Page 81 of Bride of Mist
Not anymore.
Now she was puzzled. Why had he kissed her?
And what was he going to do next?
As the kiss continued, her emotions fluttered past like a swarm of motley butterflies. This one was rage. That one was shock. Then came panic. Then intrigue. Then curiosity.
Finally, after only a few moments, she settled on wonder.
In the satiated haze of a filling supper, a hot bath, copious ale, and good company, she was struck with a sense of wonder at the new feelings his kiss was engendering in her. Then she wondered what it would be like to pursue those feelings.
Casting caution aside, she hooked a possessive arm around Dougal’s neck, dug demanding fingers into the flesh of his back, and returned his kiss.
She was unprepared for the lusty surge that would sweep her up in its currents, conveying her toward a wild sea of desire. With breathless haste, she moved from sweet kisses to feeding ravenously upon his lips. His warm, supple, demanding lips.
The blood in her veins began to thrum. Her ears buzzed with a primitive vibration. Her head sang inside a sensual fog that softened the melody while sharpening her longing.
And then he responded.
Tilting his head, he slanted his lips across hers to deepen the kiss. He tangled his fingers in her wet hair and pulled her closer.
Through her leine, she could feel the heat of his skin against her breasts, soothing her, tempting her, compelling her to come closer.
When he teased her mouth open with his tongue, she sighed into him, relishing the wet, exotic, ale-spiced taste of him.
Her hands took their own journey, exploring the slick locks of his hair. The intricate curve of his ear. The rough edge of his jaw. The strong pulse in his throat.
She traced his collar bone. The sleek muscle of his chest. The flat nipple that responded to the brush of her palm. The lean ridges of his ribs.
He fed on her with wild recklessness. And she answered him kiss for kiss, as if they engaged in some mortal combat of passion.
Then he drew her even closer, and she felt the hard proof of his lust, pressing against her abdomen with wanton desire.
She felt lust as well. A current as powerful as lightning streaking through her. Tightening her nipples. Tingling with fire betwixt her thighs.
While their tongues fought an erotic battle, she gasped and arched and moved against him, pressing her burning flesh against the firm rock of his thigh, instinctively seeking comfort. Or satisfaction. Or release.
But it was to no avail.
She needed something more.
Something forbidden.
Something sinful.
Driven half mad with ardor and aroused to a fever pitch, Dougal scarcely knew what was he was doing. Where his hands were. Or how he was still able to stand.
Lost in a thick fog of desire that blinded him to reason, he kissed and caressed and feasted on the irresistible lass with mindless abandon.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by her boldness. Feiyan was forward in every other way. Attacking him on the trail. Charging at outlaws. Demanding her weapons. Why would he expect her to turn timid when it came to trysting?
Still, when she suddenly and brazenly seized his member, he surged to new heights of irrepressible need.
He groaned as her fingers closed around him through the damp linen. She obviously knew what she wanted. There was no question about it. And no going back.
With a possessive growl, he swept her off her feet and conveyed her to the bed.
She tore off her leine.
