King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

And he, Tadhg the outlaw, the mercenary almost since birth, the man with a single mission, kept kissing her and holding her, inhaling her, devoting himself to her long past what was needed to simply finish the job.

Chapter Eleven

MAGDALENA FELT broken and rebuilt, a tower smashed apart and resurrected, higher than before.

She looked down at Tadhg, his forehead resting against her lower belly, his fingers still inside her, her body still throbbing. She smoothed her hand over the top of his head. His face, hewn and beautiful, turned up to hers.

“Aye?” His voice was thick.

Her cheeks flamed. “Oh, aye. I thought…I thought you were going to…take me,” she finished in a rush, flushing.

One dark brow arched in silent reply, then he nodded toward her body, in front of which he still knelt, her gown still bunched against her belly, one of her knees still hooked over his shoulder.

“I consider you taken,” he said, his voice roughened like a knot in silk.

She laughed with soft, giddy, almost drunken happiness, and ran her hand down the side of his head. One night, that was all she had, and she was overcome by the fierce, almost violent, desire to have absolutely all of it. All of him.

“I want more,” she whispered, feeling oddly, frighteningly, tearful.

He stilled. “I have more,” he said quietly, and unraveled to his feet, taking her hand. “Come, lass, let’s get you more.”

He backed them up to the bench beside the huge oak table in her kitchen. Swiftly then, still holding her gaze and one of her hands, he used his other hand to unbuckle his sword belt and toss it on the table with a soft clatter of steel and leather straps. He unlaced his hose and braies and, with the flat of his hand, pushed the soft linens down, just enough to expose his pale, muscled upper thighs and the thick, curving erection, thrusting up from a thatch of dark hair.

Her head dropped back, but she kept her gaze on him. Every edge of her, every inch of her skin, every cord of her muscles, felt golden and shimmering, like dew on a cobweb. Breathing through parted lips, she reached out and skimmed a fingertip up the length of him.

He hissed and sat on the bench, then tugged her forward, not gently, to stand between his knees. Her hair fell around her shoulders, past her exposed breasts, the ends trailing across his thighs. The room was cast in pockets of darkness and flickering light. It felt as if the room itself was undulating with shadow and firelight, Tadhg the outlaw the darkest shadow of all, as he curled a length of her hair around his palm and pulled her to him. Touching her thigh, he guided her to swing a leg over and straddle him.

She lowered herself until she felt the rounded head of him touch her slick folds. Already exquisitely sensitive and still pulsing with pleasure, she jerked, his thrusting male hardness both pain and promise. His hand circled her hip, urging her down, an irresistible force. Her tunic fell down, a tapestry of blue and yellow draped across his lap, and he pushed a hand beneath the fabric. She felt the roughened edge of a calloused hand brush her inner thighs as he curled his fist around his shaft and held it, as she bent her knees and lowered herself, slowly, so slowly, until the thick head of him breached her, pushed up inside, forced her open for him the barest, thickest inch.

She shook so hard she hardly realized he was too. The hand on her hip gripped harder, tightening to an almost painful pressure as he released a single, slow Irish word. It sounded like a curse. His head fell back.

He lifted it again at once, his eyes reflecting firelight, hard and dark with desire as he rested his elbows on the table behind him and slid his open hands up her ribs, to her armpits, where he cupped her.

“More, lass?” he said, his voice strained.

Her mouth opened, panting at him.

He took that as her reply, and guided her down, forcing his thick shaft deeper into her. Her flesh spread for him.

Snapping cords of heat lanced through her body, up her back, across her belly, down her legs. She felt whipped by pleasure. Her head fell back slowly as if dragged by an invisible force, a low, long, gasp torn from her body.

“Och, you are a beautiful one,” he rasped, and lifted his hips and surged up, seating himself fully inside her with a single, solid thrust.

Her head dropped to hang beside his. “Oh, please, Tadhg.” It came out as a whisper, a sob.

He lifted again, stroking into flesh so sensitive she felt enflamed. Her head flung, sending her hair flying, but a hard palm on her spine dragged her forward again, and he took her breast in his mouth, not even bothering to brush aside her hair.

They rocked together, Magdalena arching over him, her heavy breasts swinging for him, inviting more of his wicked, wonderful incursions. He took the invitation and gripped her more firmly, more fiercely, then leaned back against the table behind him and dragged her forward as he lifted his hips, changing their angle to penetrate deeper.

She was launched into a new realm, wracked by jolts of pleasure. Hot and cold cords of sensation wrapped around her. She felt trapped in a gold webbing. It snaked across her back and thighs, snapped down her breasts and belly. The room was silent but for her gasps of pleasure and his growls of approval, her body shuddering under the storm of pleasure. The pleasure grew and grew, threatened to overtake her. She felt she might explode. Or be subsumed. She tried to scramble away, put her hands on his chest and pushed up.

The hand on her waist tightened. “What—?”

“It’s too much,” she gasped, panting. “I cannot.”

“Aye, you can.” His voice was low and harsh. “You wanted more.” He lifted into her again, and the bands of pleasure tightened inside her. “This is more.”

She had no recourse, there was nothing she could do—nothing she wanted to do—but keep breathing and let him take her, hard. Surrendering, hot and weak, she leaned over him, pressed him back to the table and laid her palms on his shoulders and arched for him, letting him have everything he wanted, rocking to meet his every thrust, to take his every deeper plunge. Undulations of pleasure began thudding through her body. Her head fell forward with a broken, silvery gasp.