War of Hearts(68)

Thea never knew kissing could be like that.

Desire swirled between her legs and she dug her fingers into Conall’s strong biceps, trying to get closer, closer.

At her eagerness, he made a low growling noise that vibrated in her mouth and caused a rush of instant arousal. She moaned and pushed her hips deeper into his, feeling his hardness buried against her belly.

Conall broke the kiss and Thea stared up into those gray wolf eyes, in awe that such a cold color could be so warm. His gaze was searching. Waiting.

They both knew they shouldn’t give in to their attraction.

That it would make everything messy and complicated.

But the thought of walking away, of not knowing what it would feel like to be with him, made Thea want to cry. She was only twenty-five years old and yet she was weary and exhausted by life. There had been no moments of true happiness in her world since she was twelve.

No escape.

And no one had held her or made her feel essential.

As necessary as breathing.

Conall made her feel that way.

She wanted more of that. She wanted to be touched, to be loved, and to touch and love in return, and Thea knew just one night with Conall would be enough to last her a lifetime. He was worth risking those high impenetrable walls she’d built around herself.

Thea could go on surviving for however long time granted her.

Tonight, she would live.

She slid her hands up Conall’s strong shoulders, wrapped them around his nape, and pulled his head back toward hers. He gave another animalistic growl of pleasure that caused a stir low in her belly. There was a tug on her robe and Thea tensed at the reminder he would see and feel her back.

Conall moved his lips along her cheek to her ear as the robe fell open. “I’ve never seen beauty like yours, lass,” he promised, his voice a rumble of sexual need.

Thea believed him.

She relaxed, and he pulled away, his hungry eyes meeting hers before lowering down her naked body. Thea expected to feel exposed, to feel vulnerable, but she was hot and restless and aching in places she never realized could ache. She shrugged her shoulders and dropped her arms so the robe fell, pooling behind her feet on the floor.

Conall studied her so long, she was in great danger of melting into a puddle of want beside the robe.

When his eyes returned to hers, Thea gave a little moan at the awe in his expression. Then she was wrapped around his heat, the wind whispering across her skin, seconds before she found herself sprawled on the bed beneath him.

Thea chuckled. “Impatient?”

His answer was to kiss her, voracious, raw, and sexual until her thighs were climbing his hips, the rough texture of his jeans against the soft skin of her inner thigh surprisingly stimulating. At the agitated flexing of her hips, Conall gave her more of his body, rubbing his jeans-covered arousal between her legs.

She gasped, breaking the kiss as pleasure began to build, and Conall trailed his lips down her neck. As he fondled and caressed her sensitive breasts, his lips chased his hands, his hot mouth covering her in kisses, sucking and laving until Thea was a furnace of need.

He savored his exploration, slow, gentle, rough, devouring.

And when he moved lower and kissed her on the scar where Ashforth first stabbed her with iron, tears burned in her eyes. He was so loving, as though he was trying to kiss away the pain.

She ran her fingers through his hair as his kisses moved south to between her legs.

Then he licked her.

Thea let out a cry of hoarse pleasure. The bartender hadn’t kissed her there, and she had no idea what she’d been missing. Conall grasped her hips in his hands, his hold almost deliciously bruising, and pleasured her until Thea no longer cared about anything else in the world but the coiling pressure building in the deepest part of her body. She felt the tension, this beautiful, all-encompassing tension, not able to give words to what made it the best goddamn tension she’d ever felt in her life, just that it was. And that it was leading somewhere spectacular.

Her heart raced faster than she thought possible, she couldn’t catch her breath, and she suddenly understood why the French called climaxing a “little death.” It felt like her heart would explode.

“Conall,” she moaned, pushing against his mouth, the image of his dark head between her legs, his lips moving on her, the flash of his tongue, causing the tension to increase exponentially.

Then it snapped.

It broke apart and her cries of release echoed around the room as her lower body shuddered against Conall’s mouth.

Thea shook against the bed, trying to catch her breath, wonder buzzing through her as Conall sat up, his face taut with need as he ripped off his shirt and threw it behind him. She watched him strip, revealing every inch of his powerful body, and she wanted more. Had to have more. She reached for him as he came back down over her, sliding her hands across the warm, smooth skin of his back. Her breath stuttered at the feel of him pressing between her legs. His rich scent of earth and spice surrounded her and as Thea ran her bare foot down the back of the hard muscle of his right calf, she had the urge to ravage this man until she was covered in his scent.

Conall kissed her, softly, sweetly, and then whispered against her lips, “Dinnae hold back with me, lass. I can take everything you’ve got.”

She grinned, and he chuckled. The tenderness in his expression made her breath catch again. Whatever he saw on her face made him kiss her with a desperation that had her clinging to him.