Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws) (30 page)

He swept her back to her feet. “That is not a good idea just now, Katy.” His voice was a taut scrape.

He pulled her to the bed, laid her down on it, and knelt between her thighs, his face taut and rigid. “I’ll go slow,” he said, at odds with the rampant energy she knew was roiling through him.

“Just don’t stop.”

He propped himself on a palm, leaned to the side, and reached between their bodies. His painted hand grasped his erection. She was breathless at the erotic sight, wanted nothing but to watch his hand curl around himself, but there was no time, for he settled between her legs. The hard, silken head of him bumped into her folds, then, with a little shove, he breached her, pushed up inside the barest inch.
 

She froze, her lips rounded around a hard, silent gasp.
 

He pulled his hips back and brought them forward and sank in further. Her head flung back, jerked by whipcord lashes of arousal. His eyes flew to hers.

“Aye?” Ragged, whispered, it was barely a word.

“Oh,
aye
.”

His chest moved in rapid breaths; he was breathing as fast as she. Which meant his head must be spinning as hard as hers, his heart must be thudding with the same frenzied beat.
 

Never looking away, he repositioned himself, propped up on his palms and stretched out above her. Then he rocked his hips forward. It was an unstoppable thrust, slow mayhap, but very hard, very deep. Very much intending to take her fully.
 

Her body spread for him, sensitive inner flesh trembling as he stroked into it.
 

He pulled out and sank in again, a slow, carnal possession. Beautifully slow, painfully slow. The muscles in his arms were tautly defined as he held himself up and rocked again. A shudder took his body. His head tipped back, his eyes shut, the muscles in his neck stretched taut as he plunged into her yet again, harder this time, going in deeper.

It was a viciously gentle breach of her defenses.

Katarina had been prepared for a crushing sensual assault, expected him to storm her gates with fire, after such a long siege. Aodh was vigor and endless movement, a roiling storm cloud; she’d known that to be taken by him, meant to be taken entirely.

But this slow subjugation, this gentle rout of her body, was like being set on fire with a long fuse. It was cruel, vicious, unkind. Perfect.
 

As if she were the land and he her sky, he stretched out over her, and she laid herself out for him more with each thrust, until her arms curled helplessly above her head. Her hips rose to meet each controlled penetration, her head tipped up to receive every kiss he saw fit to plant on her mouth. Inside her, a hot bank of pressure built. She felt like a storm about to break.

His eyes were so dark, so dilated with desire, she could disappear into them, as if into night, and never be seen again. In this moment, she wanted just that, to disappear from the world, and never be seen by anyone but Aodh.

“Ready, lass?”

Bands of excitement coiled around her. She nodded.

He shoved his hips forward in a deep, fierce thrust, shocking her with the suddenness, and the pleasure to be had from the hard, fierce
taking
of it. She wanted to be taken by this man, hard and long, until she wept from it.
 

Then he stopped, as if he hadn’t meant to do it so forcefully.
 

But she had
loved
the force of him.
 

“Please, Aodh.” She curled her hands around his hips.

“You like that?”

“Oh yes.” She pulled on him, urging him on.
 

He set a rhythm then, matching himself to the thrust of her hips, the toss of her head, how high her back arched to him.

 
“Aye, Katy, take more of me,” he commanded, shoving her knee wide to the side.
 

The powerful arms on either side of her head shook as she lifted her hips, opening for him. He dropped to his elbows, laid his mouth on her neck, and took her hard. His hips rolled between her thighs in fierce, hard thrusts. Their bodies grew sweaty, slicked together, then slid apart. He pushed her legs apart farther until she was splayed out for him, sprawled, her head tossing. She could do nothing but whatever Aodh bid.
 

His mouth plowed her open, tasted her, then left her gasping when he tore away and moved to her ear, then her neck, then her breasts. Everything he touched felt as though it sparkled. She held her breasts up for his suckling, tangled her fingers in his hair to move his head where she wanted to feel his caress next. She nipped his neck, his shoulders, let him do things she had never dreamed of, and reveled in it. He was a wave she was riding, powerful and unstoppable.

It was untended and untamed.

It was magnificent.

She closed her eyes to better focus on the sensations running rampant through her body, the scalding pleasure brought by Aodh’s possession of her. Her hips began to thrust up more frantically, her head to toss more unevenly. Her gasps kept breaking off mid-cry, as each new twist of pleasure coiled through her.
 

Hard and fast now, their union ascended. Pleasure built in dizzying sweeps. She was cold and desperately hot. He slid his hand down under her body, cupped her bottom and lifted, holding her up and shifting their angle. A bolt of pleasure snaked through her.

He surged into her again, then again, and again, until the pleasure was intolerable, so intense it scorched. Her back arched, her breath arrested, poised at the edge of a precipice.

He bent to her ear. “You see, there is nothing we cannot do, Katy, you and I. Whatever you want, we will be.”

“
Oh.
”

“You are mine.”

Her head whipped back, her body jerked from within, then she exploded. “Yours.”

The climax picked her up and tossed her. Helpless in the smashing, churning pleasure, she could do nothing but fling her head, rock her body, and cry Aodh’s name, just as he’d said. He roared his completion then too, and the flood of male heat that surged through her coaxed her body to summit on another wave of pleasure.

