Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“You didn't lose me.” She reaches up and cups my face. Her palm is soft against my stubble, and I have to fight not to turn into her touch like a starving animal. “I'm right here.”
My hands go to her waist automatically. She's so small in my hands. So breakable.
“I need to shower,” I say roughly, even as I pull her closer. “I'm covered in sweat and—”
“I don't care.”
“Bianca—”
She kisses me. Actually initiates it this time, rising on her toes to press her mouth to mine.
I tense in surprise for half a second before I melt into her, my hands tightening on her waist, pulling her flush against me.
She gasps at the contact, feeling every ridge of muscle, every scar, every rapid beat of my heart. I'm covered in sweat and blood, and she doesn't care.
She's kissing me anyway.
When we break apart, we're both panting.
“You're making it very difficult to be a gentleman, lass,” I murmur against her lips.
“Maybe I don't want you to be a gentleman.”
Fire shoots through my veins. My cock hardens instantly, and I know she can feel it pressed against her.
“Don't say that unless you mean it,” I warn.
“I'm not ready for—” She swallows. “For everything. But I want—” She's blushing now, struggling. “I want to touch you. I want you to touch me. I want to know what this is between us.”
Christ, she's going to kill me.
I search her face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But all I see is want.
“Come with me,” I say, taking her hand.
I lead her back outside, where a sprinkle of sand still trickles from the break in the bag.
“I train every morning,” I tell her, positioning myself where she can see. “Have since I was fifteen. My uncle Tiernan taught me. Said a man needs to know how to fight to protect what's his.”
“Is that what I am?” she asks softly. “Yours?”
I meet her eyes. I’ll tell her every damn day if she needs to hear it. “Aye. You've been mine since the moment I saw you, lass. It just took you six years to catch up.”
I turn and face the bag again.
“This is who I am,” I say between moves. “I fight because if I don't, I'll go mad. I fight because it's the only way I know how to cope with wanting you every second of every day and not being able to have you.”
“We’re all mad here,” she says with a smile. “Remember? And you have me now.”
I stop mid-punch, breathing hard. “Do I?”
“I'm here, aren't I?”
“For how long?” The words come out raw, vulnerable in a way I hate. “Until you get scared again? Until you realize what a monster I am?”
“You're not a monster.”
“I've killed people, Bianca. More than I can count. I've done terrible things, things that would make you run screaming if you knew.”
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't back away.
“Have you killed anyone who didn't deserve it?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Have you killed innocent people? Children? Women who didn't pose a threat?”
“Never.”
“Then maybe you're not a monster.” She moves closer, and I'm frozen. “You're a weapon. There's a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” She traces the scar on my cheekbone, and I close my eyes at the gentleness of it. “Weapons can be used for good or evil. It's all about who's wielding them. Don’t you think I’ve learned anything reading reams of Arthurian legend?” She smiles. “That's not monstrous. That's—”
“What?”
“Beautiful.”
Something snaps inside me.
I make a sound low in my throat—half growl, half groan—and then she's in my arms. I lift her clean off her feet, and she wraps her legs around my waist on instinct.
Perfect. She fits right here.
I kiss her desperately, hungrily, walking us toward the cabin. My hands grip her thighs, her arse, holding her to me. I could carry her for miles and never tire. I welcome the feel of her skin against mine, the reassuring beat of her heartbeat.
“Bianca,” I growl against her neck. “If you don't stop me now—”
“Don't stop.”
I press her against the cabin wall, my hips rolling against hers. She gasps, and I do it again, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. The hard length of my cock grinds against her through our clothes, right where she needs it.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, her head falling back against the wood. “Ashland—”
“Feel that, lass?” I grind against her again, harder this time, hitting that perfect spot. “That's what you do to me. Have done for fucking years.”
Her legs tighten around my waist, and she starts moving with me, seeking friction. Christ, she's so responsive. So perfect when she whimpers and moans.
“That's it,” I rasp, adjusting the angle so I'm hitting her clit with every thrust. Even through our clothes, I can feel the heat of her. “Take what you need from me.”
She's panting now, little desperate sounds escaping her throat as she moves against me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her face flushed and beautiful.