Page 41

T he bath Stella had drawn for Keira was soothing, and it was just what she needed after a long day. Water dripped behind her as she stepped out of the bath and stepped toward her wardrobe, where she took out a thin nightdress and put it on, before heading to the window.

Evander had left to speak to his man-at-arms and had said he would return soon. She had barely spent five minutes by the window when she heard his footsteps. The door creaked open, and he walked in.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, smiling at him as he headed straight to her.

“The meeting went on longer than I thought it would,” he sighed.

“Oh, did it now?”

“Dinnae worry. Throughout the meeting, I was only thinking about ye,” he teased as he closed the distance between them.

“And what exactly were ye thinking about me at the meeting? Were ye perhaps picturing me in this tub, wishing ye had joined me instead?”

Evander leaned closer to her, his lips brushing the back of her neck. When his hands settled on her waist, she instinctively leaned back against him, basking in his warmth.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side so that his tongue found the sensitive skin behind her ear. A low gasp escaped her lips.

“Nay, I was thinking of the things I would do to ye, wife .”

The word made her knees tremble.

He turned her around slowly, his hands strong but gentle at the same time, until she fully faced him. His gaze fell on her parted lips, the way her chest rose and fell.

He leaned in once again and kissed her, his mouth open and searching. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate, like he intended to taste and savor every crevice of her mouth.

His lips then moved from her mouth to her throat, trailing kisses even lower. A throaty gasp escaped her lips at the feel of his lips above the fabric of her nightdress.

Evander sank to his knees, finding the soft underside of her breasts.

His tongue circled a turgid nipple slowly, each stroke measured and calculated.

She cried out, her hands reaching out to hold his head firmly enough to anchor herself without stopping him.

His hands slid up her sides, his firm fingers exploring her hips and curves.

A whimper escaped her lips as he moved even lower, the feel of his lips on her stomach causing her to tremble and suck in a breath. When he finally lifted her nightdress to her hips and pressed his lips between her thighs, her legs parted on instinct.

He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against her core as his tongue moved in slow strokes that made her walls throb. He tasted her like he couldn’t get enough. Then, he slid his fingers into her slowly, curling them upward—precise, firm.

She clenched around him, bucking her hips as his mouth continued to move against her—slow, determined, intent. Her hands found his shoulders as he quickened the pace, and her nails dug into his skin, the pressure building inside her with each passing second.

She eventually climaxed against his mouth, a cry tearing from her throat. Her knees buckled, but he held tight to her, refusing to let her fall.

Her body shuddered and jerked against his face for the next minute. Then, he stood up, his hands tightening on her as she clung to him. She could see the way his jaw grew tense, the way his eyes darkened, and the way his chest rose and fell heavily.

He was achingly hard against her, but she could tell that a part of him was holding back. She reached for his trousers and unfastened them as fast as she could. His length sprang free, thick and rigid. Her breath caught at the sight.

“I suppose ye werenae lying then, Mr. Kincaid,” she whispered, feeling his heft in her hand.

He only responded with an exhale, the sound raw in the quiet room. His hips bucked as she wrapped her fingers around him. She looked up at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, before she slowly slid her hand down his length. He was warm to the touch, pulsating helplessly beneath her fingers.

He growled and cursed, throwing his head back in utter bliss. She slid her hand back up, her fingers tightening around him. His hips jerked involuntarily again. The muscles in his abdomen flexed, and she could see how hard he was fighting to stay still.

She stroked him again, feeling his length jump in her hand.

“Ye’re driving me mad, Keira.” The words had escaped his lips in a low, tense groan.

He held on to the wall, balling his other hand into a fist as she found a rhythm. One that was too much for him.

She kissed a line down his stomach as she kept stroking him, feeling his length pulse against her palm.

Another stroke, this time with her fingers squeezing him softly, and his hips tensed.

“Stop,” he whispered.

She didn’t stop. Not yet. She loved seeing him like this, on the edge of losing control. It was a refreshing and incredibly arousing sight to see. She stroked him a few more times, and only when he grabbed her hand—breathing hard, a sensual warning in his dark eyes—did she stop.

He didn’t speak as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She lay back, her legs parting in anticipation. Their eyes met, and everything seemed to stop.

Then, in one steady, slow thrust, he entered her.

Her body stretched to accommodate him, a low gasp escaping her lips. He held her hips, pushing deeper, filling her with his entire length.

The first few strokes were slow, deep, grinding movements that had her moaning again and again. Then, he thrust into her at a different angle, hitting a spot that made her cry out, her back arching off the bed and her walls clenching against him.

He caught her hands again and pinned them above her head, his pace quickening. The mattress creaked repeatedly, and her ragged breathing, coupled with his low groans, filled the room. He kissed her neck, shoulder, and collarbone.

Then, his thrusts grew rougher and faster, her body almost rising to meet his on the same plane.

When she climaxed again, he didn’t slow down.

He rode her through it, his hips jerking, till he teetered right over the edge.

When he came, the low groan in his throat turned into a guttural growl, his body quaking with the force of his release.

He collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her neck, their skin slick with sweat and heat.

Slowly, he rolled onto his side and then his back, sinking into the mattress, and stared at her. A wave of satisfaction swept over him as he saw the flush on her face.

They both lay on the bed, their bodies twisted in the sheets.

“I love ye, wife,” Evander murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Keira knew he had always meant it, but now, at this moment, with just the two of them, she was even more reassured.

“I love ye too,” she returned, exhaustion creeping into her voice.

Evander’s eyes darted around the room, scanning the walls and furniture. His eyes narrowed as he studied the walls intently. “Ye ken what I think we should get?”

Keira inched closer to him, her eyes fixed on his face as he continued to stare at the walls.

“Tapestries,” he eventually murmured.

Keira narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Aye. We should get tapestries for the walls. Preferably ones with baby goats on them.”

“For the love of God,” Keira muttered, playfully slapping her hand on his chest.

She stared at him. Her husband. It still shook some part of her with disbelief that the man who had come to take her castle from her the other day would be the love of her life.

It felt unreal, almost impossible. But here he was.

Standing before her, laughing at her words.

She wondered if, some time in the future, there would be a word that could describe the extent of her love for him.

Evander noticed the forlorn look on her face almost immediately.

“Where did ye go?” He asked, his voice etched with subtle curiosity.

“Oh, just thinking about the kind of baby goats we could get,” she responded, her voice casual.

Evander’s laughter accompanied the red hue that crawled up her cheeks.

She could not help but laugh as well, her heart swelling with love for her husband.

Staying with Mr. Kincaid was the best decision she had ever made, after all.

The End?