Page 82 of Bride of Mist
He ripped away his linen wrap.
A primal moan of passion escaped her. And for Dougal, there was no sound more arousing. He clambered atop her, ready to plunge his aching dagger into her willing sheath.
But just as in battle, the minx wished to dominate him. With forceful determination, she shoved him over, rolling him onto his back beneath her. Holding him there with her deceptively strong arms and her hunger-glazed eyes, she sank onto him with a ragged gasp.
Overwhelmed by the delicious warmth bathing him, Dougal didn’t notice at first that she’d gone abruptly still.
When he cracked open his eyes, he saw her hesitation. The tiny crease between her brows. The way her lip was caught between her teeth. And he knew.
She’d been a virgin.
Despite her lusty overtures, her impulsive drive, her aggressive mettle, her bold attack, she’d never waged this kind of battle before. And now the blow could not be un-struck.
“Och, lass,” he whispered as despair and regret threatened to wither him. “I didn’t know.”
True to her nature, she didn’t back down. Not for an instant. She only gave him a sly, smoky smile and said, “I did.”
Then, before he could respond, she began to move against him. Tentatively at first. But she needed no training for this skirmish. Soon, despite her inexperience, her body learned how to strive against his. Soon she was lost in the battle.
And he was lost in passion again.
Unreserved and unabashed, she rode him slowly and without restraint, as if mating was as natural and innocent as breathing to her.
He responded, striving upward to meet her, blow for blow. With half-lidded eyes, he gazed up at her beautiful, bewitching face. With gentle fingertips, he sampled her alluring body—her slim throat, her silky hair, her puckered nipples, her firm buttocks.
He captured her head in his hands and kissed her again. As they moved together, he caught her sighs in his mouth and answered them with grunts of his own.
But soon he could no longer endure the leisurely pace she set.
With a groan of impatience, he heaved her onto her back.
She didn’t fight him. Instead, she pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, her thighs around his hips. She strained against him, urging him on, panting as he plunged into her again and again.
When he increased the pace, she proved as hungry as he was, answering every thrust with an eagerness that rivaled his own.
Her gasps—erotic and compelling—swiftly launched him to new heights.
Just as he thought he could endure no more, she stiffened beneath him, and her mouth opened in wonder. He roared as the seed pumped from him with the force of a raging river, even as she cried out in rapture.
They shuddered back to earth together. Clinging to each other with the last of their strength. Collapsing in a tangle of boneless limbs and satiated flesh.
Once they rolled apart, they lay side by side, speechless, for a long while. The chamber was silent except for the rasp of their mingled breathing.
The soft crackle of the fire.
And the indistinct murmuring of someone in the room next door.
Dougal’s breath caught as he remembered the Very Important Guest.
He and Feiyan had been anything but discreet in their lovemaking. They’d tested the squeaking ropes of the pallet to their limit. Bellowed out in sensual triumph like two warriors celebrating victory in combat.
What if the king complained to the innkeeper? What if he demanded to know who was making such a disturbance?
He let out a resigned breath. Yet as perilous as it sounded to annoy the king, it was nothing compared to the trouble he was in with Rivenloch.
Dougal was a dead man.
He knew that now.
