Darkest Highlander (19 page)

And she gave freely.

Broc’s hands roamed her back and cupped her bottom so he could grind against her. Her soft body cushioned his and enflamed his mounting desire. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers digging into his neck each time he pushed his throbbing cock against her.

He deepened the kiss, taking them higher, driving them further and further toward the sweetest reward. She clung to him, her breathing as ragged and broken as his own, but there were no thoughts of stopping running through his mind.

Too many nights he had dreamed of holding her thus. Too many days he had looked at her lips and wondered about her kiss. Too many times he had thought of spreading her legs and filling her.

Broc broke the kiss and stepped out of her arms. “Doona move,” he told her.

He hurried to spread the tartan at her feet. Then he pulled off his boots and reached for her again.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sonya asked and glanced down at his breeches.

“Have you been with a man before?”

A slight blush stained her cheeks. “Nay. But I know enough that you won’t need those.”

Broc smiled but shook his head. “I think they need to stay on a wee longer.”

“I disagree.”

He sucked in a breath when her hands reached for the waist of his breeches. Her fingers glided between his skin and the leather, tempting him. Teasing him. Enticing him.

“Sonya,” he whispered as her fingers skimmed the head of his arousal.

She unfastened his breeches and pushed them down his hips to puddle around his ankles. There was a sensual smile pulling at her lips when she stepped back to look at him.

Sonya stood in awe. Broc was a masterpiece of striking male beauty. With his wings, he often went without a tunic, so she knew the raw masculinity of his upper body. The way the muscles moved in his chest and arms, the thick sinew of his neck and shoulders.

She let her gaze drift down his powerful chest to the rippled muscles of his stomach. His chest narrowed to slim hips, but that’s not what got her attention.

It was the strip of golden hair that ran from his navel down to his arousal. Sonya swallowed as she got her first look at him.

Broc’s rod was thick and jutted upward. It jumped as if sensing how eager she was to feel it inside her.

She barely got a look at Broc’s powerful legs before he had her crushed against him, her breasts pressed flat to his chest. She tilted her head and opened her mouth for his kiss.

In the next instant she was on her back, Broc looming above her. His dark brown eyes met hers for a moment before he kissed her once more.

Sonya welcomed his weight, the hard length of his body against hers. She had never known something could feel so good. And his hot shaft against her leg only fueled her need to touch him.

She reached between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his rod. He moaned and thrust his hips. Sonya loved the feel of him. Like silk over iron. The skin of his cock was smooth and soft, but the heat of him, the hardness enthralled her.

Suddenly, he shifted and moved out of her reach. Sonya didn’t have time to argue as his hands came up to cup her breasts. His fingers swirled around her nipples, coming ever closer to the peaks.

Until finally he touched them.

Sonya gave a whimper as heat bubbled and spread through her body. Her breasts swelled and ached for more. He rolled her nipples between his fingers and lightly pinched them, causing her to moan.

Her sex pulsed and wound tighter with each caress. Sonya lifted her hips until she could rub against him, adding fuel to her already rampant desire.

And then Broc’s mouth closed over a straining nipple.

Sonya’s back arched when he began to suckle. His tongue stroked the peak until she was panting and begging for more. When he moved to her other breast, she cried out at the delicious feel of his mouth.

Time ceased. The only thing in the entire world was Sonya and Broc and the passion that raged out of control.

The sensations wracking her body were strong and fantastic. As he kissed down her stomach, all Sonya could think about was giving him as much pleasure as he gave her.

She tried to rub against him again, but he had moved down her body and now lay between her legs. His hands gripped her hips as he kissed first one thigh, then the other.

Sonya couldn’t take her eyes off him. No one man had ever seen her without clothes, and the way Broc stared at her sex should have embarrassed her. Yet, it made her blood heat and her passion rise.

The longing, the yearning in his gaze took her breath away.

When he opened her thighs wider, she didn’t stop him. A low moan escaped her lips when his fingers ran through the triangle of curls between her legs.

