Page 32 of The Rightful Highland King (The Last Celtic King #4)

Chapter Eighteen

Neala leaned into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed, the gasp rising in her throat escaping through her lips and mingling with his breath.

She melted against Ansel, her senses ablaze.

Her skin sparked under the rough grip of his hands contrasting with the intoxicating softness of his lips.

She leaned her hands against his hard chest, a token attempt to protest that failed when her fingers curled around the thin material of his leine and pulled him closer.

Ansel grunted and pulled away from the kiss, dropping his fingers from her face and staggering back a few steps.

His heaving chest strained at his thin undergarment, and she saw that the kiss had stirred his body, awakening his manhood in a way that was impossible to miss.

A deep flush traveled from Neala's head to her toes, hot and tight and delicious.

Had she really caused such a physical reaction in him?

Her body pulsed at the thought, urging her forward.

"All these months apart," Ansel growled, staring at her like a wary hunter might view a lioness. "All these months, I've tried tae forget ye. All these months, I thought I could put ye behind me."

"I knew I couldnae forget ye ," Neala replied.

Her heart hammered so hard she felt it might burst from her chest as she tentatively moved toward him once more.

"The moment ye touched me hand when we played chess, I was lost. Ye told me when ye freed me that I had intoxicated ye, Ansel, but it was nothin'— nothin' —compared tae how ye've taken over me every breath. "

Ansel's eyes flicked briefly to her face before traveling down her body. He swallowed as his gaze took her in. She moved closer, and he did not back away. "I let ye go so ye wouldnae be lost," he said after a moment. "Dinnae ye understand? I let ye go so ye could be free."

Neala reached him and tentatively reached up to touch his face. He closed his eyes and stood still as her finger traced the scar on his jaw. "I am free," she replied. "Because of ye."

"Neala," he whispered. He opened his eyes and leaned closer, and his hand moved to her waist. "Is this real?"

"And ye're right," Neala went on. "Lost was the wrong word.

I've spent me whole life lost—until I met ye, and everythin' changed.

" She saw that her hand was trembling, but she didn't bother trying to hide it now.

Instead, she let go of him and moved her hand to her cloak.

Her eyes did not leave his as she undid the tie and let it fall to the ground, leaving her in her dress before him.

Ansel swallowed. His fingers tightened on her waist, and something burned in his strange green eyes. "There's still time tae leave."

She did not break eye contact. "I'm nae lost anymore, Ansel. But I think ye are. Will ye let me find ye?"

He pulled her close with a yank that made her gasp.

Ansel lowered his head to the crook of her neck.

Neala gasped at the sensation as his lips and teeth and tongue explored the sensitive spot, and she tilted her head to the side, gripping his arms for support.

His kisses and nibbles trailed up her neck, and he caught her earlobe before whispering to her.

"Ye may nae like what ye find," he breathed.

In response, Neala turned her head and caught his lips in hers once more.

Something snapped between them, and with a sound that was half groan, half wild growl, Ansel grabbed Neala around the waist and lifted her, his tongue exploring her mouth, his hands cupping under her buttocks.

She shivered at the touch and let her instincts take over, wrapping her legs around him and whimpering slightly as she felt his hardness press against her through an impossibly thin layer of clothing.

Her arms tangled around his neck, her fingers getting lost in his hair, the kiss and the feeling of his body all that was left in the world.

Ansel did not even stumble as he carried her across the tent, and Neala was so engrossed in the taste of him that she did not even realize where they'd moved until she landed with a gasp on her back against the bed, cold from the end of the kiss.

Her legs hung off the end. Breathing heavily, her breasts suddenly feeling too constricted by her bodice, she stared as Ansel stood before her, his face more intense than she'd seen it even in wartime.

"Do ye even ken the power ye have?" he asked. "Can I make ye feel even a fraction of the way ye bespell me?"

Suddenly, he knelt, disappearing from her view.

Neala scrambled up on her elbows to see, and then a jolt flooded through her body.

He removed her shoes and winter stockings, then his hands rested against her bare ankles.

