Border Lord (4 page)

She wondered what Brochan would do if she made a move on him?

The flap opened and the man she’d been thinking about appeared. Her heart rate increased, her nipples pebbling beneath the fabric of her chemise.

She watched him under lowered lids as he kicked off his boots. Warmth spread through her belly. A minute later he lay down beside her, his back to her.

And a wide back it was, broad shoulders narrowing to a defined vee—the thick muscles playing beneath the dark shirt. His long hair curled at the ends and she resisted the urge to touch it, to wrap a lock around her finger and bring it to her nose.

Rugged masculinity, that’s what he smelled like. A pleasant musky scent that clung to him, surrounded him. She inhaled deeply and smiled to herself, finding it hard to believe she was experiencing an age she had studied, with a man who could only have lived in her imagination.

“Why do ye smile, lass?”

She opened her eyes to find Brochan lying flat on his back, head turned, staring at her. Damn, he was gorgeous. Perfection. Never in all her life had she met anyone like him, and she doubted she ever would again. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building there.

Of course she couldn’t tell him why she’d been smiling, or who she really was, because the last thing she needed was him thinking her insane. No, she needed his complete trust. “I’m just happy to see you.”

He went up on his elbow, his eyes narrowing. “Ye are not at all like I thought ye to be.”

“Nor are you.”

He frowned. “What did ye think I would be like?”

She shrugged. “Mean. Cruel, I suppose.”

“Cruel?” He sounded surprised, almost offended.

“Yes,” she replied, going up on an elbow. “And what did you think I would be like?”

He watched her for a long time, his gaze searching hers. She had never had someone look at her so intently, and it made her self-conscious. True, she knew she was not ugly, but neither was she a beauty. Rather, she fell into the “cute” category. Her blond hair had always been too wavy, and she detested the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Honestly, men like Brochan never stopped to look at her twice. Even in school she had attracted the geekier, bookish types, instead of the jocks. So it surprised her to see the interest there.

But maybe Brochan was different from the men of her time?

His eyes shifted to her lips, and her mouth went dry.

Though she was limited sexually, her only partner having been Elliott, she knew the look he gave her now. Desire.

He wanted her and she wanted him. This thirteenth-century border lord. A warrior who lived and died by the sword.

As he continued to stare, moisture pooled between her thighs and her clit became ultrasensitive. What would it feel like to be taken by this man? His rough hands on her, his body moving above hers, and inside her.

As his lips descended on hers, she had a feeling her days of celibacy were about to come to an end.

What the hell are ye doing?

Brochan could hear his conscience scream that question, but his body did not seem to care that this woman was his enemy, or that her father had murdered his brother.

Nay, he cared about nothing but the rose-colored lips, and the woman beside him.

From the moment he had looked at her, he had thought of taking her, and take her he would. Over and over again. Get her with child so her father would never forget Tristan’s death.

No longer would she be a virgin after this night.

He would see to that.

Her lips touched his, tentatively at first, then aggressively, her tongue sliding along the seam of his lips, prompting him to open. And open he did.

She moaned as her velvety tongue slid into his mouth, past his teeth. She tasted sweet, and as her arms encircled his neck, he pulled her on top of him.

Her curves molded against him, her hips pressing down on his pulsing erection.

He moaned deep in his throat. God’s breath, if she kept moving like that he would come before he sank his length into her luscious, lithe body.

His hands moved down her slender back, over her womanly hips, and cupped her high, firm buttocks. She moaned in pleasure, rocking against him, her mound scorching his cock that pulsed with the need to be deep inside her honeyed walls. His fingers dipped into the crevice there, slipping a finger into that heated core.

She moaned again, spreading her thighs, while she pressed hard against his cock.

Sweat beaded on his forehead with the effort it took to hold himself in check. Moisture seeped from the tiny slit of his cockhead.

“You feel so good,” she said, and he added another finger into her delicious heat.

She was so tight, so wet.

Her hands moved over his ribs, and then were at the cord of his braies, untying them with nimble fingers. A second later her fingers curled around his shaft. “You’re so big.”

He flipped her beneath him, pushing his braies down, unable to wait a second longer.

Her beautiful blue eyes were wide, the sides of her mouth lifted in a seductive smile. “I want you inside me.”

If this was an act…she certainly was convincing.

He slipped his cock inside her molten core and didn’t move, savoring the feel of her channel gripping his length.

Her hands moved down his back, cupping his buttocks as she lifted her hips, urging him to move.

He kept the pace slow, in no hurry to end this joining.
Nay, he would savor it, take his time so she would have a difficult time forgetting him.