His fingers touched the sensitive flesh of her sex, urging her to open for him. Sonya never thought to deny him. She could feel her own dampness, knew Broc was the cause of it.

“So beautiful,” he whispered before he spread her sex and put his mouth to her.

Sonya screamed at the first brush of his tongue against her clitoris. Her body was flooded with pleasure, inundated with the need for more.

His tongue stroked her, sending her higher and higher. Sonya was mindless with desire. Her body reacted instinctively and opened wider for him, silently begging for more. She got her wish when he pushed one long, thick finger inside her.

It was just what she needed. She moaned and began to rock her hips. His finger moved in and out of her, slowly at first to match his tongue. Her desire built, winding tighter and tighter.

He gradually increased the tempo until all Sonya could do was lie there as his experienced hands and mouth continued to pleasure her.

She had never felt so desperately needy, never felt such fire and hunger.

And then it all shattered.

Sonya cried out as her world broke apart. It sent her spiraling down an abyss, the waves of pleasure rolling over her again and again.

Broc rose over Sonya and watched as she peaked. She knew the touch of no other man, but she had trusted him, given herself to him.

Her eyes slowly opened, and she smiled up at him. No words were needed. He knew exactly how she felt by the contented way she looked at him. Her hands lightly caressed his back, inviting him.

She gave a small nod. It was what he had been waiting for. Broc grasped his cock and rubbed it against her sex. She moaned and whispered his name.

It was almost too much. He had been too long without a woman, and his hunger for Sonya was too great. If he didn’t get inside her soon, he would spill.

He guided himself to her opening and slowly pushed inside her. He felt the resistance of her maidenhead and paused.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said.

Broc grinned. “Never.”

With one thrust he seated himself inside her. She stiffened beneath him, her indrawn breath like a blade to his heart. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he’d had no choice.

“Sonya?”

“I’m all right,” she whispered, her hands gripping his back.

He didn’t believe her, but he’d make sure she felt pleasure again. Broc began to move within her. She was so tight, so hot. He had never dreamed she could feel so good. She soon relaxed beneath him and lifted her legs.

Her moans turned to cries of pleasure as he plunged deeper, harder into her tight sheath. Sweat glistened on their bodies, their breathing harsh as it echoed around them.

His need stretched endlessly, his hunger knew no bounds. Sonya matched his thrusts with equal fervor. He relentlessly, ruthlessly took her body, and she opened for him, accepting everything he demanded and taking her own.

The hunger, the consuming ache for Sonya urged him to claim more of her. He lifted first one knee, then her other. She gasped and rocked beneath him as he went even deeper.

She clung to him, her nails scouring his flesh as she wordlessly urged him onward.

He thrust harder, faster as he felt her body rise for another orgasm. He wanted to look into her eyes and see her body surrender, to feel her body as she succumbed to the climax.

Sonya screamed his name as her back arched and she peaked. Her slick walls clutched him, convulsing around him until he could hold back no longer.

Broc gave a final thrust and gave in to the release.

He was swept away by the force of it, surprised by the strength of it.

Then he looked into Sonya’s eyes and saw the fulfillment. She wrapped her arms around him.

Broc rolled to the side and pulled her against him. He hadn’t meant to take Sonya, to mark her body with his. But now that he had, nothing was going to stand between them.

TWENTY-ONE

Phelan Stewart stood atop the hill and gazed out at the tall grass over the rolling landscape. He had no idea where he was.

And he didn’t care.

Behind and to the side of him were the majestic mountains, with peaks arching to the clouds. He had explored only a portion of the mountains so far. Yet, he planned to climb each one. After all, he had eternity stretching before him.

A lengthy, leisurely, and, he was sure, lonesome expanse of years.

Phelan raised his head to the sky and closed his eyes against the onslaught of rain. He had almost forgotten what the rain felt like after one hundred and fifty years in Deirdre’s mountain as her prisoner. Not counting the score of years she’d held him until she released his god.

