Page 70 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter sixty- four

Mira

W e left my rental at the parking lot, vowing to come back for it tomorrow.

He pulled his SUV up the drive to the cottage, skidding slightly on the gravel, coming to a stop just a touch too fast. He was out of the vehicle in an instant, opening the door to let Bunny out, and at mine in the span of a single heartbeat.

And I relished it—this version of him no longer hiding from me.

He lifted me into his arms and carried me toward the cottage, kicking the door open, crossing the threshold. The front door swung wide behind us, Bunny left to fend for herself as he strode through the main room and into a bedroom I hadn’t seen the night I woke on the couch.

It was spare, like the rest of the cottage, but a king-sized bed sat centered against the far wall, facing another stone hearth. He closed the door behind us, and in that moment, wrapped in thick stone and silence, it felt like we had vanished into a private cave.

We fell onto the bed together, all breath and urgency, hands grasping, reaching, pulling. Both of us desperate to get to the place we needed to be—to become what we had been circling for so long.

To join, finally, as one.

No more fear. No more hiding. Just two hearts, wide open.

We tugged at each other’s clothes, desperate for skin on skin. Fingers fumbled, buttons and zippers testing our patience. His lips were everywhere—scorching, electric—and I felt the heat of him, the charge I’d missed so achingly.

When we were finally bare, he stilled, hovering over me as I lay breathless beneath him.

He bent low, covering my stomach with kisses—soft, lingering, teasing ones that left me trembling.

Then, with one strong arm around my back, he lifted me to him, our torsos pressed tightly together.

My body collapsed into his, boneless, pliant.

“Stubborn, stubborn…” he murmured, the words trailing off as his mouth moved lower, finding my breasts.

His playful scolding, mixed with the reverence in his touch, caught me off guard—and a laugh burst from me, unguarded and warm. Joyful. I couldn’t help it. He was right, of course.

I had been stubborn.

Each kiss, each scrape of his stubbled cheek, sent sparks dancing across my skin.

My nipples hardened beneath the cool contrast of his body, the tension between us coiling tighter.

I arched beneath him, my neck bared, offering everything.

Every inch of me was his.And my body knew it—eager, unafraid, utterly his to command.

I searched his face, bracing for a reaction—hoping I wouldn’t see the disgust or shame I’d seen before.

He gave a small shake of his head, and I knew he saw my disappointment. The smirk—the one that undid me—made an appearance. My breath caught, heat thrummed through me, the wetness between my legs heavy now.

“I dinnae say no,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “Just…not yet. I mean to take my time with ye. If I go straight there, it'll be over in five minutes. ” Then it was his turn to laugh, a low rumble in his chest—a dark, delicious promise of everything still to come tonight.

He palmed my pussy, the friction of his hand moving in slow, rhythmic strokes—back and forth, back and forth—against my slick, swollen flesh, already aching for him.

Then he brought his hand to his mouth, his tongue lapping at my sweetness, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the taste.

“Oh, good God, I’ve missed this,” he growled. “The way you taste…it’s my second favorite part of you to devour.”

His gaze locked on mine—wild, hungry. The playful teasing in his voice barely restrained something deeper, darker. The point on my neck pulsed with a heat that matched the one between my legs, the lava flow awakening.

I knew what his favorite was now. It throbbed inside me, calling to him. And he was listening.

I was emboldened then—driven by the need to please him, to offer something in return. So many times, in our lovemaking, he had made me the center of everything—my pleasure always coming before his.

But tonight, something shifted. I wanted to serve him. No— needed to.

I pushed him back onto the bed. He went willingly, a lazy, satisfied smile curling his lips as he propped himself up on one elbow, watching me with keen interest, letting me take the lead.

I straddled his legs and lowered my mouth to his cock, my ass raised behind me, offering, exposed.

He moaned the moment my lips wrapped around him, my spit and his precum making every movement slick, every stroke smooth.

He was thick, hard, overwhelming. I gagged, pulled back, caught my breath, then dove in again with hunger.

“ We are getting a mirror for that wall,” he said, voice gravelly with lust. “So I can watch your pussy and ass the next time ye suck my cock like this.”

His words hit me like a shockwave—filthy, raw, and devastatingly intimate. I’d never been brought so close to the edge from words alone. But with him, even his voice could unravel me. A moan escaped my lips, my body wanting all of him.

“Stay like that, lass. On yer hands and knees for me,” he said. He was beneath me—and then he wasn’t.

The world spun, a rush of air and motion, and I gasped, disoriented—until I realized the cause. His mouth was on me. On my pussy. Devouring.

Lips, tongue, even the press of his nose—every part of him was on me, claiming, consuming.

He sucked at me with a kind of desperate precision, like he was starving and I was the only thing that could save him.

The pleasure was blinding. My body writhed, helpless.

Mindless, broken whimpers spilled from my lips, sounds I couldn’t have stopped if I tried. I was utterly undone.

Then—two fingers slid inside me, firm and knowing. He stroked exactly where he needed to, the place only he seemed to understand. The perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm—he wasn’t guessing. He knew .

My body responded instantly. A gush of warmth spilled from me, and he was ready for it—mouth still on me, drinking me in, fingers still working, coaxing more from me, pulling pleasure from the deepest parts of me.

“Don’t ye dare make a face,” he growled between moans. “I’ve craved this.” His voice was thick with his own pleasure, his mouth unrelenting as he swallowed and licked at everything I gave him.

