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

tensed, trying to gather her courage. This was Bevan, not Hugh. He would not hurt her.

For a moment she rested against him, her hair falling into the water. His arms wrapped around her, just above her breasts, and he kissed the top of her head.

‘This is the way baths were meant to be taken,’ he said.

‘You don’t think it’s a bit crowded?’

‘Not at all.’ His hands wandered down, brushing against her nipples before sinking below the water. Genevieve touched his knees with her palms, running her hands over his thighs, then down to the tight calves and his feet. She explored his skin, so different from her own. His legs were strong, the muscles developed from years of riding a horse. When she reached his toes, a muffled laugh sounded from behind her.

‘You’re ticklish,’ she accused. When he didn’t answer, she tickled the bottoms of his feet, and he shook with suppressed laughter. More water sloshed onto the floor.

His laughter relaxed her. She reached for his foot again, but he captured her hands in his, placing her palms atop her breasts. The sensation of touching herself, under his guidance, made her self-conscious.

‘And you?’ His fingers moved her hands in a light caress over her nipples, sending a jolt of desire through her. ‘Does this tickle?’

He turned her towards him, pulling her legs around his waist. He took her nipple into his mouth, and she gasped. His tongue circled the hardened tip, sucking until her blood raced within her veins. ‘What about this?’

Her breathing quickened, and she felt a rush of heat between her thighs. ‘My turn,’ she whispered.

Emboldened by his touch, she reached into the water and took his length into her hands, stroking it. He shuddered, his face tightening with the effort to maintain control. She ran her palms over his chest, kissing each of the scars, her lips sliding lower until they touched the water.

Bevan stopped her and rose to a standing position. Beads of water slid over his body as Genevieve remained kneeling in the tub. Her mouth moved over a scar on his thigh, and he trembled.

‘Do you see what you do to me?’ Bevan asked in a harsh whisper.

His manhood stood erect from his stomach, and for a moment her apprehension returned. He stepped out of the tub, mindless of the dripping water, and brought a drying cloth. Genevieve rose, allowing him to wrap the cloth around her.

In a swift move he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. He laid her back, kissing her deeply, his tongue mingling with hers. He had never felt this way before with any woman, not even his wife. Why had he ever thought to deny himself the pleasure of her?

He rolled her on top of him, and she straddled his hips. Her fair skin was covered in tiny goosebumps. Her nipples were erect and damp from the water. His palms spanned her waist, caressing her hips and bottom.

She froze, watching him. He hoped she could see how much he desired her, how much he wanted this to be good for her.

‘You were right,’ she said. ‘I am afraid.’

‘Don’t be.’ He lifted her hips until she hovered above his manhood. A small gasp erupted from her as she slid a fraction of him inside her. Bevan forced himself to lie there, to let her make the decision whether she wanted him or not.

Lug, he didn’t think he had the strength to endure such sweet torture. His body was ready to explode, and yet she moved with excruciating slowness. Deeper.

Her moist warmth tightened against his shaft. Still deeper.

His breathing was ragged, but he held her gaze, letting her continue to take the lead. She moved once more, until he could feel the barrier of her maidenhead. At long last his length was sheathed within her, and she gave a gasping cry as she was breached. He nearly spilled himself at the intense pleasure of feeling her squeeze his manhood within her depths.

She began to move, delicate penetrations that rubbed against him, making him rock-hard. Her breath came in quick gasps, her wet hair slid across his chest, and at the look of agonised pleasure on her face he could no longer bear it.

He had thought to teach her the ways of loving. Instead, she was teaching him what it meant to hold a woman in his arms who gave herself to him completely. In her eyes he saw desire and love, as she poised on the brink of fulfilment.

She needed him, as he did her. He would never let her go.

His hands clenched her hips, increasing the speed and pressure. She cried out, her back arching to take him deeper. He moved in counter-rhythm to her thrusts, pleasure filling him until there was nothing but her.

He wanted her to love him. With Fiona, he had once thought she loved him. But she had never looked at him the way Genevieve did now.

He leaned up and took her breast into his mouth, licking her nipple as she ground her hips against him. He sucked hard and she screamed. At that moment he poured himself inside her, holding her fast while the aftershocks took them both into a mindless ecstasy.

He cradled her against his chest, their bodies still joined. It felt so right having her in his arms.

And the thought frightened him.

When the morning sky turned from grey to lavender, with dawn stealing its way above the horizon, Genevieve lay snuggled against Bevan’s back. She leaned over and kissed his shoulder.

‘Good morn to you,’ she whispered. For it was a fine morning—the finest she had known in a very long time.

But he said nothing, rolling over to get out of bed. His sudden coolness startled her, especially after he had loved her twice more that night. He had brought her to the edge of madness until she’d cried out in ecstasy. It was as though he’d craved watching her come undone.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, suddenly feeling uncertain.