Redeemed (Heroes of the Highlands) - By Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,27

gentle than before.

She did.

“Lift it,” he gritted out. “Feel the weight of it.”

The longer she touched that part of her, the heavier it felt. All the sensation seemed to be concentrated in the jutting, demanding nipple.

“Run your thumb across yer nipple,” he growled.

She complied, softly, slowly.

Pleasure. There it was again. But now, it was tangible. It was there, in her breast. It still bloomed along her skin, particularly in a southerly direction. It was in the panting breaths and the tense muscles of the Druid beside her.

Her other hand flew to her belly as though to contain the swarm of butterflies unleashed within. She gasped as a sudden hot, slick sensation flooded her loins. That place between her thighs suddenly felt uncomfortably warm and alarmingly wet.

She clenched her eyes tighter. “Daroch?” she whimpered.

“Aye?” He sounded pleased again, but also leashed. Restrained, somehow. It ratcheted her anxiety higher.

“Something’s happening,” she confessed. “Something… there.”

A small rustling of fabrics told her that he leaned closer and she had the overwhelming urge to curl into his chest and hide from herself.

“Is it wet?” His tone had turned into silk being rent with bare hands and it reached all the way through her, landing in that place with a wicked vibration. “Is it slick, and swollen, and aching?”

She trembled and turned her head away from him. “Yes.”

“Then ye are ready.”

She wanted to deny it. But she didn’t. She wanted to run from it. But she couldn’t. Her body had taken complete control of her mind and the whole of it seemed to be ruled by her sex. And her sex seemed to want to be ruled…

By him.

She unhooked the rest of her robes, until they were splayed open beneath her, baring her entire body. Her teeth were clenched, her limbs trembling. Unbidden memories and fears seemed to want to worm their way into the darkness behind her eyelids so she opened them and focused on the stone as her face still turned away from him.

“Find that moisture, Kylah, and there ye’ll find yer pleasure.”

Slowly, the fingers that rested on the quivering muscles of her belly crept lower and lower still. Through downy curls protecting that most secret part of her, and dipping into her soft, warm sex.

A sharp gasp seemed to escape them both at the same time and mingled with the gentle lapping of the grotto onto the smooth stone.

She was soft and delicately fleshy. Slick and warm and… wanting. Kylah’s hips arched and her thighs parted slightly of their own accord.

“Daroch?” she turned her face toward him as her finger brushed against something so intense, her eyes flew wide and their hot gazes collided with all the force of a physical touch.

“I’m here, lass.”

“Cover my hand,” she begged.

He did. The pressure such that his hand settled into hers. Overtook it. And yet, touched it not at all.

“I can… almost…” He caught his lip in his teeth, his eyes boring down at her, more needs and shadows in their depths than she could ever attempt to count.

She nodded, her fingers seeking out the slick moisture once more, exploring it and the sensitive flesh beneath it.

“Find that place that makes you gasp each time you touch it,” he murmured. “Circle it, caress it…” He stopped, dropped his head and seemed to be trying to gather his will.

Kylah took his advice as best she could. Pleasure stabbed at her each time her fingers delicately danced over the small bud of sensation. She’d found it. She reveled in it. She pulsed with it, and each time she found it, the pleasure seemed to bloom wider and throb until in a long and singular moment, instinct seized her, and she no longer needed the Druid’s promptings to know what it was she sought.

A rhythm of sorts found her. A circular pressure that tightened every muscle in her thighs and curled her toes. Her breaths became irregular pants. Her eyelids fluttered open, and closed, and open again. Her head tossed from side to side. Seeking him, retreating, then finding him again.

Daroch was right there with her, hovering above her ear, saying dark, wicked things to her in a language long dead, belonging to a people long forgotten. Incantations of sin and sex and possession. The timbre of his voice prompted a perturbing perception to uncurl deep in her very core, to reach out from inside her and seize upon her being.

Pleasure and demand built and competed until wretched little cries ripped from her lips. Just when she felt as