Page 19 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)

Brandr knew Avril would be pleased with his offer. He didn’t realize just how pleased. Nor did he anticipate how she’d choose to express her pleasure…until she nudged him backward through the doorway of her bedchamber, covering his face with eager kisses.

He shivered as she ran her hands under his shirt and over his chest, and then gasped in pleased surprise as she shoved him back onto the bed.

She climbed atop him, lifting his shirt to press her warm lips to his bare flesh.

These Pictish women were uncommonly aggressive, he decided.

But he definitely could get used to that.

He smiled as she hooked her arm possessively around his neck and claimed his mouth with hers. But his smile fell away as her other hand ventured boldly beneath the waist of his trousers.

Caught off-guard, he sucked in a quick breath as the blood surged through him. Overcome by an unexpected rush of desire, he squeezed his eyes shut, hardening with astonishing speed at her touch.

She purred with satisfaction as her fingers curved naturally around his firm length, and he echoed the sound with a lusty growl. She slanted her mouth over his, plunging her tongue between his lips, and he instinctively reached up to clasp her face between his hands, deepening the kiss.

Her fingers scrabbled at the ties of his trousers, and he lifted his hips so she could slide them down.

With almost frantic haste, she raised her skirts and positioned herself to take him inside her.

His lust-starved body wanted her. Now. But everything was happening too fast. Though he’d imagined making love to her countless times in the past few days, it had never been like this.

He had no time to seduce her, no chance to learn her body—to feast his eyes upon her breasts, to whisper in her ear, to kiss the strange design on her shoulder, to suck gently at her nipples, to part her thighs and fondle the sweet bud that guarded her womanhood.

It was too late to stop now. She seized his wrists and anchored his arms to the bed, forcefully sinking down upon him until he was sheathed to the hilt.

He groaned with pleasure as she had her way with him, riding him like a steed, grinding against his hips with a demanding rhythm that pushed him with reckless speed to the brink of passion.

If it hadn’t been such a long time, if she hadn’t caught him unawares, if he hadn’t been so utterly swept away by his own needs, he would have forced her to slow down. But like a boy trysting for the first time, he was beyond reason and out of control.

Almost before he could draw another breath, the blood began to simmer in his veins. A flash like hot lightning seared his skin. The tide of desire rose in him, raging like a flood, filling him with need, and then bursting free in a quenching rush.

With a bellow of ecstasy, he arched up into her welcoming womb, pulsing out waves of molten fire. He heard her sigh in response, and when he was able to gaze at her from beneath his heavy lids, Brandr glimpsed intoxicating triumph on her face.

He shuddered with the power of his release while she replied with a throaty, pleased chuckle. And then, unable to formulate coherent thoughts, much less words, he simply lay beneath her, panting like a winded warhorse.

While he caught his breath, she lazily ran her fingers over the bulge of his upper arm. She bit her lower lip, flushed with longing, and he could see unrequited desire still veiling her eyes.

He wasn’t finished with her. This hasty coupling had been far too swift and one-sided. But it had taken the ragged edge off of his lust, and now he’d be able to take his time with the hot-blooded wench.

Avril knew everything was going to be all right now.

She’d won Brandr over, body and soul. He’d marry her now and give Kimbery a name.

He’d even promised to regain Rivenloch and her rightful place of power.

There was nothing as heady as being in control again.

At last her world would be set to rights and she’d get her command back.

And yet she realized as she continued to gaze down at Brandr’s broad chest, tracing the contours of his muscular arms and shivering at the rasp of his breath upon her skin, she felt less like the lady and commander of a castle and more like a drowsy-eyed cat longing to be pet.

The feeling troubled her. Her heart beat too fast. Her reflexes were too slow. She felt feverish and weak, as if her bones were melting. And the sensation only grew worse when she felt him begin to swell inside her again.

She knew she should withdraw. She was too exposed, too fragile, too vulnerable. If she wasn’t careful, she’d leave herself open to attack. She might find herself at his mercy, the same way she’d been at the mercy of that berserker.

