Page 94 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
He rose to his feet and stood before her. His hands rose to cup her face, tilting her chin toward him. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, could see the pulse beating in his throat, could smell the soap he had used and something else, something that was uniquely him.
“I lost everyone,” he said, his voice rough. “I lost me parents, me sister, me braither, and me first wife. I thought I was cursed.I thought that everyone I loved would die, and it would be me fault. So I stopped lovin’. I stopped wantin’. I stopped hopin’.”
Tears stung Sorcha’s eyes, and she reached up to cover his hands with her own.
“But ye,” he continued, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “Ye came into me life and refused to leave. Ye stood behind yer braither and looked at me like I wasnae a monster. Ye loved me daughter. Ye carved wooden turtles and wooden horses and showed me that there was still something soft in this world.”
“I love ye,” Sorcha whispered. “I love ye, Rowan.”
“I love ye too.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. “Ye are me heart. The woman I want to spend the rest of me life with, if ye will have me.”
Sorcha let out a shaky breath and rose onto her tiptoes, closing the distance between them.
She kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative, a question and an answer all at once. But then his hands slid into her wet hair, and his mouth opened over hers, and the kiss deepened. His tongue swept against hers, and she moaned, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
He walked her backward until her bare back pressed against the cool stone wall, and she gasped, a shiver running through her. He pressed his body against hers, and she felt him through his breeches, hard and thick. The pulse between her legs grew stronger, more insistent.
“Rowan.” She broke the kiss, gasping for air. “Please.”
“Please, what?” His mouth traveled down her throat, kissing and nipping, and she tilted her head back to give him better access. “Tell me what ye want, Sorcha. I have been waitin’ so long to hear ye say it.”
“I want ye.” Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling at the fabric. “I want all of ye. I want?—”
He kissed her again, cutting her off, and his hands slid down her body. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she cried out at the sensation. They were hard and sensitive, and every touch sent sparks of pleasure straight to her core.
“So beautiful,” he murmured against her throat. “So perfect. I have dreamed of touchin’ ye like this.”
His mouth followed his hands and closed around a nipple, sucking gently. Sorcha’s back arched, and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against her. The pleasure was sharp and sweet, and she could feel herself growing wetter between her legs, could feel the ache building.
“Rowan, please, I need?—”
“I ken what ye need.” He switched to the other breast, his tongue circling her nipple, and she whimpered. “I ken what ye need, and I am going to give it to ye. But first, I want to taste ye. I want to make ye fall apart on me tongue before I take ye.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he was lowering himself to his knees in front of her. He spread her thighs with his hands and looked up at her, his grey eyes dark with desire.
“Hold onto the wall,” he said. “And daenae let go.”
Sorcha pressed her palms against the stone and watched as he lowered his mouth to the place between her legs.
The first touch of his tongue made her cry out. He licked her slowly, deliberately, tasting her, and the pleasure was so intense that her knees buckled. He caught her hips, holding her steady, and his tongue circled her most sensitive spot.
“Oh… Rowan…”
She could not form words. Could not think. Could only feel. His mouth on her, his tongue moving in ways that made her see stars behind her closed eyes. He sucked gently, and she screamed, her nails scraping against the stone.
He did not stop. He held her hips and licked and sucked and drove her higher and higher until she was trembling, until she was begging, until she was so close that she could not breathe.
“Let go,” he purred against her. “Let go, Sorcha. I have ye. I am nae goin’ anywhere.”
She shattered.
The pleasure crashed over her in waves, and she cried out his name, her body shaking, her hips bucking against his mouth. He held her through it, gentling his touch as the waves subsided, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thighs.
When she could breathe again, he rose to his feet and looked at her.
“I need ye,” she begged, her voice hoarse. “I need ye inside me. Please.”
