King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

“That is not what I asked.”

“I am weary of killing,” he said shortly.

“Have you done so much of it?”

“So much.”

A hard, unyielding answer, from a hard, unyielding man, for all his humor.

It was an oft-fine line between the good and the bad, and a steep cliff to tumble down once you crossed it. Tadhg had certainly tumbled; he’d just admitted as much. Magdalena saw now she had an edge looming before her as well.

Tadhg was her cliff of decision.

It was surely a fine line, in the dimness of the hut, amid the depths of darkness and the peril of flight. Easy to trip over, heedless, and afterward claim you had not even seen the edge.

But Magdalena did not trip over unseen edges. Of late, she stepped away from them, very sensibly, her eyes wide open.

Of long-ago, though, and upon a time, she’d run at them headlong, flung herself over their edges, arms out wide.

A low hum started in her body. She began unlacing the ribbons at the sides of her tunic.

His eyes dropped to the sight. “Maggie,” he said, a low warning tone.

She let the ribbons hang down her sides as she took a step back, deeper into the hut. She lifted her arms and dragged the heavy weight of the gown over her head, then let it fall.

He watched her, motionless and silent.

She took another step back, melting into the firelit shadows of the room. Moving slowly, she pulled the yellow undertunic over her head and let it fall to the ground too. She was clad now only in her chemise. It fell past her knees, undyed, thin as breath.

He pushed off the doorjamb.

“Take down your hair,” he said, his voice low.

She did, slowly, languid in the heat of the fire and his gaze, unpinning and untwisting the ribbands that held the silk sheath around her hair, and let it go. Her hair swung free, falling to her knees.

He shut the door. The single stab of snowy light that had cut across the cottage winked out, plunging the room back into darkness and firelight…and Tadhg.

He reached her in three strides. Wordlessly they tore at his clothes as they’d done to hers only the night before—how could that be? How could so much have changed in a single night, when years of her life had passed with nothing different, nothing new, nothing meaningful? Tunic, doe-soft leggings, even his boots, they disrobed him until he stood before her, naked.

He was glorious. There was no other word to describe the unforgiving male beauty of him. He was a specimen of masculinity, taut with musculature, his nipples dark discs against his pale skin, a firm chest, dark with hair that narrowed to a thin cord over the flatness of his belly, down to his groin. And across him, a map of scratches and gouges and long, jagged scars, the remnants of fights and battles, triumphs and near-misses. And then his erection, thrusting up, thick and silky hard, curving back almost to touch his belly. At its tip, a tiny drop of male seed glistened.

She tipped her head back, shaken by desire. She’d never wanted anything the way she wanted this man. Everything else could pass away, and she would be satisfied with only this.

She reached out and brushed her finger over the head of his erection, skimming the drop of seed across her fingertip.

He hissed through his teeth and reached for her, cupped her face. Their mouths met in a long, hot, open-mouthed kiss, his hardness thrust up between them. It was a kiss that slowed down as it went, a great, long adoring kiss, Tadhg slanting his mouth first to one side, then the other, drowning her in the unyielding, unstoppable claiming of his kiss.

He skimmed down her neck and shoulders, his fingertips trailing. Her nipples hardened with anticipation, and she rubbed against him impatiently. He finally cupped her breasts in his hard hands, hot through the thin chemise, and stroked his thumbs, abrading her nipples, and still the kiss went on, deep and adoring.

With a gasp, she finally broke free and moved her mouth down the column of his neck, tasting the heat of him, her hands open and greedy as they moved down the muscled plane of his chest and flat stomach. Then she bent her knees and followed the touch of her hands with her mouth.

Ripples of restraint disturbed the hard flesh under her lips. “Lass,” he said hoarsely, reaching for her.

“Let me do this,” she murmured, almost humming as she lowered herself to her knees. “I want this, with you.”

He gave a low groan and let her go.

His erection curved up in front of her face. Inhaling his musky, male scent, she flicked her tongue, ever so lightly, against him. He sucked in a breath. She did it again, tasting the salty seed of him, and he plunged his fingers into her hair, a gentle fist of restraint. Reveling in her power, she ran her tongue up the length of his shaft, along the underside, from root to tip. A shudder rocked his body and the hand in her hair tightened.