He pulled back, kneeling behind me, his fingers sliding inside me again—then out. Wet fingertips moved between my thighs, up to the cleft of my ass, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the tight ring of muscle there.

I lifted my head slightly, startled by the unfamiliar sensation, my body tensing instinctively.

“Tell me what’s off limits,” Baird said, his voice low and hot against my skin. “Or if there’s something ye don’t like. You won’t offend me…”

I trusted the way my body responded to him—instinctive, electric. I didn’t want to deny myself any new opportunity for pleasure.

Turning my head, I looked back at him, breathless but sure.

“If I need you to stop, I’ll tell you…” I said softly. A groan of pleasure slipped from my lips, unbidden, as anticipation curled through me. My eyes were heavy-lidded, half-open, my body loose, yielding—utterly relaxed and open to him.

His hand slid between my thighs again, gathering my slickness and spreading it slowly, deliberately, ensuring I was ready. When he finally entered me, the sound of my arousal—undeniable, wet and raw—filled the room.

He moved inside me with slow, deliberate strokes, watching my body respond, clenching around his cock as if trying to keep him there, deep within me.

His thumb traced slow circles around my tight bud as before, teasing me, making me wait, then pressing gently, coaxing my body to open to the dual sensations. I pressed back against him harder, pushing his thumb deeper into my ass.

I threw my head back, a guttural cry escaping my lips as I surrendered to the overwhelming feeling—his body filling me, surrounding me, claiming me.

Eac h thrust, from his hand and his cock, sent me higher, the pressure building, cresting, pleasure so sharp it nearly hurt. I pressed back into him, wanting more, needing all of it—needing him .

My body tensed, then shattered, wave after wave surging through me. My cries were wild, unfiltered, utterly unashamed—echoing through the room, rising with the force of my climax.

He bent over me, soft kisses laid across my shoulders and back. “Ugh…woman…the way your body responds to mine is like magic.”

He sat back on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, and pulled me into his lap. I straddled him, my legs wrapping tightly around his back. His strong hands slid beneath the curves of my ass, lifting me effortlessly, guiding me as I began to lower myself onto him.

He moved slowly, rhythmically, his brilliant green eyes locked on mine with such intensity it stole my breath. His pelvis rolled in a deep, deliberate rhythm, pushing into me with a quiet, aching precision.

I reached up and swept my hair aside, baring my neck to him once more—the part of me that belonged to him, that called to him. The need for that final, sacred connection still pulsed within me, raw and insistent.

I wanted everything .

All of him.

The bond between us, still incomplete, still hungry.

His eyes flashed—and the darkness surged through him. But this time, he didn’t resist it. He welcomed it.

Power rippled across his body, every nerve thrumming with anticipation. He swelled with it—stronger, harder, every part of him growing, expanding with the force of what he was.

No longer holding back.

No longer afraid.

“Yes, Mira,” he hissed—his voice deeper now, shaped by something ancient, a sound forged in a realm where darkness and light had long since entwined. It filled the room, echoing from every corner, yet it also came from within me, vibrating through my bones, threading through my blood.

As if the voice itself knew me.

Claimed me.

There was a sting as his teeth pierced my skin—sharp, precise—followed by the scalding pleasure of him taking from me the one thing that bound us, irrevocably.

I had just come for him moments before, my clit still achingly sensitive.

But with every pull at my neck, my nerves sparked back to life, pushed to new limits.

His deep, unrelenting thrusts drove me higher, again and again, until the pressure inside me broke—an explosion of heat and intensity radiating outward, wave after wave.

Bliss surged through me, echoing to the furthest edges of my body—my toes, my eyelashes, even my fingernails reverberating with it.

I was completely consumed. And I wanted to be.

With my body still trembling in the aftermath, he lifted his mouth from my neck. I felt the slow trickle of warmth—twin crimson trails sliding down my skin. He watched them, transfixed. His eyes were black now, consumed by the darkness within him. But I wasn’t afraid.

No— I knew .

I held more power over that darkness than he did. And he had given it to me freely, trusted me with the part of himself he had once feared. He had surrendered that part of his soul—and it belonged to me now, just as I belonged to him.

He was still moving inside me—long, deep strokes—my slick heat wrapping around him, pulling him in. His pace quickened, his gaze fixed where the blood had reached the swell of my breasts, trickling down the curves, gleaming against my flushed skin.

I lifted one breast to his mouth, an offering. “Take it,” I whispered. “Don’t waste it.”

And he did.

His tongue moved slowly, reverently, lapping at the blood with a kind of worship. He savored it as his thrusts grew more urgent, his grip tightening on my hips, pulling me down, grinding me into him.

Then he cried out—rough, vulnerable—his climax tearing through him. Each aftershock pulsed between us, echoing along the new, shared pathways forged in blood and desire. I felt his pleasure as vividly as my own, the lines between us blurred, dissolved.

Still panting, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts, he leaned back to study the marks on my neck.

Gently, tenderly, he pressed his mouth to them, his tongue soft against the tiny wounds.

He pulled me to him, arms wrapped around me tenderly, lips in my hair, my face tucked under his chin. He rocked back and forth slowly.

“ Luaidh mo chèile ,” he whispered to me.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you are the love of my life, Mira Garvie—both of them.”