Redeemed (Heroes of the Highlands) (The MacKays #2) (9 page)

“Ye should be grateful for it still,” he murmured, then blinked, as though stunned he’d said it aloud.

“Why?” she frowned.

“Ye have good reason to fear me.”

“Because you’re going to find a way to kill the Fae, possibly even me?” She met his eyes and saw something in them that transfixed and repelled her with equal force.

“That,” he said in a low, rumbling growl. “And because despite everything, I desire ye, Kylah. Just as much as that MacKay bastard wanted ye, probably even more.”

Kylah snatched her hand back, horrified. “But-but you said that beauty doesn’t matter. That it doesn’t
mean
anything! You told me you
didn’t
want me.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped and he turned his face, the tattoo flexing with the clench of his teeth. “I know what I said.”

“You
lied
?” she gasped. “You, who seek and regard truth above all else?”

“
Aye
,” he hissed, advancing on her. “But I didna lie to ye, I lied to myself, which is the greater sin.”

Kylah shrank back, forgetting that he posed no physical threat. Right now, he was the most dangerous being on the planet. How could he? How could he make her care for him, make her
trust
him? Lure her into a false sense of security, make her
feel
again. He’d delighted and soothed her with his poetic knowledge about the Universe and her place within it and then he tells her
this
. It changed everything.

“You would hurt me like they did?” she accused, suddenly feeling very small. Like she wanted to crawl inside of herself until the moon let go of the earth and the sun evaporated the sea. She wanted to die. Again. “You would humiliate me? Bind me? Expose me and—”

“
Nay
,” he rasped, reaching out like she was a cornered, skittish animal he was trying to tame. “Never. I wouldna cause he pain for the world, but teach ye all the pleasures a woman’s body is capable of.”

She squinted at him, weighing the earnestness of his expression, the desire in his voice, the veracity of his words.

Never had he looked so open. So naked.

“What do ye mean by ‘pleasure?’” she ventured.

“Och, Kylah, a woman’s pleasure is a very powerful, very complicated thing. But once attained it is… indescribable to behold.” He ran the backs of his knuckles down what would have been the curve of her cheek.

Kylah’s eyes fluttered closed and if she concentrated very hard, she could almost feel his touch.

Almost.

Her curiosity tempered her anger at him, anger that should have been stronger than it was. She had to admit that beneath the fear, beneath the dark memories and instinctive revolt, relief resided there. He’d noted her beauty, as she’d noticed his. He was not immune to her, as she was so entirely affected by him. “Where does one find it?” she whispered. “How?”

His lids lowered by half, a knowing smirk toying with the edges of lips that appeared much more full than any time previous. “The incidentals differ for every woman, but it culminates in the same place for all of them.”

Kylah had a feeling she knew which place that was, for at his low, silken words it clenched and ached with a foreign awareness. She couldn’t think of that place. She couldn’t face it. It couldn’t exist.

“I don’t believe you,” she breathlessly denied.

He chuckled. A dark, threatening sound that washed over her like a cauldron of boiling tar, scalding skin that no longer existed with a heat that was not unpleasant. “I could prove it to ye.”

“Nay, you cannot!” she quickly reminded him, holding up a hand to ward him off. “You can’t touch me.”

“Aye, but…” his brow quirked.

But what? He could not touch her. He couldn’t
teach
her. There was no way around it, to her immense relief. There simply was no
but
.

“Ye can touch yerself, can ye not?” he rumbled. “Ye can feel yer own… flesh?”

Her hand flew to her throat in absolute shock. She felt its pressure as sure as when she was alive. In response to that realization, she jerked it to her side again, and hid both hands in the flowing folds of her robes.

His face gave the notion of a triumphant smile without the slightest movement of his lips. Though his tattoo did wrinkle devilishly beside his eye. He stepped closer, bending his head so it was right next to her ear. “What do ye say, lass, are ye up for… an experiment?”

Chapter Ten

Kylah swallowed. Failed. And did it again. She was attempting to swallow her heart which kept trying to escape through her throat. What if she could do it? And yet, what if she couldn’t? How awful would that be… for both of them?