And yet…

She couldn’t seem to pull away. Even as her mind screamed at her to flee while she still had the chance, to raise her shield, to guard her heart, as she gazed into his smoldering eyes and felt the impassioned rise and fall of his formidable chest, she was strangely drawn to him.

And when one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile, when he reached up to softly brush her lower lip with the back of his knuckle, when she felt the subtle pulse of his need within her, she knew she was past escape.

Her eyes closed, and her mouth fell open beneath his touch. A curious warm glow enfolded her, softening her fear and whetting her appetite. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, pressing into his supple flesh, as he gently caressed her cheek.

Her breath quickened as his fingers drifted down her throat, settling upon the place where her pulse now raced. She swallowed hard, knowing he could strangle her with one hand and yet trusting he would not.

Indeed, his hand moved with such sweet leisure down her neck, sweeping across her collar bone, and slipping beneath her kirtle, that she felt no desire to resist. Slowly, he teased the garment from her shoulder, running his fingers over the design inked there.

“What is this?” he whispered.

She furrowed her brow, startled that he spoke to her. The men she’d bedded before never uttered a word—not that she’d given them the chance. She hadn’t wanted to know their thoughts. She’d simply wanted to use their bodies and be done with them.

It was disconcerting. Nonetheless, she managed to answer him. “An endless knot.”

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “What does it mean?”

She hesitated, uncomfortable with his question. Somehow, the exchange of words made what they did more intimate. She couldn’t pretend he was just another body. Speaking forced her to acknowledge he was a man…with thoughts and ideas and intentions.

Though it was difficult for her, she answered him in a stilted whisper. “The three circles are…spirit…life…and love.”

“Ah.” His hand left her shoulder then to brush over her ankle, which was nestled against his hip. “And this one?”

Lusty lethargy made her voice ragged and foreign to her ears. “A broken sword…in honor of my father.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Did it hurt?”

His puzzling question made her open her eyes. Then she remembered he had no such markings on his skin. Her designs must seem strange to him.

“Nay,” she told him.

He shot her a dubious glance.

“A wee bit,” she admitted.

He grinned at her again, and the fond shimmer in his eyes made her return his smile.

Suddenly she felt more than just the sharp heat of lust and longing.

There was also a gentle warmth like that of a banked fire.

And as he continued to hold her gaze, she sensed he could easily stir the coals of that fire to life.

His eyes lowered to her mouth, and already she longed to taste him again. As if drawn to him by the force of his will, she closed her eyes and leaned toward him.

This time she made no demands of him, but let him lead. His kiss was tender and tentative, like the touch of a honeybee upon a blossom, and soon a pleasant buzzing filled her head. Again and again he sampled the nectar from her lips, until she ached for more.

As she gasped against his mouth, he deftly loosened the laces of her kirtle and slipped it from her shoulders.

When it caught on the points of her breasts, he freed it, sliding one fingertip under the linen.

When his knuckle grazed her nipple, desire welled in her like the swelling of an ocean wave, submerging her in its powerful current.

She clenched her thighs around his hips and moved against him. But he refused to engage her yet, focusing instead on her bared bosom. He kissed his way down her throat and across her breast, pausing as he reached the inch-long strip of puckered flesh there.

“Your battle scar?” he murmured.

She nodded, and he traced its length with his tongue before blazing a searing trail toward her nipple. When he sucked softly there, she cried out in wonder at the divine sensation.

Then, just when she thought she would burst from pleasure, he moved to her other breast, lavishing it with equal attention. Moans issued from her throat unbidden, and her fingers tangled in his hair as if to keep him close.

While she reveled in a languorous haze, his hand delved beneath her skirts, traveling up her thigh with silky stealth. Even knowing where he was headed couldn’t prepare her for the shock that rocked her when the tip of his finger touched her at the spot where their bodies joined.

He rubbed gently there, and she squeezed her eyes shut, caught in a paralyzing tide of euphoria. She arched against him, elated yet languishing, knowing she wanted something more, something she could neither define nor understand.

This was far more potent than the intoxication of his surrender. It was a savage craving that satiated and tormented her all at once. Lost in a fog of emotions, she was nonetheless compelled to sail onward.