Page 63 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
Sorcha lifted her chin in that way she had, that stubborn tilt that made him want to kiss her and shake her in equal measure.
“Then teach me,” she demanded, her voice low and urgent. “If I daenae ken what I’m askin’ for, teach me. Show me.”
Her words hit him hard, knocking the breath from his lungs and setting fire to something deep in his belly.
“Teach me,” she said again in a whisper, pressing her hand against his chest.
She’s so stubborn.
Her words undid something in him, something he had been holding together with willpower and fear and the memory of blood on his hands.
“I am yer wife,” she murmured. “I am yer wife in truth, nae just in name. Nae just because me braither needed an alliance to keep his borders safe. I want ye to look at me and seeme, nae duty, nae obligation, nae a replacement.”
I should step back. I should put distance between us. Remember all the blood and grief in the cold ground, Rowan.
But she was looking at him with those blue eyes, and her hand was pressed over his heart, and he could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin where his fingers had closed around her wrist without his permission.
He clenched his jaw, fighting the violent urge to claim her right then and there. He had spent years mastering control over his men, his clan, himself. Yet one gentle press of her palm against his chest and a single whispered plea threatened to undo everything.
He could feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt, the faint tremor in her fingers, and it broke him more than any shouted demand ever could.
His hand closed around her waist, firm and possessive, and he drew her against him in one smooth motion. The heat of her body was startling after so many days of keeping his distance, and he felt her gasp against his chest when her hips met his.
His mouth found hers, and she stiffened for half a heartbeat, just long enough for him to think she might push him away, but then she melted into him with a soft sound that made his blood sizzle.
Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair and tugging gently. She kissed him back like she had been starving for it, like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment and she was not going to waste a single second of it.
God, she tastes so good.
He groaned against her mouth, the sound low and rough in his throat, and she answered him with a desperate little moan that went straight through him.
Her body pressed closer to his, her breasts soft against his chest, and her hips bucked against him in a way that made him want to lift her onto the desk and bury himself inside her.
“Rowan,” she breathed, and the sound of his name on her lips was almost enough to undo him completely.
He kissed her harder and deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a rhythm that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. His hand slid from her waist down to her hip, gripping the curve through her skirts, and she arched into his touch with another desperate moan.
“Tell me to stop,” he said against her mouth, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep going. “Tell me to stop right now, and I will.”
She shook her head, her eyes dark and hazy. “Nay, daenae stop. I daenae want ye to stop.”
“Sorcha.”
“I mean it.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his mouth back down to hers.
He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, tasting her like something forbidden and precious all at once. His other hand slid up her back, spanning the length of her spine, pulling her closer until there was no space left between their bodies.
She made a sound against his mouth, soft and wanting, and he swallowed it down like wine.
His hand left her hip and gathered her skirts, pushing the fabric up her legs until he could feel the bare skin of her thighs beneath his palm. She gasped when his fingers touched her, and he watched her face as he moved higher.
“Look at me,” he said, and her eyes fluttered open to meet his. “I want to see ye. I want to watch yer face when ye fall apart for me.”
Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as his fingers found the heat between her legs. She was slick and ready, and the sound she made when he touched her was unlike anything he had ever heard from her before, raw and desperate and full of need.
“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Let me hear ye. Let me feel ye.”
“Rowan.” His name came out broken, fractured, and her hips moved against his hand in a rhythm that was all instinct and no thought.