She stared at the top of his head, her body throbbing with need, confusion and anticipation thrumming through her with every beat of her heart.

"Ansel," she whispered.

Slowly, he pushed up her skirt, exposing her legs inch by inch, taking an agonizing length of time as he did.

The skirt hitched above her knees, and without even thinking, Neala lifted her hips to help him.

Part of her felt that she should feel embarrassed or shy, but she was simply hypnotized by the sight of Ansel kneeling before her.

He looked up at her briefly, then lowered his head, gently kissing her inner thigh.

Neala cried out at the sudden unexpected feeling, the tiny brush of his lips sending ripples flooding through her entire body.

He kissed her other thigh, then took his time moving his way up, worshiping every part of her skin.

The heat was almost ready to overwhelm Neala even before he found her core.

When he pressed his mouth against it, her whole body jerked, her hips bucking against him.

Her elbows gave way, and she fell back against the bed hard, one of her hands gripping the sheets as he worked.

Her other hand flew to her own chest, clutching impatiently at her own clothing that was so cruelly keeping her restricted.

He worked against her more firmly, speeding up as he did, and every movement released a sound from Neala that she had never made before, a primal noise of need and pleasure that took her over more and more with each breath.

Her legs tightened around his head, drawing him closer, and she moaned and writhed beneath his work until it became almost too much to bear.

When it got to the point where it was beyond what she could tolerate, just as she was about to tell him to stop, he made one more movement with his tongue, and Neala's mind exploded into nothing but heat and pleasure and Ansel.

She cried out his name, gripping so hard at the sheets that they came loose from the mattress as her muscles all tensed up at once, adrenaline and something glorious pulsing through her veins.

Slowly, slowly, her body relaxed, and Neala was able to open her eyes again. Ansel had gotten to his feet and was wiping his mouth, grinning down at her with a kind of gleeful satisfaction that she'd never seen before.

Panting, barely able to speak, she said, "That… that look suits ye."

"That look suits ye as well," he told her. The hunger still flickered in his eyes. "Pantin' and sweatin' and callin' me name. A man could get a little too used tae it."

Neala had thought herself spent, but at those words her body responded instantly, impatiently demanding more.

She was more than happy to oblige, but she didn't have the words to ask.

Instead, she pushed herself up to a sitting position once more.

Ansel watched her carefully, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction to see how his body reacted to her every movement.

She hesitated, then said, "This bodice ties at the back. Will ye help me undo it?"

Ansel swallowed. "Neala… ye dinnae need tae… this was more than enough. More than I could have ever asked for."

In answer, Neala simply held out her hand. Ansel took it, almost shyly, and crawled onto the bed at her side.

Clothes fell away, first her dress and then her underclothes, then Ansel's one remaining layer.

They lay on their sides facing each other, bare and exposed and fully vulnerable with each other at long, long last. Ansel touched her breast lightly, worshipfully, and Neala closed her eyes and allowed herself to simply experience the feel of him.

When he moved forward and kissed her, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

Her fingers traced the scars on his back, and he froze, pulling away slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didnae…"

Ansel shook his head. "I'm yers," he said. "All of me."

He kissed her again, and this time it grew deeper.

Their bodies pressed together, skin against skin, and soon Neala rolled onto her back and Ansel settled atop her.

He kissed every part of her, exploring her neck and her breasts but always returning to her lips, and in turn her hands explored every dip of his muscles and every inch of his skin.

When he entered her, it was as easy as breathing, as if they had done it a thousand times before.

Neala gasped at the tightness, but soon they were moving together, their bodies in rhythm, their breathing a mixed melody.

They found themselves and each other in a chorus of sighs and the wonder of one another. As the intensity built and the wave rose within Neala again, she opened her eyes and found Ansel staring back down at her; the same indescribable feeling in her heart echoed back in his gaze.

The wave crashed down, and her body curled around itself. Neala breathed out his name. As she did, she felt Ansel stiffen too, and he let out a deep grunt of ecstasy. They were together now, the way they should have been for so long.