throat. “I want ye. I want ye t’give yourself t’me. All of yerself.”

“Oh aye, aye,” she gasped, but she didn’t understand him, because she was. This was everything she had to give him, her whole body, her mind, her soul, it was all of her, splayed for him. All for him.