Page 37 of The Chief's Wild Promise

Their gazes met then and held for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. How could he articulate what he’d just experienced? He was still reeling from it.

“Come here,” he rasped eventually, catching her hand and drawing her down next to him.

She came, her body warm and soft against his, nestling her face in the hollow of his shoulder. And as they lay there, listening to the crackle of the fire, Bran trailed his fingertips down the curve of her spine.

Makenna closed her eyes, giving herself up to the gentle rhythm of Bran’s fingers up and down her back. She liked how that felt, how his body molded against hers.They hadn’t spoken of what they’d just done to each other, almost as if they were both wary of breaking the enchantment that had woven around them. Uniting them.

She’d never imagined doing something like that to a man, but she’d enjoyed it—especially when Bran forgot himself, arching up to meet her mouth and calling out her name. She’d felt powerful. Sensual. And as they lay there, her core throbbed gently, greedy for more of him.

Earlier, she’d been nervous and embarrassed about lying with him for the first time. But now, the anxiety had fled. She didn’t care if it hurt; she wanted him inside her.

It wasn’t long before his shaft grew hard once more, straining eagerly against his belly. But Bran ignored it at first. Instead, he rolled to her, his mouth finding Makenna’s. They kissed for a long while—deep, sensual kisses that made her gasp and sigh—and then he moved down to her aching breasts, sucking each one until she trembled underneath him.

Only then did he move farther down her body.

Spreading her legs wide, he pushed them up so that her pelvis tilted toward him, exposing her to his hungry gaze. “I don’t want to hurt ye,” he said, the roughness of his voice making lust slam into her with dizzying intensity.

“Ye won’t,” she panted. “Just don’t hurry.”

His lips tilted into a smile that made her heart stutter. He then stroked the tip of his rod over her sex, making her shiver. Nestling it at her entrance, he worked his way inside her with delicious slowness.

Halfway in, Makenna started to sweat.

Despite that she was ready for him, she was so tight. It was uncomfortable, almost painful.

Bran was patient though. He experimented—slowly circling his hips, withdrawing, and then pressing deeper. The discomfort eased as he did so. Heat kindled deep in her womb as he finally sank home, bringing their bodies flush.

His sharply indrawn breath excited her, as did the look of wonder on his face. Although she didn’t have time to linger upon it, for he rolled his hips once more. It didn’t seem as though he needed any more instruction from her. The man had most definitely found his stride.

Pleasure rippled through her, followed by a hot rush of wetness. Makenna gasped, bucking against him. Bran growled something under his breath and pulled out of her, almost to the tip, before sinking deep once more. Meanwhile, his hands gripped her thighs, keeping her spread open for him.

He rode her like that, in slow, deep thrusts, and before long, sweat gleamed on both their bodies.

Makenna trembled now, tension coiling tight deep inside her womb. She’d thought the pleasure he’d given her earlier couldn’t be bettered, but this … this was … she didn’t have the words.

She was aware then of a woman’s shrill cries filling the bedchamber and vaguely recognized them as her own. She couldn’t bring herself to care. The ecstasy that thundered through her was too great to be borne silently. She couldn’t keep quiet. It was so good—and it just went on and on.

Bran’s groans joined her squeals then, and he went rigid, his head throwing back as he plunged one last time inside her.

She watched, fascinated, as his eyelids flickered and pure pleasure rippled across his face.

Makenna fell asleep immediately after their coupling. A boneless, exhausted slumber that dragged her into its delicious embrace. She awoke to find the first rays of dawn peeking around the edge of the sacking. The fire had died, although a blanket covered her and Bran—he must have awoken during the night and retrieved it.

They lay together, limbs tangled.

Bran was snoring softly, and Makenna carefully pushed herself up onto an elbow so she could see his face.

Asleep, he looked younger. His skin was even paler than hers, with more freckles scattering the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His beautiful lips were slightly parted.

Makenna gazed upon him with fascination.

The man might have been a virgin before last night, but he certainly hadn’t come across as awkward. And he’d taken instruction eagerly, without questioning her.

They hadn’t conversed since their long and sweaty tumble, and warmth rolled over Makenna. What if things were awkward now? What if the magic of the night before had fled now that the sun was rising? What if, when they conversed again, they vexed each other as they once had?

She didn’t have time to dwell on her worries though, for at that moment, he stirred, his eyes slowly opening. Their gazes met and held.

“Did ye sleep well?” he murmured.