He wanted this moment branded on her memory.

This enemy of his.

Terri gasped, savoring the feel of Brochan’s length stretching her, filling her like she’d never been filled before.

His body was beautiful. Wide chest covered by scars, both short and long. Scars that had faded with time, but marked him as the warrior he was. A powerful, sexy warrior.

He looked at her, his green eyes heavy-lidded, so sensual. Lowering his dark head, he took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the peak in slow licks. He suckled hard, his teeth grazing her nipple gently, building a delicious ache that had her fingernails digging into his back.

His hips stopped moving, and she could not keep from lifting her own hips, wanting more of his rock-hard length inside her, but each time she lifted, he pulled away in a cruel game.

She’d never been so aroused in her life.

Two could play at that game.

She reached between their bodies, her fingers finding his sac, finding that sensitive patch she had read about, and stroking it with her thumb.

She smiled when he groaned, a sensual grunt that made her pulse quicken. He thrust deep, followed by long, fluid strokes that had her moving along the ground.

Her head brushed against the side of the tent, and he went up on his knees, pulling her by the hips. His gaze shifted from hers to where their bodies joined.

She looked too, shocked at his size, watching with excitement and exhilaration as he entered her slowly, his rod slick from her dew.

His thumb brushed over her clit, once, twice. She arched
her hips, and he pulled out, just to where the tip of his cock touched her opening.

“Brochan,” she said, her fingers curling about his hips, urging him to fill her again.

To her frustration, he didn’t budge, but played with her tiny nub, working it. He moved again and she cried out, her body reaching for climax.

Brochan watched Annabelle as she climaxed, her eyes closing, her mouth opening.

He felt the tremors against his cock, her inner muscles gripping him tight, pulsing around him in exquisite harmony. Thrusting deeper, his balls tightened, ready to come.

He pulled out, his seed pulsing onto the hard ground beneath him, falling onto her, trying to control his breathing. Why in the hell had he refrained from coming inside her? Wasn’t that the idea behind her abduction?

God’s breath, he would have a difficult time sending her back to her father.

Mayhap he would keep her a little while.

Never had he expected to discover in Annabelle MacLellan a vixen who could set his blood on fire. A woman who had obviously made love to a man before, because where else would she have learned to touch him in such ways?

And her body had accepted his eagerly, taking him fully inside her.

Had it been her betrothed who had taken her maidenhead? The vain cousin who had seemed almost too feminine?

Or did she have another lover?

“Why are you frowning?”

Surprised she had been watching him, he looked down, embarrassed to find they were off the furs completely and on the hard ground.

His knees were dirty, as no doubt her bottom would be. He rolled so that his back was against the dirt, and she above him, straddling him.

His cock jerked, already semihard again.

She looked down at him, her lips quirking in a sweet grin that made his insides twist. “Do you have something on your mind, Brochan?”

His gaze shifted from hers, to her breasts, her nipples crinkling beneath his stare. Her fingers encircled his cock, and he jumped, shocked, yet delighted by the bold touch. His hands moved to her slender hips.

Her hand tightened around him in a practiced stroke, up and down in a slow, even rhythm. “You are so deliciously hard again,” she said, staring at his cock.

Her folds were swollen, her hair damp from their mingled juices. His fingers slid to her molten core, slipping inside the heat there.

She was drenched, her fingers clasping around him. His thumb brushed over her clit, and she sat up abruptly, his fingers falling away as she positioned herself over his cock.

She took him inside her, sighing when she sat down fast, and then rotated her hips in a slow circle. A smile tugged at her lips as, with hands on his chest, she started to ride him.

Her full breasts bounced with the rhythm, and he reached out and cupped them, a perfect handful, the erect nipples pressing into his palms.

Terri had never been so turned on in her life. Her vagina so slick, stretched more in this position, taking every long inch of him. So stuffed she couldn’t possibly take another half an inch.

His thumb brushed over her clit, and he watched her intently. She watched him in turn, and didn’t hold back as she reached for release. She climbed higher and closer to peak, riding him harder, faster, her need climbing with every second.

Her insides clamped down hard against him, her muscles pounding, pulling his thick length deep inside.

She cried out, her fingers sinking into the golden skin of his shoulders.

With a low-throated moan, he lifted her, his cream pulsing from his body between them.

Brochan woke to the sound of an owl hooting outside the tent. The owl had been following them from the time they left Castle Kildare. He had made his presence known immediately, and now did again, sitting on a branch outside.

He turned to his side, to find the furs beside him empty.

His stomach dropped to his toes.

