She arched off the bed, her body in an agony of pleasure. "Drustan!"
He laughed low, the sound another impossible caress. "Do you want me, little one?"
"Yes!"
"Enough to beg?" he demanded.
Her mouth clamped shut on the words she wanted to utter and then opened again immediately in a gasp of delight as his fingers trespassed her most private flesh.
"You are wet and luscious."
She made a garbled sound, unable to talk.
He pressed his fingers deep inside her, but was careful not to touch the small nub of her utmost pleasure. He played with her, sliding his big fingers in and out and all around her swollen folds.
Then he put his fingers to his mouth and sucked. "Delicious."
She moaned.
He pushed her thighs wide and then lifted her hips with his werewolf strength before lowering his mouth to the exposed heart of her desire. He kissed her with closed lips all over her sensitized flesh. Then he kissed her with his tongue in shocking intimacy. Sean had never done this and she could not believe it was permissible, but it felt too wonderful to question.
Besides, if she opened her mouth to speak, she feared broken words of pleading would be all that came out.
He tasted her for long minutes, drawing away when her body trembled on the brink of spending. He did it over and over again until she was writhing below him, trying to get that final touch that would send her over. But he held her where he wanted her and continued to pleasure her until she was mindless with need. He pulled his mouth away and sat up between her spread thighs. She cried out in protest, only to moan again when his fingers delved deep within her once more.
He pulled them out and her wolf's vision could see her glistening wetness on them, even in the shadowed darkness.
His expression was somber as he marked first his penis and then his chest right over his heart with her intimate scent. She broke, unable to hold back her words of need any longer, and cried out with guttural pleas for him to take her.
He did with one hard thrust, joining their bodies in complete oneness. He was big and she was swollen with excitement. She felt stretched to the point of pain-edged pleasure. He pressed against her from head to feet, careful to curve himself over her protruding middle, affecting the final marking of their scents on one another's bodies.
"You are mine," he said in age-old tradition.
"I am yours," she replied, her voice filled with emotion she did not want to name.
He withdrew until only the tip of his large member rested within in her and then waited in silence, his body rigid with the tension of controlling the urge to drive for both their fulfillment.
"You are mine," she said in an ancient dialect the Celts of their clan would not understand.
"I am yours," he responded in kind and then thrust to the hilt.
She cried out, her body bowing with the intense pleasure of the mutual claiming. He set a rhythm that brought gut-wrenching pleasure with every stroke until her entire being clenched in need, on the edge of a precipice higher than any she had ever known. He ground his hips into her, rubbing her sweetest spot once, twice and then she exploded, stars bursting behind her closed eyelids and inside of her until all she knew was blackness.
When she came to, he had her cradled against his body and no candlelight glowed from the other room.
She touched his chest, right where he had marked himself with her sexual scent. "We are one now."
"Yes." The word sounded more like a growl, but she understood him.
And he had been right earlier… in that moment, she wished more than anything that the babe inside her were his. Because the fact that it was not was the one thing that might have the power to tear them apart.
There was no warning knock before Emily heard the bar sliding against the outside of her door as it was lifted from its place. Ulf was probably the soldier accompanying the housekeeper this morning. He was rude enough not to bother with such a common courtesy.
The night before, Angus had been with the housekeeper and not only had he knocked, but he had waited patiently while she and the housekeeper visited. The servant hadn't been in the least surly toward Emily, which had lifted her spirits considerably. She'd been so busy talking, in fact, that she'd eaten very little and was subsequently starving now.
She'd been up since sunrise after getting very little sleep the night before worrying about Cait. She'd done everything she could do to occupy herself, including making her bed and using the water in the pitcher and the small towel to clean her room. She'd even given her hair one hundred strokes with the brush the housekeeper Marta had provided.
So, even if it was Ulf on the other side of that door, she welcomed the intrusion.
But when the heavy wooden door swung open, it wasn't Ulf's scowling countenance she saw, but Lachlan's. He wasn't scowling though… not precisely, but he wasn't smiling either.
She wasn't about to smile at him either, not after his threats the evening before. She ignored him completely, greeting the housekeeper. "Thank you kindly for the food, Marta. I wondered…"
She paused and gave Lachlan a sidelong glance, unsure whether her request would better be saved for a time when he wasn't with the servant After all, if the intent of locking her in the tower was to punish, then giving her something to keep the boredom and worry at bay would be the last thing he would allow.
"Yes, milady?" Marta prompted when Emily didn't speak again.
What if Marta left and did not return again until the midday meal? Emily could not bear the thought of hours more spent doing nothing but thinking about what terrible fate might have befallen her friend. She bit her bottom lip and then smiled tentatively. "I had hoped you might have some chore for me to do to help me pass the time."
Marta looked uneasily at Lachlan and he gave a slight shake to his head.
"I am sorry, milady, but I do not." Her eyes expressed pity for Emily's plight though.
Filled with disappointment, Emily acknowledged the woman's words with a nod. "Thank you all the same."
Lachlan dismissed the servant with a flick of his hand and she left. Emily stifled a sigh. She would have liked to chat with the other woman again, but his presence made that difficult anyway. She straightened the already-made bed and wondered how long he planned to stand there watching her.
"Your porridge will grow cold if you don't eat it."
Right now cold porridge was the least of her problems. She shrugged, busying herself by giving her already shining hair a few unnecessary strokes with the brush.
"Emily." The warning was there in his voice, but she chose to ignore it, instead rearranging the things on the small table.
"I do not like being ignored, English." He said it as if he truly believed she might not realize that truth already.
He was probably too arrogant to latch onto the fact that she was baiting him on purpose. Not that her behavior was more than a paltry defiance at best. He did not care for her opinion, so the fact that she chose to ignore him was barely worth his notice. But he had noticed, she reminded herself. Her lips twitched in satisfaction.
She did not like being kidnapped, but that had not stopped him from taking her and she did not think she owed her captor polite consideration.
She didn't hear him move, but suddenly his big hand landed on her shoulder. He turned her to face him, but she refused to look at him and kept her eyes averted.
He sighed.
She considered what she wanted most—to annoy him further or to ask about her friend. Her concern for Cait won. "Have you seen Cait this morning?"