She pulled back a little and looked at him. He was so certain. Self-assured to the point of arrogance. He knew so much about pleasure, did he? What if…

“What if it doesn’t work?” she worried aloud. “What if—they’ve broken me?”

“That’s really up to ye, isn’t it?” The gentleness in his dappled eyes softened the hard truth of his words.

A storm brewed within her. How could she be broken if she did not allow herself to be so? How could she let the pain they inflicted upon her ruin any chance at pleasure? If it existed, didn’t she deserve it? Didn’t she need it more than most? If it was to be had, if it was a part of her body, she should be claiming it. Owning it.

“Tell me what to do.”

His nostrils flared at her whispered order, but he held completely still. He took a few breaths deep into his chest and let them out slowly, his gaze conflicted and intense.

“S-should I be… undressed?” The idea left her cold and terrified.

His brows drew together. “Eventually, but ye often doona start out that way.”

“Oh.” she felt suddenly very awkward, and moved closer to his imposing body, instinctively seeking his warmth.

“Gods how I wish I could touch ye,” he groaned.

The same desperation he expressed vibrated through her body. “Tell me what would happen if you could. If you
were
. Where would you begin?”

“That’s easy, lass,” he said huskily. “I would start with yer infuriating, tempting mouth.”

She covered her mouth with diffidence. “Infuriating?”

He grunted with amusement. “Aye. I’d stop yer incessant questions with my own lips as I’m tempted to do time and again.”

“Oh?” she asked from behind her hand. How long had he been
tempted
to do so?

“Move your fingertips,” he cajoled. “Run them across the ridges of your lips where they meet yer skin.” She did so, discovering that her mouth felt fuller and warmer to her now than it ever had. Keeping her touch feather-light, she traced the two peaks beneath her nose and enjoyed the sensation of her breath escaping through parted fingers. Her lower lip had more sensation in it than her upper and she lingered there, looking to him for further direction.

His eyes hungrily tracked each movement of her fingers and in a moment of impulse, she slipped one into her mouth and wet it on her tongue. She took the soft hiss of breath through his teeth as an affirmation.

When he spoke again, his voice was tight and low. “Next, I’d explore yer jaw, and the hollow of your throat. It can be very sensitive there.”

Kylah ran the backs of her fingers across her jaw, mirroring the action he’d attempted to perpetrate only moments before, before dropping beneath her chin. She sucked in her breath. It was like the entire surface of her skin awakened and came alive. Starting with the skin on her cheek and spreading downward in a wave of delicate sensation. Her chest became flushed, her nipples constricted, her belly tightened and beneath it, a shameless quiver began, stunning her into stillness.

“What de ye feel, Kylah?” he prodded.

She searched her mind, which had somehow deserted her. “Awake?” No. That didn’t seem quite right. “Aware.”

“Yes,” he sounded pleased, but she couldn’t look at him. “That is the beginning, now ye must discover more.”

She swallowed hard again, feeling her throat work beneath her fingertips. “What would you—discover next?” she queried.

That dark chuckle speared through her again, weakening her knees.

“I’d run my hands over yer shoulders and down yer arms, taking yer robes with them.”

“Really?” Her brows fell together in puzzlement. “To be frank, I thought you would go straight for my… my breasts.” She finished in a whisper.

“Oh, I’ll get to them,” he vowed. “But they have to ask for it, first.”

Ask for it? “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yer shoulders,” he reminded. “Slowly. Feel the softness of the skin there.”

She followed his dictate, undoing a few clasps and sliding her ghostly robes from her shoulders with her fingertips, taking a moment to feel the soft glide of her fingers over smooth and velvety skin. It was lovely. It relaxed and revitalized her all at once.

“Lower,” he pressed.

Her robes hung onto her nipples, almost exposing them to his eyes that appeared to glow in her intensifying light.

“I-I’m frightened,” she admitted. Even though this time there was no tearing and rending of garments. No violence. No pain. There was still danger. Danger of degradation. Of shame and rejection. Of judgment and failure. She couldn’t bring herself to bare her body to the greedy eyes of a man. “Maybe I should just lie down.”

