Page 74 of Bound By Deception

Bree whimpered in response as he sank deeper, filling her, stretching her, until he was buried deep inside. Her husband stilled, his chest breathing hard, his heavily muscled, tattooed torso gleaming in the firelight.

Bree gazed up at him. He was quite simply beautiful, and until the end of her days, she’d never forget how good it had feltto have him buried to the hilt in her. And the fact that it would never be repeated made this moment even more vivid.

He rolled his hips then, and she lost all coherent thought.

Tension coiled in the cradle of her hips once more, although it started deep inside her womb this time. With each slow, sensual thrust, she angled her hips to meet him, opening herself up to him. Bree heard her own desperate groans now, echoing through the chamber, but didn’t—couldn’t—stop herself from making them.

This felt so good.

And then, to her disappointment, mac Brochan withdrew from her.

She cried out, clutching for him, but he merely turned her over, pulling Bree onto all fours—before he thrust into her from behind.

Bree whimpered.Oh, fuck. This angle was so different from the first, yet even more intense.

As before, he took her in deep, controlled thrusts. Leaning over her, his slick skin sliding against hers, he reached between her trembling thighs, opening her up with his fingers, and stroking her as he had earlier.

Bree gave a choked cry, her body shuddering now.

His touch destroyed her. She wasn’t used to coupling being this …raw. In the past, her encounters, although pleasurable, were a purely physical release. However, something about this man heightened everything.

He turned her inside out. He made her want the forbidden.

Bree tried to claw herself back from the edge—from giving in to sensation completely. It was dangerous; this coupling was a mistake. But right now, she welcomed the wrongness of it.

Mac Brochan slid his hand from between her slippery thighs then, and she whimpered in disappointment. But when he wove his fingers through her hair and drew her head back, causing her spine to arch, and pressing her core up against him, the whimper turned into a gasp. “Cailean!”

“Aye,wife,” he ground out. He grabbed her hip with his free hand, and drove into her, so much harder now.

Hot, wet pleasure crested deep inside Bree. Shuddering and gasping, she bucked against him, enjoying how his hold on her hair tightened to the point of pain, and the dominance of his thrusts. He was making her his, and something deep in her soul sang for it.

Later, she’d regret this, would berate herself for letting lust turn her into a fool. But for the moment, there was only pleasure, only this wild need that wouldn’t be sated.

And with a sob, she gave herself up to it.

They didn’t speak for a while afterward.

To shatter the silence would be to break the spell.

Bree enjoyed the reprieve yet knew it couldn’t last. And as they lay there, she tried to put herself back together, to gather her wits and let the rawness of their encounter fade. Nonetheless, as she lay spooned against her husband in the flickering light of the dying hearth, the sweat finally cooling on their bodies, she relived their wild tumble, committing every detail to memory.

Surely, coupling isn’t always like this for the Marav?

It couldn’t be. If it were, they wouldn’t get anything done—instead, they’d spend all their time having orgies in the furs.

No, Shee or Marav, what she’d just experienced was special.

Don’t—she cut her thoughts off then—He’s the enemy.

Bree’s throat constricted. Aye, this didn’t change anything.

Before things had gotten out of control, he’d been questioning her—and he’d do so again. And when she continued to lie, for the truth could never be told, he’d drag her down to the dungeon and lock her up, leaving her to the High King.

Bree’s eyes fluttered shut. She’d been Mor’s best, but she’d made a mess of this job. The Raven Queen had made a mistake in sending an assassin to do a spy’s work. Bree hadn’t been prepared for Cailean mac Brochan. Right from the first moment she’d locked eyes with the chief-enforcer, she’d been doomed.

Behind her, her husband’s breathing was slow and even, yet she sensed that, like her, he hadn’t fallen asleep. He too was trying to keep hold of something impossible.

His arm looped over her ribcage, cradling her possessively, and Bree tried to ignore the tug deep in her chest. She didn’t want to like the feeling of belonging to him. It was an illusion. A lie, just like the rest of it. Their marriage was woven with gossamer threads.

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