Her Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham (best novels of all time .txt) 📕

he did nothing more than kiss her. She fought against the rising tide of desire filling up inside of her, afraid to let go.

Bevan released her, but kept her hands in his. Confusion clouded her mind. He brought her palm to his lips, flicking his tongue across the centre. She shivered at the strange feelings that flared again.

‘You are beautiful, Genevieve.’He took a strand of her hair and brought it to his lips. ‘No matter what he ever said to you, believe it.’

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the soft skin beneath her chin. He dipped and kissed the softness, sending a violent shiver through her. Her skin warmed with anticipation.

He spoke in Irish, murmuring words of endearment, words that touched her heart. As he spoke, his lips trailed down her collarbone to the swell above her breasts.

‘For this night I’ll show you how a husband would seek to please his wife.’

He took her to his bed, laying her down upon it. She trembled, fighting to push the bad memories away. Bevan’s mouth covered her nipple, dampening the linen of her shift. A rush of heat flooded her as his tongue circled the hardened tip. Her breath erupted in a gasp as he suckled one breast while stroking the other with his hand. His hand moved down until he reached the juncture of her hips, and his thumb found the centre of her pleasure.

She could hardly breathe as his mouth continued its sweet torment across her breast. And she sensed there was more.

‘I need you,’ she whispered, unable to stop the words. In response, his mouth covered hers, kissing her deeply. She was afraid he would stop, afraid he would be thinking of his first wife and push her away. But she couldn’t let him arouse such sensations within her without telling him how she felt.

She pulled him towards her, running her hands over his warm skin, down to his hips. He stood and removed his trews, naked before her. His manhood was thick and hard. Genevieve sat up on the bed, staring at him.

‘Do you want to touch me?’ he whispered.

Genevieve shied away, but he brought her hand to grasp the length of his shaft. She had never touched any man in such a way. Hugh had delighted in overpowering her with his strength, holding her down until she wept with shame. Though he had not taken her maidenhead, had never raped her, she had known there would come a time when he would.

Had it not been for his arrogance, his insistence that he could make her want him, it might have come. But it had not.

There was no shame with Bevan, only a new awakening. And with the awakening came the realisation that she was falling in love with him. It hurt too much, knowing that he would never love her in return.

She hoped that one day he might look upon her as more than a wife and companion. And she consoled herself with the knowledge that he did desire her.

She took Bevan in her hands, and his eyes closed as he leaned back, letting her explore him. He remained motionless while she stroked his length. She found that he grew harder when she used a rhythm, his breath growing ragged.

Then he took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips. Bevan reclined on the bed beside her, tracing a single finger along the linen of her shift. ‘I made a vow, and that vow I’ll keep. But not if you keep touching me the way you do.’

She knew not which vow he spoke of, but it gave her a small sense of victory that she had the power to make him forget himself.

He nestled her backside against him, cradling her in his arms. With one hand he stroked her breasts, and with the other he caressed a path down her stomach to the wetness between her thighs. He slipped a single finger inside her, using his thumb to rub against her while the other hand tormented her breasts.

The violent feelings of longing rushed back, and Genevieve arched her body at the sensations of pleasure. She strained as the heat intensified. Bevan rubbed harder against her nipple, and then he slipped a second finger inside her.

She cried out as he continued to move his fingers in and out. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, nipping lightly as his thumb increased the pressure on her hardened centre of pleasure.

All at once a stream of white-hot release shattered her, suffusing her with the most incredible feelings of fulfilment. He held her as the tremors pulsed through her, tilting her chin to recapture her lips.

He had made it beautiful for her, asking nothing in return. But she wanted to give back to him, to show him how much she cared for him.

She could feel the rigidity of his erection against her spine as he cradled her in his arms.

She moved away and sat up, straddling his hips. With her hands, she cupped his arousal. Bevan flinched as if in pain, groaning, but she sensed he felt desire at her touch. Encouraged, she stroked upward, and his manhood rubbed against her palms.

Bevan captured her wrists. ‘Don’t.’

‘Let me,’ she whispered. ‘Let me give you what you gave to me.’ She removed her shift, letting him see her bare breasts. Leaning down to kiss him, she grazed the hardened tips across his chest.

The feel of his hot length against her wetness only made her want to feel him inside her.

‘Please, Bevan,’ she whispered.

The pained expression on his face made her want to give to him every feeling, every sensation he had given to her.

Very gently, he lifted his hips and moved her to the side. He raised her arms and adjusted her shift over her body once more. The unyielding look in his eyes told her he would not change his mind.

He kissed her again and drew her against him. ‘Sleep, Genevieve.’

Her body burned with unfulfilled desire, as she