in his neck, turning her head so that her neck was fully exposed. Her hips began to move on him, and the friction between his trousers and his manhood was nearly painful. He reached between them, freed himself from his confines, and then pulled her forward so she could ride the ridge of him. The slickness of her desire washed over him, and he almost exploded.
Alec concentrated on gentling her, rather than stoking his own desire. He was past the point where he could stop.
She would be his in mere moments, and that seemed to be what she wanted.
“You’re certain you want to wear my mark?” he ground out, his lips heavy against her neck, his teeth poised and ready.
She rocked her hips against his hand, let out a healthy little mewling sound, and tugged the back of his head. Alec abraded her flesh with his teeth, allowing them to scrape over her delicate flesh as he stroked her higher and higher.
When she cried out, he pierced the tender skin of her throat.
Sorcha’s passion was unlike anything he’d ever tasted.
She rode the waves of completion, giving her pleasure to him as she took his in return. Her hands slipped around his body as she hugged him even more closely to herself. If he could draw her into himself, he would. He supped on her delicate life force, taking her into his body, into his life, into his very being, and she came willingly.
And then he did the same. He couldn’t even control it.
When she found completion, he found his along with her, spilling his seed between them. He groaned aloud and drank her in, taking in every last whimper and every last cry.
Finally, when she collapsed against him with her head on his shoulder, he forced himself to withdraw his teeth and lick across the wounds he’d made to close them.
“You’re mine now,” he grunted as he ran his hands up and down her back. He’d never felt like this before. Never wanted to hold and cuddle a lass after sharing her pleasure. But this was Sorcha. His Sorcha.
“I’m yers,” she whispered back. “But what about ye? Ye dinna get ta…” She let her voice trail off as an embarrassed flush crept up her neck.
“I did,” he admitted. When he slid her bottom forward, she must have felt the sticky wetness between them because she giggled. “And if you tell a single one of your coven sisters that I couldn’t even wait to be inside you to do that, I’ll not be very happy.”
“Quite shameful, is it no’?” she asked.
“Quite shameful that I wasn’t inside you when I did that?”
All right, his pride was aching a little. He might as well be sixteen all over again.
“No, quite shameful that I enjoyed it so much. I never imagined…”
“Neither did I, lass,” he admitted.
A heavy knock sounded on the door.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sorcha gasped and then leapt off Alec’s lap as the knock sounded again, a bit more insistent this time. She glanced down at herself and realized she couldn’t possibly open the door. Not so scantily clad anyway.
Alec frowned as he rose from the chair and buttoned his trousers. “Damn Lycan,” he grumbled under his breath.
It was Eynsford? Sorcha almost squeaked in distress.
They couldn’t let the marquess find them like this. “Alec!” she hissed as he started for the door.
With a look of chagrin, he shrugged. “It’ll be all right, lass.” Then he opened the door just a crack. “Don’t you have a wife to look after?”
Though Sorcha couldn’t see Lord Eynsford from where she stood in the corner of the chamber, she could hear him grumble, “You certainly don’t waste any time, do you?”
“It is of the essence.”
The marquess growled a warning. “I intercepted a tavern maid with a tea tray. Not certain why she was instructed to deliver her wares here, so I redirected her to Mrs. MacQuarrie’s room instead.”
Oh! Cait’s tea! “I’ll be right there,” Sorcha called as she retrieved her gown from a nearby chair. “I’ll need all my herbs and seeds.”
“And a bath,” Alec added. “As you’ve taken on the role of footman, Eynsford, would you be so good as to order Mrs. MacQuarrie a bath as well?”
Actually, a bath was in order. Sorcha slid her gown back over her head. “Please, my lord, if ye doona mind. That would be lovely.”
“I only live to serve, lass.” Eynsford’s sarcasm could be detected even through the door. Then he snorted. “You smell like you could use a bath yourself,