Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(101)

Sorcha stood perfectly still, fear locking her knees and curiosity stilling her breath. At the sound of his name, a single finger touched her throat. Her breath caught.

His fingernail scratched just enough to leave a mark as he trailed it down her neck and to her shoulder. He hesitated for a brief moment before hooking it underneath the yellow fabric of her dress.

He was giving her time to tell him to stop, she realized. A voice in her head screamed to leave, to run, that a faerie could not be trusted. But her heart knew what she wanted.

Him.

Sorcha sighed as the fabric of her dress slipped down her shoulder, baring milky white skin dotted with freckles. He groaned and traced patterns between the beauty marks.

“Do you know what they used to call me, Sorcha?”

“No.” She couldn’t think, let alone decipher what his words meant. Not when he was stroking the bare skin of her shoulder and the cold breeze brushed past her sensitive arms.

“The Red Stag. I used my blade like the antlers of the beast, leaving wounds dotting across my enemies’ flesh. I carved my namesake in skin more times than I can count.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“It is a warning.”

“That you are dangerous?” She glanced over her shoulder, the fabric of her dress slipping even further. “I know that, Eamonn. You are the sword, the weapon, the soldier of the Seelie Fae.”

He traced circles on her neck. “And the sword is far mightier than the pen for a time. But eventually a sword loses its weight, becomes a symbol more than a weapon. All warriors turn to the pen once they win their wars.”

“Precisely why I believe you would make a good king.”

His breath feathered over her arm. Crystals pressed into soft flesh, surrounded by the velvet heat of his mouth. A soft flick of his tongue stroked between freckles.

“Why does your whole body taste like sunshine?” he asked. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Does my whole body? I wasn’t aware you had tasted every inch.”

“There is no going back from this Sorcha. If you make this choice, I cannot stop.”

“You are a large man, Eamonn, but you are not my first.”

Sorcha reminded herself to breathe as his hands curled around her waist. He yanked her against him, pressed her spine against his stomach. “Who dares touch what is mine?”

“I am my own before I am any other’s. But if you must know, I grew up in a brothel. A girl gets curious.”

“A girl toes the line between right and wrong.”

“Is there such a thing?” She spun in his arms, eyes sparking with anger. “Right and wrong suggests that there is only black and white. I refute that belief and instead replace it with my own. If I desire a man, I shall take one.”

An answering anger sparked in his own eyes. Crystals lit with the fires of his passion. “And what do you desire?”

Every fiber of her being yearned for him to touch her. She wanted his fingers in her hair, his body pressed against hers—in hers—until she didn’t know where he started and where she ended.

Sorcha wanted him. It didn’t matter he was larger than her, or that he was Fae. She might regret it in the morning, but now she would enjoy every second of this poor decision.

She slid her hands up the wide plane of his chest, tangled her fingers around his braid and pulled him down. Their foreheads pressed together. She inhaled his air and breathed into him new life.

“I desire a king.”

“Then a king you shall have.”

He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Sorcha had seen him swing a sword taller than her, perhaps she felt like a feather to him. She might have pondered such thoughts if he hadn’t swooped down and devoured her lips.

Her body glowed with passion and desire so great that she feared it would never be satisfied. Something, or someone, uncurled deep within her soul. A woman she barely recognized, who knew how to take what she wanted and asked for the world.

Candlelight disappeared in curls of smoke as he laid her across a feather down bed. Inky darkness obscured him from her vision.

His hands trailed down her sides, following the indents of her waist and the flare of her hips. Cold crystal pressed against the smooth column of her neck. The highest points dug into her skin, not quite painful and sending shivers racing from each touch.

The tight bodice of her dress eased. Her lungs expanded and her back arched, pushing her chest into his waiting hands. He slipped his fingers through the gaping fabric, smoothing his fingers around her waist and pulling her into his chest.

Stones pressed against bare flesh. She sighed, the sound almost too loud as he surged up and captured her lips again. The erotic scrape of crystal mingling with his guttural groan sent shudders rocking through her body. He smoothed his hand over her bare spine, hand shaking as he held himself in check.

“Eamonn,” she whispered. “I want to see you.”

“No one wants to see this face.”

“I desire to see nothing but you!”

Candles flared to life all around the decimated room. Shattered furniture, shards of stone statues, and broken mirrors created a battlefield. The bed was all that survived unscathed.

Eamonn did not look at her. He turned the scarred half of his face away from her as if she might be insulted by the mere sight of him.