Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

He pinched gently, rolled the sensitive skin between thumb and forefinger. A wave of heat shot to her innermost core. She tried to remain still through his exploration, but when his head dipped and he took her nipple into his mouth, she could no longer control her response.

She cried out, letting her head fall back against the door, squeezing her eyes shut because the sensations he caused were too intense.

His hand reached up and gripped her by the back of her neck. He forced her to look at him, forced her to see the anguish on his face, the price her absence had caused. They slid to the floor, too impatient to find a bed or even a chair. The small braided rug was abrasive against her back, a meager cushion to buffer his heavy weight covering hers. Not that it mattered. Her surroundings faded under his onslaught, her body softened, prepared.

His hands separated her legs; he fell between them, jeans tangled around his knees, rasping against her inner thighs. He braced his arms on either side of her head and looked down. “I can’t stop . . . I want to pleasure you first but I . . .”

“It’s okay.” She felt the first touch of his swollen length push against her opening. They both gasped in raw awareness. She wrapped her legs around his waist for a better angle.

A rasping sound, more animal than human, erupted from his throat. “I’ll not last long this first time.”

“Shh . . .” she soothed. Untangling her arms, she ran her hands along the corded muscles of his biceps, over his shoulders and along his neck. She curled her fingers in his shortened hair, remembering it was much longer the last time she’d been beneath him. His gaze was unfocused, his features strained. She sensed him holding back, afraid. But of what? “Come inside me . . . please .”

He swore under his breath as he succumbed to her plea, thrusting forward. Shoved into the carpet, she moaned as her body stretched to accept him, panting by the time his full length was embedded.

His back felt like caged tension under her palms. His hands roamed lower, dug into her bottom to hold her in place. And then he began to move, hard and unrestrained.

She was lost in complete sensation, her eyes closed. Her lungs filled with his scent, an alluring mixture of forest and man, with the barest hint of musk, of wolf . His chiseled stomach, with its trail of soft hair, rasped against hers as he withdrew and reentered. Skin against skin and a glorious fulfillment she’d almost forgotten, except in dark dreams on lonely nights.

Each thrust brought her closer to climax. She arched instinctively, selfishly, adjusting his angle for her own satisfaction.

“Sophie . . .” Dylan tensed and gave one final thrust, his head thrown back with a guttural shout. Hot pulses filled her, sending her over that shining edge of completion.

It felt so right she almost wept. It was more than just physical fulfillment, but rather a joining of hearts—a broken marriage made whole.

When the room shifted back to reality, he collapsed on top of her, dragging in deep breaths. Minutes passed while Sophie stroked his back. After a while he stirred, planted kisses in her hair. “Did I hurt you?”

She smiled at his concern. “No.”

“There’s a chance . . . of another child . . .”

His voice was so wistful it pained her as she disclosed, “It’s very unlikely. I’m on birth control.”

He stiffened above her. “For how long?”

“A few weeks.” She sighed, aware that other assumptions poisoned his thoughts. “There have been no other men, Dylan. It was just a precaution I took when the idea of calling you first came to mind.” She’d been aware, even then, of her weakness toward this man.

A shudder racked his body. “Thank you for telling me,” he said softly. “I couldn’t ask. I couldn’t bear the answer had there been others.” He paused then, obviously wanting to say more, but taking the time to choose his words carefully. “Our children are rare gifts. Conception should never be hindered.”

But he didn’t demand that she stop. Progress, she now understood, came within those small concessions. “Give me some time. Give us some time.”

“Consider it given.” Cool air whispered over her naked skin as he stood. She watched him drag his jeans over his hips with an arrogant grin. Silently, he held out his hand and she allowed him to help her up. The muscles in her legs gave a twinge of protest. He must have sensed her unease because he scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.

“I have to get my clothes,” she protested, slapping at his shoulder; he was carrying her into the hallway naked , for the love of God. “My underwear at least.”

“Porter cleans my study every morning. He will gather them.” Was that a teasing note in his voice?

“Dylan . . .”

“Fine.” He bent her forward so she could reach her discarded garments, and then proceeded to carry her to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his foot. “I don’t want your mind clouded with any distractions.”

His good humor was addictive. She laughed, feeling reckless. “Why not?”

He dropped her on his bed. She bounced a few times, the burgundy comforter soft against her bare skin. She leaned back on her elbows, allowing him full view. His eyes darkened and his voice lost that teasing edge. “Because I’m not even close to being finished with you yet.”

DYLAN AWOKE WITH A START. HE WAS HALF CONVINCED that last night had been a cruel dream, a manifestation of what he wanted most but couldn’t have, until he felt the small weight of her body curled against his. Half turning, he rose to his elbow to watch her, to confirm with his own eyes that she was actually there.

Sophie slept on her side, with her back snuggled against him and her hands curled under a pillow. She had cocooned herself in a mass of blankets, leaving him none. He almost laughed aloud with joy, having forgotten she was a blanket thief.

Anxiety skittered like seeds on the wind; it was in those forgotten moments, in a simple act, that he knew she was indeed real, breathing softly, and curled in his bed.

Her hair spread around her, tousled in sleepy disarray. Unraveling the comforter, he scooped her into his arms until her skin met his. Warmth filled his heart with a sense of rightness, as if a vital piece had finally been restored.

A contented sound fell from her lips, and then a yawn. She stretched like a kitten, arching her back and pushing her hair away from her face.

Moisture gathered in his eyes and he blinked it away, making a silent vow to the gods . . .

Tell your Guardians to fear this day, for I have been given a second chance and will not lose her again. Whoever comes to us with ill intent, whoever brings danger to my wife and son . . . will die. This I promise you, with every breath I have taken, and every breath I willingly give up for them . . . From this day forth, I will not live a life without them in it!

A slight frown creased her forehead as if she sensed his turmoil. Her eyelids lifted once and then fell. “What time is it?”

“Early. The sun has yet to rise.” He had relearned her body through the night, every blessed and beautiful inch, noting all the changes time had stolen from him. Curves had replaced the slenderness of youth; her breasts were fuller, her nipples darker, larger, and quicker to respond.

Taunted by the direction of his thoughts, he ran his palm down her side, over her hip and then her leg, wincing when he felt the jagged resistance of healed scars that one of his own had given her. How close he had already come to losing his wife and son.