Donna Grant: Midnight's Surrender

He swallowed heavily, his rod jumping with anticipation. His balls tightened when she reached down and took him in hand. Somehow he kept his hands in the sheets, fisted tightly. Sweat broke out over his body as he fought to keep still for her.

Only for her. No other woman had ever commanded him in such a way, and he feared no other ever would.

She was on her knees, her entrance above his arousal while she ran her hands up and down his length. She was teasing him as he planned to tease her.

He’d never ached for a woman before. Not once had he hungered to have a certain woman in his arms. But she changed everything.

No longer could he hold off from touching her. He cupped her bountiful breasts and flicked his thumbs over her nipples. In response, she swirled her thumb over the head of his shaft.

He groaned and lifted his hips. His cock came in contact with the soft folds of her sex, and his control snapped.

As if she knew he had gone over the brink, she lowered herself onto him. He was mindless, feral with need. With a jerk, he pulled her down as he raised his hips until he was fully seated inside her. She groaned, her head thrown back and the ends of her hair brushing his thighs.

For a second, he couldn’t move. Her tight, slick walls held him suspended between agony and pleasure, torment and release. He knew in that moment that she commanded his body.

His fear was that her reach would extend past his body to his heart, or worse——his soul.

With his heart hammering in his chest, she began to rock her hips. He closed his eyes to feel every delightful, perfect minute of her.

There was a slight thumping that intruded upon him, but he was determined to ignore it. He rolled over, taking her with him. He lost her in the blankets. Panic seized him as he searched, only to find himself clutching a pillow instead of her soft body.

Phelan opened his eyes to the pillow and flopped onto his back. He threw an arm over his eyes as his cock ached for relief.

“Fuck,” he ground out in vexation.

The dreams he was having of Aisley intensified every night, leaving him aroused and unsatisfied no matter how many times he tried to pleasure himself afterward.

He had been on her trail for almost two months now. He still wasn’t sure why he let her walk out of that nightclub after he first kissed her.

He hadn’t expected her to run. Women didn’t run from him.

But Aisley did.

That was part of why she intrigued him, but it went beyond that. She was different. That one kiss they shared had rocked him to his very core. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or wanting her.

His mobile phone vibrated on the bedside table. Phelan pondered not answering it, but he knew they would only call again.

“What?” he demanded as he answered the call.

“What the hell is your problem?” Charon’s voice asked with a note of irritation.

Phelan rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He hoped the call would cool his ardor, but if it didn’t, another cold shower to start the day would. “It doesna matter. What’s the reason for the call?”

The pause on the other end of the line had Phelan glancing over at the clock. The bright green lights staring back at him told him it was 2:33 in the morning.

“Charon,” Phelan urged as the silence grew.

“We’re getting desperate,” Charon said tightly. “There’s been no sign of Jason.”

Jason Wallace. The very reason Phelan had to take extra time away from tracking Aisley. Jason was a drough , a Druid who gave part of his soul to the Devil in order to use black magic.

Phelan untangled his legs from the sheets and sat up. “I’ve seen nothing of him. Maybe Jason is dead as we’ve suspected all along.”

“I need to know for certain.”

Phelan drew in a deep breath, hating the weariness and worry he heard in his friend’s voice. “Laura is safe. She’s with you.”

“Are any of us ever really safe with a drough about?” Charon asked. “My wife asks me to forget about Wallace, but I hear Laura on the phone with the other Druids talking about ways to use their magic to look for him.”

Phelan scrubbed a hand down his face. How many times had the mies used the magic nature gave them to look for Wallace? The mies were the good Druids and luckily on their side.

Despite the Druids’ magic and the powers within Warriors like Phelan, they had found nothing of Jason Wallace. The Druids had potent magic, but as a Highlander with a primeval god inside him, Phelan should have found Jason by now.

He had been alone for so long, and he thought it would always be that way. Then he found Charon. An unlikely friendship had begun between them that brought them as close as brothers.

After one monster of a betrayal, Phelan found it difficult to trust. Charon had changed all of that. Phelan would do anything for the man he considered a brother.

However, it wasn’t just for Charon that he searched for Wallace. It was for himself. He wanted to put the past behind him. He wanted to think of a future that included peace—or as much peace as a Warrior could ever achieve.

“I’m no’ giving up,” Phelan stated. “I’m tired of fighting droughs . First Deirdre, then Declan, and now Jason. It has to end sometime.”

“Laura keeps reminding me there can no’ be good without evil. There’s a balance.”

“Aye. This last time evil nearly won.”

Phelan hated to think how close they had been to losing the last battle. Fortunately, Charon had made some powerful friends at Dreagan Distillery. Those “friends” ended up being dragon shifters.

The Dragon Kings had been around since the beginning of time. It was on their land the battle had been fought with the dragons in the skies and Warriors on the ground.

“It was too damn close,” Charon agreed softly.

“Any word from Rhys or the others at Dreagan?”

Charon grunted. “Nothing. They have their hands full right now, but they’re keeping an eye out for us.”

“What of the selmyr?”

Just thinking of the hideous beasts made Phelan bite back a growl. The selmyr were ancient creatures that fed off magical entities. The Druids and Warriors were perfect meals. The only thing the selmyr feared were the Dragon Kings.

“Nothing,” Charon said with a sigh. “The waiting is wearing on Laura.”

“All will be well, my friend,” Phelan vowed. “I can stop my search and help you keep watch over Laura.”

Phelan would do it in a heartbeat after everything Charon had done for him, but he prayed he wouldn’t have to give up searching for Aisley. He had to find her, to taste her sweet lips once more and know if the kiss had been a one-time thing, or if there was something between them.

“Nay. You and Malcolm are the only ones out looking for Wallace.”

The first ghost of a grin pulled at Phelan’s lips. “Ah, so the infamous MacLeod Druids couldna talk their men into allowing them out to look, aye?”

“Nay,” Charon said, a smile in his voice. “Neither could the Warriors persuade the women to let them go.”

“Oh, I can imagine the bickering going on at the castle now.”

“Which is one reason we are no’ there,” Charon said. “Where are you anyway?”

Phelan rose from the bed and walked to the window to look out over the city. “Glasgow. I’ll head west at dawn.”

“Keep in touch.”

“Same to you.”

Phelan ended the call and tossed the mobile phone on the bed. He put his palms against the window and dropped his head. Without even trying to, Phelan could feel Aisley’s magic.

It had always been so between Warriors and Druids. It began centuries ago when Rome invaded their land. The Celts stood against Rome, but that couldn’t last forever.