Page 13

13: FORGETTING

IVER’S brEATHING HITCHED as if her response shocked him.

Bonnie wouldn’t have been surprised if it had, for she couldn’t believe she’d uttered those lusty words.

Nonetheless, he recovered quickly.

Growling an oath, Iver turned her around and pushed her heavy mane of hair to one side as his mouth explored the line of her neck and shoulder.

He cupped her breasts once more, kneading them gently as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck.

Bonnie trembled against him, craving more.

His touch turned her inside out; it made her forget everything except this wild hunger.

Excitement clenched deep inside her.

As if sensing her desperation, his hands slid from her breasts and down her torso.

He then hiked up her full skirts.

Once again, the soft night air—so mild for this time of year—feathered against Bonnie’s naked legs.

With one hand grasping her skirts, he explored the skin of her belly and thighs—and the soft nest of hair between them—with the other.

And when his fingers slid between her legs, parting her wide for him, Bonnie gasped.

Dizziness swept over her, and she collapsed against the hard wall of his chest.

“It’s all right, lass,” he whispered.

“Just brace yerself against me.” With that, his leg slid between her thighs so she could lean on it.

“Is that better?”

Bonnie gave a guttural moan.

At present, she was beyond speech—for he was stroking her gently in a place that made her legs go weak, made the aching pleasure between her thighs intensify.

“Iver,” she whimpered.

“Aye,” he groaned. “Open yerself up to me … that’s it.”

And, the Virgin forgive her, she did.

Her thighs spread wider still as he stroked her, his fingers playing her as if he were a minstrel and she his lyre.

She was so sensitive down there, the sensations he roused were almost unbearably delicious—yet he continued, relentless now.

Bonnie was aware of how wet she was, how the friction of his touch altered to a glide as her arousal deepened.

Her breathing grew shallow, her bare breasts heaving.

She was losing control, unraveling.

Her legs trembled under her, jerking as something hurtled toward her.

If Iver hadn’t been supporting her, she’d have collapsed in a heap at his feet.

But he held her fast in his arms, stroking her until warm, languorous pleasure pulsed between her thighs.

Bonnie bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out.

She barely managed to choke it back though, for the delicious sensation almost undid her.

She hung in Iver’s arms, weak and quivering, in the aftermath, dimly aware that he’d removed his hand from between her slick thighs and was unlacing his leggings with the other.

And then, she felt his shaft, hot and hard, slide between the cleft of her buttocks.

Bonnie gasped once more, and the same heady excitement as earlier arrowed through her.

Grabbing hold of the wall to anchor herself, she lifted her hips to him, offering herself.

His hot breath caressed the back of her neck as he positioned himself.

An instant later, he slowly sank into her, and Bonnie let out a long, shuddering sigh.

Her legs started to shake once more at the delicious sensation of being filled.

She couldn’t help it, she rolled her hips, encouraging him to slide home fully.

Iver groaned another curse as he did just that.

Bonnie moved her hips in another languorous circle, her breathing catching as a melting sensation began in her womb.

She then whispered his name.

He gripped her hips and withdrew in a long, sensual drag, almost to the tip, before sliding deep once more.

Bonnie writhed against him.

An instant later, Iver was plunging into her in measured, hard, determined thrusts.

Bonnie’s lips parted, and she hung her head between her arms, giving herself up to pure sensation.

He was so big, so hard—and he felt so good.

Pleasure rippled through her whole body now, every nerve alight.

Suddenly, he pulled out of her.

No! A cry of disappointment rose in Bonnie’s throat.

However, Iver spun her around and pressed her back against the wall, spreading her against it before thrusting into her once more.

Now that they were facing each other again, his mouth captured hers, his tongue sliding rhythmically into her mouth as he plowed her.

And if Bonnie had thought the last position was going to send her spiraling off the edge of a cliff—this one was even more exquisite, even more intense.

Every time he slammed home, he touched a place that made her writhe, that turned her wild.

She clung to his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into leather.

Moments later, she shattered for a second time, shuddering against him.

She couldn’t help it, she did cry out then, yet the sob was muffled by his mouth.

Iver held her tight as he continued to thrust into her, his movements jerky and frenzied now.

Bonnie could do nothing but cling to him, tears of ecstasy leaking from her eyes and soaking into her mask.

A few moments later, Iver tore his lips from hers and buried his face in her bare shoulder.