Dammit, Annabelle had escaped!

The scent of their lovemaking was still in the air as he pulled on his braies and walked outside.

A fire had been set, and nearby a small number of his men snored. Why had he not posted a guard outside his tent? How humiliating it would be to see his men again, particularly since they had no doubt heard the groans and sighs coming from his tent earlier.

What a fool he had been.

And his men would think no differently.

The girl had fucked him in order to escape. Not because she had desired him, or lusted for him, but because she wanted to flee.

It hadn’t been because she desired him as much as he’d wanted her.

Nay, she had known she could use her feminine wiles on him to lower his guard.

And lower it he had.

Cursing under his breath, he was ready to rouse his men when he heard a soft humming coming from nearby.

His heart missed a beat.

Could it be Annabelle?

He walked toward the sound, his heart accelerating the closer he came.

Hope and something resembling relief mingled within him, and as he entered the glade, he saw in the moonlight the silhouette of a woman.

A woman with blond hair and womanly hips.

Annabelle.

She swam the length of the small loch, her voice soft, like the brush of a hand up his thigh.

The excitement he had felt earlier in his tent, when he had taken her beneath him and buried his cock deep inside her heat, came rushing back.

No doubt she had come to wash the scent of their lovemaking from her luscious body.

He pushed his braies from his hips and stepped into the water.

She turned abruptly. While at first startled, she smiled upon recognizing him.

Like a young lad, his heart skipped a beat.

She stood in the water, her breasts bouncing with the motion, the water lapping at her hips.

Her nipples had tightened into buds, and as she walked toward him, the strip of pale curls glistened from the water.

She jumped into his arms, her legs wrapping about his waist.

“I thought ye left,” he said before he could stop himself, voicing his fears aloud.

Smiling, she kissed his jaw. “I have no intention of leaving you, Brochan. I am enjoying myself far too much.”

Her words pleased him more than she would ever know. “I am glad to hear that, lass.”

He kissed her back, opening to her questing tongue, tasting her, enjoying the feel of her hard nipples pressed against his chest.

He set her back down on her feet and took her by the hand, leading her to the shore. The soft grass on the pond’s bank would serve as their blanket. She lay down, pulling him beside her, and he rolled over her, kissing her, tasting her lips, before kissing a trail from her forehead, to her eyelids, to her nose, to her cheeks, and her chin.

He wanted to taste every inch of her.

His lips traveled down her neck, to the swell of her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth, and sucking gently, using his teeth with care. She arched off the ground, her breaths coming unevenly now, her fingers pulling his hair.

Her thighs fell open, and he moved lower, over her soft belly, his tongue circling her navel, before moving over the wet curls that covered her sex.

He kissed her sensitive inner thigh, before moving to the tiny nub at the top of her sex, tasting her lightly, his tongue flicking over her.

Her thighs opened all the way, her hips arching off the ground. “That feels wonderful,” she whispered, her fingers sinking into the skin at his shoulders.

He already had scratches from their earlier lovemaking, and he would have more. Her nails raked him as he licked
her slit from one end to the other, coming extremely close to her back passage.

Terri felt like her bones were melting. The man pleasuring her took such exquisite time and care, tasting her and touching her in ways Elliott never had, or ever would.

Brochan’s long tongue stroked her folds, taking his time, flicking over her clit again and again, and then sucking hard, but not too hard, and then softer, the tip of his tongue lifting the tiny nub over and over. Her insides tightened, and as her body found release, she pushed at his shoulders, not sure if she wanted more, or couldn’t take more. She just felt an intense ache deep inside her core.

The need to be filled.

“Brochan,” she said, her voice shallow, almost a plea.

“Yes, Annabelle.”

His hard cock rocked against her, impossibly huge, like a stone against her stomach. The head of his rod slid against her opening and she arched her hips, aching for him to take her.

He kissed her, her scent clinging to him. Elliott would never have done such a thing as kiss her after pleasuring her, but with Brochan she felt no shame at tasting herself.

Just arousal.

His long cock slid in and out of her, his rhythm fluid, his strokes strong. Their wet stomachs slapped together, the sound reverberating off the now still water.

His men would think her a slut, but she didn’t care. She had never been so attracted to a man in all her life, and if she wanted to make love to Brochan Douglas every day, then by damn she would.

As another climax claimed her, she raked her nails along his back, down over his buttocks, her fingers slipping between his crack.

She sensed his shock, his every muscle tense, but he didn’t stop her. But she didn’t go further, and instead cupped his tight ass.

And as she fell back to earth, she knew that life with this man was only going to get more interesting.