Page 4 of The Beast in the Loch (The Beasts #1)

She stood, compliant, swaying a little. His touch was everywhere and she was breathing quickly, while her body readied itself. He must know it, she thought feverishly. Was that what he wanted from her? Was this her sacrifice?

And what, her fevered thoughts demanded, would happen to her afterwards?

Her hands shaking, she snatched the cloth from him, and heard him laugh softly as she turned away to wrap it about herself.

The material was soft and thick, but she knew it could never protect her.

And besides it was too late. She wanted him, and even if she didn't she had made this bargain with him, so that when he came up behind her she made no protest as his hands slid around to cup her breasts and finger the hard peaks once more.

The cloth fell to the floor. Shocked and at the same time aflame with desire, Maire could feel the solid length of his cock pressing to the small of her back.

"You are sure that no man has breached you, lady?" His mouth was hot on her nape, and she gasped, her thoughts splintering, so that it was difficult to find a reply. And why, she thought, did it matter so much to him?

"Yes, I am sure."

His fingers slid between her thighs, stroking her sex, and she tried to pull away but he caught her and turned her, kissing her again. Hot, demanding kisses, until she found herself lying back in his arms, her legs too weak to hold her, and once more his hand was between her thighs.

"And has a man touched you here?" he murmured.

"No," she managed. "No man."

He gave a grunt, as though what he heard pleased him, and once again his fingers smoothed her damp folds.

Because she was damp, she realised feverishly, and it wasn't from the bath water.

His touching of her was so pleasurable, and even though the circumstances were strange and unsettling, she no longer cared.

What if, she reminded herself, these were her last moments on earth?

It seemed all the more important to enjoy them.

He was leading her to the bed now, and pressed her down upon it, so that her face was against the furs that covered it, and she could not see him.

Perhaps he thought she would be afraid to see him in this moment, but she wasn't. Instead her senses were enhanced, every one of them focussed on his caresses.

She felt the bed sink a little as he sat down at her side, and then she felt his fingers stroking her again, finding her opening and pressing inside.

He bent and kissed her shoulder, at the same time pushing deeper, and finding her maidenhead.

"You spoke truth, damsel," he said with satisfaction. "I never doubted you but women as beautiful as you are rarely untouched."

And then he used his fingers to break through her hymen so quickly that she barely had time to cry out.

A moment later he lifted the strands of her dark hair away from her face, where she had turned it into the furs, and she felt his gaze on her profile, assessing.

His hand rested heavily on her lower back, the heat from his palm seeming to spread outwards over her skin, but she did not move or speak.

"Do you want me to let you go now?" he asked her. "Have you changed your mind?"

She opened her eyes in surprise and lifted her head to look at him. "Would you?" she asked. "Let me go, I mean? If I-I changed my mind?"

"Of course."

Just for a moment Maire considered it. She could walk away from here, back to her village, and tell them the Knights would not help.

She could . . . but it was pointless to imagine such a cowardly thing.

And yet, the fact that he was giving her a choice, now, at the very last moment, spoke well of him.

"No, Murchadh, I have not changed my mind," she said softly. "You may do with me as you will."

She could hear his breath close to her cheek but she could not see him, because she had closed her eyes again. She was a sacrifice, she reminded herself, and so she would behave.

And then she cried out as suddenly he lifted her into his arms, cradling her, so that her head was against his shoulder and she could no longer hide from those dark eyes.

"You are mistaken if you think I mean to hurt you," Murchadh said, catching her chin in his hand and holding it so that she could not turn away. "It has been a long time since I held a woman in my arms and I mean to enjoy every moment of it."

Suddenly she remembered him standing and staring at the loch, and the sound of his sigh, and her stubborn pride wavered.

"How long?" she whispered.

He laughed softly, but there was no humour in it, and only a deep sadness in his dark eyes. "Centuries, damsel," he said. His gaze slid over her, lingering on her breasts and then the curls between her thighs.

She no longer thought to deny him—she didn't want to.

He began stroking her again, his eyes gleaming between half closed lids.