The rain came down at a steady pace, enveloping the world in gray. The wind cut across the valley, causing the grass to sway and bend to its will.

He loved the feel of the elements on his skin, no matter how harsh they were.

Ever since Phelan had left Cairn Toul, he had been walking. So many years he’d been locked away in that dark mountain with Deirdre taking his blood and keeping him chained. It had been the cruelest torture.

But she had freed his god, and with his god was a power he had learned quickly to use. He had shown Isla his power by turning his prison into a sun-drenched day in the Highlands. How many times had he used his power to chase away the darkness and gloom of that cursed mountain?

So many times, but his power had been the only thing that had kept him from going insane.

He had missed the wind ruffling his hair and the rain upon his face. He had missed the smell of the heather and the way the sun and clouds would cast shadows over the mountains. He had missed the first snow of winter and the first sprouts of green in the spring.

If he could envision it, his power could create it. It was believable enough. But Phelan had known the truth. There was nothing like the feel of the real sun upon his skin or the sight of a full moon hanging low in the sky.

Isla had cautioned him that the world had changed in the years he had been held prisoner. He hadn’t believed her. After all, she was the one who had lied to him as a lad. She was the one who had brought him to Cairn Toul to be kept there, locked away and tormented until he reached manhood.

Then Deirdre had unbound his god.

After that, he was chained, never to leave the hated cavern.

Isla did free you.

Phelan grimaced. She had freed him, and at a grave cost to herself. She had been dying. Her wounds were severe and she had lost a terrible amount of blood. But she had ventured down to his prison, down all those stairs to release him.

He supposed there was no use hating her anymore. She was dead. It was his loathing of her which kept him fighting Deirdre’s pull. His need to exact his vengeance on Isla for taking him from his home and family had kept his mind from giving in to Deirdre’s constant rhetoric to ally with her.

Phelan blew out a breath. It was all over now. Deirdre was gone. Isla was dead.

And he was learning of this new world.

He took in a deep breath and looked forward. There was a future out there waiting for him. He just needed to find it.

As Phelan started forward, the distinctive feel of magic washed over him. Druid magic. He froze, his god bellowing furiously inside him.

If there was one thing he had learned, it was that no Druid could be trusted. He swiftly lowered himself to his belly and looked around to locate the Druids.

He would keep his distance from them, but he had no qualms about killing them if he had to. They were evil and needed to be destroyed.

Phelan’s gaze turned to the mountain on his right. There. A Druid was there. He could feel her magic, feel the weight of it around him, suffocating him.

He was contemplating his course when Phelan saw the indigo Warrior walk to the cave’s entrance. He had wings which towered over his head.

Few mortals knew Warriors existed, so the fact this one stood in his Warrior form for anyone to see stunned Phelan. A moment later a female came to stand beside the Warrior. She was wrapped in a tartan, her flame-colored hair falling over her shoulders.

Phelan watched in amazement as the Warrior turned to the Druid and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. The Druid leaned her head against the Warrior’s dark blue hand.

There were no words, just a long look that passed between the two before the Warrior turned and spread his wings as he leapt into the air.

Phelan took a moment to watch the Warrior fly before he jumped to his feet and rushed to hide behind a group of small boulders.

The Warrior was looking for something, but what? More importantly, what was the Warrior doing with a Druid?

Phelan wanted to find out. He could get the Warrior’s attention, but how did he know the Warrior wasn’t in league with Deirdre?

It was better to keep moving, to keep to himself. Never again would he allow himself to be captured. The world was a cruel, vicious place. Except now, he could defend himself. And he would do it without hesitation.

As for the Druid … Phelan looked to the cave entrance, but the Druid was no longer there. He needed to get moving. He’d already spent too much time watching the couple.

Phelan didn’t look back as he scrambled over the rocky terrain and up the mountain to the future that called to him. A future without Druids, torture, or dark, dank prisons.