They continued to move against each other until the last vestiges of climax were spent. Then he dragged himself off her and drew her to lay beside him.
 

She sprawled, stunned, her hips still rocking forward, as if a dream of arousal clung to her. He dragged her knee up onto his stomach to let her move against him, curled his hand under the sweaty length of her hair, and lifted it up, so cool air could brush over it.

She whispered her thanks, planted a messy kiss on his jaw, and her head fell back to the bed. Almost before it hit the sheets, they were asleep, sweaty limbs entwined, carnal lusts sated, for the moment, their minds protected from what this all meant. But of course it meant something.
 

It meant she was his.
 

Rardove was, in every way now, in the hands of a rebel.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

SHE WAS AWAKENED by the feel of his hand lightly stroking up her naked back, under the covers. The furs were warm, the fire was burning—he must have made it up, because it crackled and popped with fresh fuel. The furs were silky across her body.

His hand slid up between her shoulder blades, and, still half in sleep, she stretched into his touch and pushed her leg out, long under the covers.
 

Aodh’s hand, warm and hard, tugged her knee up over his stomach. She curled into him like a cat.
 

Then he dragged her entirely onto his body, pushed his knee between hers, parting them, and with a swift, confident lift of his hips, thrust up inside her with a slippery, pressured push.

“
Oh
,” she breathed, still half in sleep.

“G’morning,” he whispered by her ear.

“Is it morning?” She tried to straighten.

“’Tis after midnight.”

“Morning,” she agreed dazedly, pushing up on her elbows. She shoved the hair back from her forehead and looked into the eyes so close to hers. The sharp angles of his warrior’s face, hardened by the world, were softened now, partly by a morning covering of facial hair on his cheeks, but mostly by the heated passion in his eye.
 

“I dreamed of you,” she whispered.

“And I, you,” he said quietly, but the resonate rumble sounded loud in the firelit room. He lifted his hips, pushed in a little deeper.
 

“Is this a dream?” she whispered.

“Aye.”

She bent her head and touched her lips to his. “It feels very real.”

“Does it feel very good?”

She tipped her head to the side. “I suppose it will do.”

He brushed the sweaty hair back from her cheeks and temples. “What of this?” Another lift of his hips, sinking him in deeper. Bright ripples snaked through her body.
 

“I think I like that.”

“Then rise up, and let me take you.”

Addled by pleasure, by this sudden erotic awakening, she pushed to sit up on him. He curled his hands around her hips and as she shifted, he slipped in deeper.

His hands brought her hips forward in a hard pull. “Take more of me,” he ordered roughly, and his thighs flexed as he lifted his hips and buried himself inside her.

She loved his rough words, how he demanded things that were so erotic, so dangerous, so perfectly matched to what she wished to give.
 

She rocked her hips, just a little, by herself. He leaned back, his hands now almost motionless, and let her set the pace. And the depth. And the rhythm.

At first she moved slowly, leaning over him, hands on his shoulders, her hair swaying beside them. Each measured movement forced him in a little deeper. Her knees slid out, and she began to move faster, their breaths pushed by the rhythm of her rocking.

His hands curled tighter around her hips, and he began moving her too, slowly increasing their tempo, harder, faster.
 

Bands of pleasure tightened around her: her breasts, her legs, the slippery swollen flesh Aodh was taking possession of. It was splendid torment. She leaned lower, her breasts before his face, and as he suckled them, his hips came up in a long, hard thrust. A shivery pulse of heretofore unknown pleasure snapped up her back like a whip.
 

She flung her head and cried out, then dropped her head back down, heavy with passion, and locked her gaze on his.

“Oh,
Aodh.
” It was a hot exhale of pleasure.
 

“Aye,
bahn sidhe
. We’ll do that one again.” And he did, lifted his hips just as he had done before, gripped her hip just as he had done before, and the long, hot cord of pleasure came for her again, lashing her with wicked force.

Her body bucked. Following the sensations, she let her hands fall off his shoulders and sat up straight.
 

He lay back on the bed and watched her, his gaze raking down her body.

She felt unleashed. To be so bared before him, to move for him so, to have him approve of it all, approve of her, she felt as if she’d been cast in liquid gold. Hot, glowing. Each lift of his hips forced the thick thrust of him in deeper, made her spread a little wider to take him. There was no retreat from this possession. She wanted no retreat. She wanted only to follow the whipcord slashes of pleasure that were slowly deepening to gold-hot undulations down her back and up her legs, and deep, deep inside her.
 

Aodh kept his hand on her hip, kept moving her, ensured she was dragged under the sea of pleasure. The pulses expanded, until she could do nothing but rock on him like some wanton, her shoulders back, her face up to the ceiling, her hair trailing down her spine, brushing over his thighs, like some mad, magnificent dream.

He pushed up on his elbows, his hips pistoning. “Aye, rise up, arch your back.” His words were like gunpowder, exploding her. “This is what I want from you, Katy. I am not afraid of you.”

She had a sudden, blinding flash of insight, as heated as what his body was doing to hers. She well knew the danger of woman was passion, and knew men’s desire for it, and their disdain. Their condescension to it.