Read Online The O'Madden: A Novella (The Celtic Legends Series) by Lisa Ann Verge - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Ann Verge
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shoulder.
He leaned close enough to smell her again. Hillside wildflowers, grass and woman. His body hardened. He sensed her sudden agitation in the plumpness of her buttock and the tremble of her back.
He whispered close to her ear . “You want me.”
“I don’t.”
“Is that why you’re breathing so quickly? Is that why your blood runs through you as hot as mine? Is that why you stay still against me?”
“I’ve no p lace to run. And you’re likely to take what you want, my English lord.”
“My worse half, I admit. Is that any reason to hate a man? Because I was born on the wrong side of the bed to a father I hardly know?”
“Yes .”
“ I cannot help who my father is, a stór.”
He heard the catch of her breath at the Irish endearment. He felt the crumbling of her will as her spine softened. He seized her arm, turned her around, and pressed her back against the door. Her eyes shone, filling with tears that threatened to drop off those black lashes and trail over that luminescent skin.
He fixed his gaze on her lips and knew tonight he could wait no longer.
“Brace yourself, lass.” He dipped his head. “I’m going to kiss the truth out of you.”
***
She saw the kiss coming just as she had imagined it a hundred thousand times as she searched for sleep on her pallet by the kitchen fires. She wanted it with the same fierceness. She wanted it with every throb of her heart. She wanted it mindlessly, for she knew the consequences of succumbing to her fantasies. Yet now, standing with her back against a door that shouldn’t be stuck shut, she could no more pull away from the giant’s kiss than she could wish herself born of different parents.
I cannot help who my father is, a stór.
It was as if he knew what he couldn’t possibly know. It was as if he could understand the fate she was condemned to for no more reason than an accident of birth.
So she parted her lips as his mouth descended upon hers. She opened her mouth and drank his breath. She pressed her lips to his and felt the stubble on his cheek as he slanted his face. The softness of his shoulder-length hair tangled with hers as it slid silken past his ears. She welcomed the prison of his hands as he cupped her cheeks. She reveled in the coarseness of his callused palms, in the all-encompassing broadness of those worker’s hands.
She told herself for the hundred thousandth time that in his heart he was a man of the earth and air and wind— sa lt and water, sweat and muscle—honest and hardworking. In any other time, in any other place, they could share this passion without hesitation. They could nurse it and make it blossom into something strong and thick-rooted, a long and steady marriage.
She clutched the illusion to her heart for as long as she could as he blinded her with kisses. She dug her nails into the weave of his shirt and filled her lungs with the smell of his skin—river-rain and fresh-cut oak. She let her mind drift away as he flattened her between the door and himself—both things equally unyielding. Her blood sizzled through her and left her skin tingling from her scalp to her toes.
Her breath came fast as he pulled up her skirts . She gasped as his fingers traced up her naked thighs and came to rest on her hips, which he lifted up so she pressed higher against the door. She should say no, she should tell him to stop, but she let him slide a thigh between them. He held her suspended while he made quick work of his braies. She curled her fingers into his shoulders as every movement of his leg against the juncture between her thighs made her muscles clench. She ached for him, felt hollow and desperate, and she knew they’d gone too far to stop.
She didn’t want to stop . She wanted to feel him deep inside her again, stretching her open hot and hard and moving. With one swift move, he gripped her hips again and slipped into her with a single firm thrust. He curled his hand behind her head so she wouldn’t
He leaned close enough to smell her again. Hillside wildflowers, grass and woman. His body hardened. He sensed her sudden agitation in the plumpness of her buttock and the tremble of her back.
He whispered close to her ear . “You want me.”
“I don’t.”
“Is that why you’re breathing so quickly? Is that why your blood runs through you as hot as mine? Is that why you stay still against me?”
“I’ve no p lace to run. And you’re likely to take what you want, my English lord.”
“My worse half, I admit. Is that any reason to hate a man? Because I was born on the wrong side of the bed to a father I hardly know?”
“Yes .”
“ I cannot help who my father is, a stór.”
He heard the catch of her breath at the Irish endearment. He felt the crumbling of her will as her spine softened. He seized her arm, turned her around, and pressed her back against the door. Her eyes shone, filling with tears that threatened to drop off those black lashes and trail over that luminescent skin.
He fixed his gaze on her lips and knew tonight he could wait no longer.
“Brace yourself, lass.” He dipped his head. “I’m going to kiss the truth out of you.”
***
She saw the kiss coming just as she had imagined it a hundred thousand times as she searched for sleep on her pallet by the kitchen fires. She wanted it with the same fierceness. She wanted it with every throb of her heart. She wanted it mindlessly, for she knew the consequences of succumbing to her fantasies. Yet now, standing with her back against a door that shouldn’t be stuck shut, she could no more pull away from the giant’s kiss than she could wish herself born of different parents.
I cannot help who my father is, a stór.
It was as if he knew what he couldn’t possibly know. It was as if he could understand the fate she was condemned to for no more reason than an accident of birth.
So she parted her lips as his mouth descended upon hers. She opened her mouth and drank his breath. She pressed her lips to his and felt the stubble on his cheek as he slanted his face. The softness of his shoulder-length hair tangled with hers as it slid silken past his ears. She welcomed the prison of his hands as he cupped her cheeks. She reveled in the coarseness of his callused palms, in the all-encompassing broadness of those worker’s hands.
She told herself for the hundred thousandth time that in his heart he was a man of the earth and air and wind— sa lt and water, sweat and muscle—honest and hardworking. In any other time, in any other place, they could share this passion without hesitation. They could nurse it and make it blossom into something strong and thick-rooted, a long and steady marriage.
She clutched the illusion to her heart for as long as she could as he blinded her with kisses. She dug her nails into the weave of his shirt and filled her lungs with the smell of his skin—river-rain and fresh-cut oak. She let her mind drift away as he flattened her between the door and himself—both things equally unyielding. Her blood sizzled through her and left her skin tingling from her scalp to her toes.
Her breath came fast as he pulled up her skirts . She gasped as his fingers traced up her naked thighs and came to rest on her hips, which he lifted up so she pressed higher against the door. She should say no, she should tell him to stop, but she let him slide a thigh between them. He held her suspended while he made quick work of his braies. She curled her fingers into his shoulders as every movement of his leg against the juncture between her thighs made her muscles clench. She ached for him, felt hollow and desperate, and she knew they’d gone too far to stop.
She didn’t want to stop . She wanted to feel him deep inside her again, stretching her open hot and hard and moving. With one swift move, he gripped her hips again and slipped into her with a single firm thrust. He curled his hand behind her head so she wouldn’t
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