He found the little nub Maire had sometimes touched herself, when she was alone, and teased it so that she gasped and raised her hips toward him.

He stroked her again, harder, and now she was aching for the resolution she knew was there but had never known before with a man.

"Should I stop?" he asked her, but there was amusement in his voice, as if he knew she would shake her head with such urgency. That made him chuckle, and she thought: Perhaps he is a mortal man after all, the same as any other.

"You like this?" he murmured. "And this? Ah yes, you like this."

She moved harder against his fingers, panting now, almost at the peak of her pleasure. A little further, a little further. When he stopped just short of climax, she gasped in frustration, half sitting up, her damp hair like a cloak about her shoulders.

He caressed her cheek with his fingers, eyes narrowed, and then his mouth was on hers.

Somehow he was above her, and she felt his cock sliding into her channel, stretching her beyond what she could have believed herself capable.

Maire clung to his shoulders and wondered how much of him there was and whether she could take him.

Perhaps he wondered too, for he rested a moment, his breath hot against her cheek.

But as he waited she was aware of the sensation of his powerful body upon her, the rasp of hair upon his chest and groin, and the hard muscles of his thighs between hers.

He stretched out her hands and held them above her head and then he began to ride her, slowly at first, each stroke deliberate and breath taking, and then harder and deeper, until she was gasping and groaning, and finally, crying out so loudly she was sure the whole castle could hear her.

When it was over she lay, trying to breathe, tremors still running through her. And it was only when she realised he was still hard inside her, that she looked up and met his eyes.

"We are not done yet, Damsel," he said. "I told you, I have waited centuries for you, and there is much pleasure to be had."

This time it was quicker and he thrust deeper—it was as if her body was already more accustomed to him.

Again his mouth closed on hers, his tongue caressing, and her hands went of their own accord to grasp him to her.

She had not thought she could do it again so soon, but surprisingly the pleasure began to build and build.

She gasped out his name at the end, and this time he groaned as loudly as she, and she felt his seed spill into her.

After a time he pulled away and instantly she felt his loss, and shivered. But soon he returned with a goblet of wine, which he held to her lips as she sipped. He looked pleased with himself, she thought, watching him through her lashes. And he looked as if he wasn't finished with her yet.

Centuries? Could that be so?

Setting the goblet down, he stretched out beside her on the bed, and leaned to lick a droplet of wine from her lips.

The kiss that followed caused her to roll toward him, her body pressed to the hard warmth of his.

When his kiss grew more insistent she placed her palm against his chest, holding him at bay, although she knew it was only so because he wished it to be.

He was strong enough to overpower her and yet he chose not to—he chose to be gentle with her.

Maire looked into his eyes.

"Why have you had to wait so long?" she dared to ask him. "Surely there are other women here in your castle that you could take to your bed?"

"Women do not normally wander into Castle Samhanach," he said, and she thought he might be laughing at her. "Besides, there are rules to be followed."

"What rules? I don't understand."

He reached out to stroke her face, tracing the shape of her cheek, and then her mouth.

His thumb brushed over her lips, swollen from his kisses, before he moved downward again.

"My brothers and I are soldiers. Knights.

When we came to this place we were fleeing a war and our world was destroyed.

We are all that is left of our race. The Chiefs of your land met together and agreed to allow us to stay.

But there are rules, damsel. This castle, and all the lands around the loch, are ours, but we must not encroach further. "

"But you grant favours?"

He had begun to stroke her breast now, teasing her nipple into a hard little bud, and she was struggling to concentrate on his voice.

"It is payment for our lodging, Damsel. Those who come to us for help must be helped. There are not many. Most are too afraid."

"But the price you ask . . . ?"

His smile was strained. "We are lonely. And we do not take any woman who belongs to another man, that would not be respectful to our hosts.

You see why we insist upon a virgin?' And then he shook his head.

"Has it been such a hardship for you, hmm?

We choose carefully and there is pleasure to be had for those brave enough to journey to Castle Samhanach.

Like you, Damsel, brave and beautiful. And now I want you again. "