“Excellent idea.” He locked eyes with her, and they simultaneously lowered their bodies to the smooth stone of the grotto. His hazel gaze remained steady on her own. Never once wavering, never drifting to other parts of her bared flesh. He sustained her, strengthened her, staying with her until she was prostrate on her back and he on his side next to her, his head propped onto one palm sustained by his elbow.

“All right.” She let out a shaky breath. “All right, what would you do next? Now that I’m lying down.”

He took more breaths, as though choosing his words very carefully. “When you open your robes, doona focus on what ye expose of yerself. Just run your fingers along the underside of yer wrist and forearm.”

She frowned at him again. It seemed as though he focused on the strangest parts. No other man had ever even
mentioned
her wrists or forearms. Never looked at them. Touched them. They were mundane parts with no particular erotic draw. “Are you entirely certain—?”

“Do it. Just with your nails. Score it lightly.” He gave her an impatient look that dispelled much of her earlier tension and brought a smile to her lips.

She lifted her shoulders off the ground, and shrugged her robes away, scoring her tender skin with her nails.

Pleasure. There it was. A hollow, aching pleasure skittering along her skin in such a way, that if she tried to define where it was, it would disappear. The acute response danced along her nerve endings with such intensity that her back arched and her thighs clenched.

“Now,” he stated tightly. “They’re asking for it now.”

“What?” she tried to latch onto his words through the gathering fog in her brain. She was more concerned about what was going on below.

“Yer breasts,” he gritted out. “Yer incredible breasts. They’re begging to be touched.”

They were? She glanced down. They
were
. She was certain of it now. The pert mounds with small, pink tips quivered with her unsteady breath. She risked a glance back up at Daroch, who was staring at them in a most peculiar way. As though he’d never seen their like before. He swallowed convulsively. Once. Twice. His tattoo intensifying the movement of his throat.

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered to him.

“Oh, ye can lass.” His command sounded more like a plea. “Ye
must
.” His chest now scissored with breaths that flared his nostrils with every intake.

“How?”

He dragged his eyes away from her breasts and back to hers and with a blink, the gentleness had returned. “Close yer eyes,” he murmured. “Doona think about what ye
should
be doing. Let yer body tell ye what it wants ye to do.”

Kylah snapped her eyes shut and instantly felt better. “What it wants
you
to do,” she corrected breathlessly, feeling braver now, protected by the darkness behind her eyelids.

“Christ woman,” he cursed. More breaths. Not as deep and slow as before, and their increased pattern did something else to Kylah that she’d not expected. It sped her own breaths to match his. Daroch was enjoying this, though he’d not admit it to her. He garnered a pleasure of his own from teaching her this.

She wondered what it was. What it felt like for him.

The ache between her thighs intensified and her breath hitched. She reached her trembling hand to hover over her bare chest and awaited his dark instruction.

“Palm it,” he commanded, shorter and less gentle than before.

She did.

“Lift it,” he gritted out. “Feel the weight of it.”

The longer she touched that part of her, the heavier it felt. All the sensation seemed to be concentrated in the jutting, demanding nipple.

“Run your thumb across yer nipple,” he growled.

She complied, softly, slowly.

Pleasure.
There it was again. But now, it was tangible. It was there, in her breast. It still bloomed along her skin, particularly in a southerly direction. It was in the panting breaths and the tense muscles of the Druid beside her.

Her other hand flew to her belly as though to contain the swarm of butterflies unleashed within. She gasped as a sudden hot, slick sensation flooded her loins. That place between her thighs suddenly felt uncomfortably warm and alarmingly wet.

She clenched her eyes tighter. “Daroch?” she whimpered.

“Aye?” He sounded pleased again, but also leashed. Restrained, somehow. It ratcheted her anxiety higher.

“Something’s happening,” she confessed. “Something… there.”

A small rustling of fabrics told her that he leaned closer and she had the overwhelming urge to curl into his chest and hide from herself.

“Is it wet?” His tone had turned into silk being rent with bare hands and it reached all the way through her, landing in that place with a wicked vibration. “Is it slick, and swollen, and aching?”