Page 103 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 27
Ryland wondered, as the mischievous woman began moving instinctively against him, if she knew how difficult it was for him not to instantly explode. Everything about her aroused him.
Her ash-colored eyes like banked coals, flaring to life at a moment’s notice.
Her scarlet lips, equally adept at cursing and kissing.
The insistent clench of her fists around his wrists as she took control.
The shining ebony locks of her hair, lashing his ribs.
The provocative sway of her small, rose-tipped breasts as she found a pleasing rhythm.
The erotic slap of her buttocks upon him when she began riding him with fevered haste.
But it was the awe in her face as she reached her pinnacle again that finally sent him over the edge into his own bellowing release.
On and on the waves of rapture continued until he was completely spent, as weak as a kitten.
She too must have been drained, for she collapsed atop him, damp and panting, too weary to rise.
A long while afterward, when their breathing slowed and his heart returned to its quiet pulse, he suspected she’d drifted off. Until she spoke.
“Aye,” she murmured against his shoulder.
“What?”
“Aye.”
“Aye, what?”
“Aye, Iwillmarry ye.”
He grinned and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m glad to hear it.”
She raised her head to look into his eyes. “Ye know, I think I fell in love with ye the first day we met.”
He lifted a dubious brow. “You had an odd way of showing it, knocking me into the water.”
“I had to show ye who was in charge.”
“Is that right?” With his remaining strength, he rolled her onto her back again, bracing himself on his forearms to look down at her. “And who would that be?”
She smiled up at him, a cocky smile without a hint of surrender. “Ye may think ye’re in charge. But I know your weaknesses.”
He gave her a wink. “I fear my biggest weakness is for Irish outlaws.” He coiled a strand of her soft hair around his finger and gazed into her dreamy gray eyes. “I only pray you’ll take pity on me and be merciful.”
She wasn’t merciful. Not in the least. Almost immediately she began to entice him with smoldering gazes and provocative kisses. She pressed her tempting breasts against his chest and locked her legs around his hindquarters to hold him within her.
It wasn’t long before his weakness for Irish outlaws got the best of him. He swelled and hardened, and when she squirmed under him, he obliged her by guiding her swiftly back to that exquisite realm of ecstasy.
Their fingers clasped, they crested together, crying out in glorious victory as their two bodies were forged into one.
When Ryland finally eased out of her, Temair made a small mew of protest. For one remarkable moment, they had seemed flawlessly joined—not only in body, but in spirit—and she didn’t want to lose that.
As if he sensed her disquiet, he pulled her into his arms.
“I feel like the luckiest man alive,” he murmured against her hair.