He then gave one last powerful thrust and went rigid against her.

Bonnie gasped at the sting of his teeth biting down on the tender skin where her shoulder met her neck.

His rod pulsed inside her, spilling its liquid heat.

And after that, all she could hear was the rasp of their breathing and the thunder of her heart.

It took Iver a while to recover his wits.

His climax had sent him free-falling down a tunnel, and when he’d landed, it had knocked the wind out of him.

Face buried in Adair’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around her trembling body, he waited for his heart to slow.

At present, it was pounding like a hunting drum.

Sweat slicked his skin, and it was fortunate that he was leaning against the wall, for his legs had gone weak in the aftermath of taking Adair.

Christ’s blood, he hadn’t meant for things to go that far.

He hadn’t even meant to kiss her, yet standing together in the moonlight, a madness of sorts had come over him.

He’d suddenly had to know what her lips tasted like—and then once he’d begun kissing her, he hadn’t been able to stop.

Adair had been willing, yet that was no excuse.

He should have been the one to pace things.

Gradually, his pulse settled, and he became aware of his surroundings once more: the cool air on his heated skin; the warm, musky scent of his lover’s arousal; and the whisper of her breath in his ear.

Still holding her tightly, he raised his face.

In the moonlight, he could see a red mark on her shoulder.

His stomach contracted then as he remembered sinking his teeth into her flesh.

It was the only thing that had stopped him bellowing like a stag in rutting season, yet guilt speared him now.

“I’m sorry for biting ye,” he whispered huskily.

“I forgot myself.”

Adair raised her hand then and caressed his face.

“We both did.” Her breathing was ragged, her gaze dark and limpid.

Like him, she was still reeling from what they’d just done.

Iver was no untried lad, yet he’d never experienced anything like this.

He’d lost control, as had she.

He remained buried deep inside her, and Adair’s legs were still entwined around his hips, her naked breasts pressed up against his chest.

Despite that the wall shielded them from view, they were exposed up here—and yet neither of them moved.

The moonlight highlighted Adair’s face as she stared up at him.

Her lips were slightly parted, and her gaze now gleamed.

Releasing one of his arms from behind her, Iver raised a hand to her face.

He then huffed a soft laugh.

“Can ye believe, we’re both still wearing masks, lass?” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Aye, well … our attention was elsewhere.”

Iver’s mouth curved.

It certainly had been.

This woman was delicious.

He wanted to take her back to his bedchamber and feast on her sweet, soft body for the rest of the night.

His pulse quickened once more at the thought.

An instant later, he wrenched his attention back to the present.

He needed to get ahold of himself.

Such things could wait—first, he wanted to see the face of the woman who’d enchanted him.

“I think it’s time we revealed ourselves then,” he said softly, his fingers grasping the edge of her mask.

Adair’s breathing caught.

“I—”

The tinkle of feminine laughter interrupted them, followed by the rumble of a male voice.

Iver froze. They were no longer alone—someone else was approaching their sanctuary.

Lowering his hand from her mask, he withdrew from her, sliding from her heat.

Disappointment arrowed through him as he did so, although he pushed the sensation aside.

There would be time for more intimacy later.

First, he needed to deal with the intruders.

“Wait here,” he murmured.

“I shall see whoever it is off.”

Adair nodded.

She was adjusting her gown, pulling the bodice up over her magnificent breasts and smoothing her rumpled skirts.

Iver did up his leggings and turned away, taking the steps toward where the woman’s laughter, louder now, drifted across the wall.

Halfway down the steps, his gaze alighted on a tall, lean man dressed like a jester, and a woman in a flowing gown wearing a feline mask with long whiskers.

They walked hand in hand toward him.

“Good eve,” Iver greeted them smoothly.

The couple halted, their gazes lifting to him.

“A bonnie night it is too,” the man replied, his tone guarded.

Iver leaned up against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “And it is a fine view from up here.”

“It is.”

“Nonetheless, I hear the vista is even better from the northwest lookout,” Iver added lightly.

The moment stretched out, and when it became clear that Iver wasn’t moving aside to let the couple pass, the man cleared his throat.

“Aye, well … we shall take in the view from there.” He nodded to Iver.

“Good eve.”

“Good eve.”

The couple turned and walked away.

Iver watched them go, and when he was satisfied that they were indeed leaving, he turned and retraced his steps back up to the terrace.

But when he returned to the wall where he’d left Adair, she was gone.