“Then…then I’m no’ too late,” she uttered, and something sparked in her green eyes.
He looked into those forest green eyes, so full of life, the ruby lips, the dimples in her cheeks that deepened with her pleasure. There was nothing that could keep him from loving this stubborn, impetuous, vibrant woman. “On my honor,” he said with a sigh, “ye could never be too late.” He enveloped her in his arms and kissed her deeply, like a man who had thirsted for love and who would never let her go, not again, not ever.
Her hands slipped to his body, her warmth radiating through the water into his skin, and he felt himself rise up, his cock hard and eager to make love to her, to the woman he thought he’d lost.
“Love me, Payton,” she murmured, reading his thoughts. “Please show me ye still love me, aye? And please donna make me ask thrice.”
He grinned, but he was already unfastening that awful housekeeper’s gown and helping her to pull it over her head. Mared smiled, her cheeks dimpling as she lifted her chemise over her head, too, then splashing carelessly about to straddle him.
With a sigh of contentment, Payton lay back in the tub and let his hands glide over her wet skin—her arms, her ribs into her waist, and the flare of her hips above the black thatch of hair. Mared’s eyes darkened; her gaze dipped to his body. And then she closed her eyes and sighed with what he thought was relief.
He sat up, his arms around her, his face pressed against the swell of her bosom, tasting her flesh.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as his lips grazed the curve of her throat. His hands had started a slow ascent up her rib cage, and he drew her breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the nipple.
Her body shivered at his touch, making his desire burn. He slid his hands down to her bottom, kneading it, holding her tightly against his rigid shaft while his tongue dueled wildly with hers. His mind, his eyes, his every fiber was filled with the scent and the feel of Mared, returned to him at last.
There was no need for words between them; he was dangerously aroused and desperate for her body, and he moved from her lips to her breast, taking her fully into his mouth, hungry for the taste of her. Mared whimpered with pleasure as he devoured her like a madman, without care of anything but the need to feel her, to touch her, to be deep inside her.
“Take me,” she said, her voice rough with passion. “I belong to ye now. Freely. With all my heart, I belong to ye.”
Something primal and deep stirred in Payton’s groin; blood was raging through him like a swollen river. He had never desired anyone or anything so completely in his life. He pressed his mouth against hers, thrust his tongue inside as he grabbed her hips, lifting her up, lifting her onto him. Her chest was heaving; she looked down at him with a wickedly lustful look in her eye, and he smiled.
He slowly lowered her, anchoring her to his lap with one arm, slipping his free hand between them. Mared sighed when his fingers slipped deeper, and let her head fall back, moving her hips in such a way that sent the blood pounding through Payton, engorging him.
Mared’s response to his touch was explosive; she was moving harder against him, gasping for breath, the little cries of pleasure coming quicker and quicker in anticipation of release. He was quick to oblige her and began to move harder inside her—she was hot and wet and so bloody tight. Her body wrapped firmly around him, she met his rhythm, moving in time with him to help find her release. He helped her, too, rubbing and stroking as she rode him, higher and higher.
They were both panting; Mared had fallen over, bracing herself against his chest, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed as he stroked her to the same oblivion he felt weighing down on him. When he thought he could not deny himself another moment, Mared sobbed; her body contracted tightly around him and he felt the shudder of her release.
He was right behind her, his own release coming in quick, hot spurts at the end of savage thrusts.
She collapsed onto him, her wet hair covering them. As he drew deep breaths, Payton gently leaned back against the tub, taking her with him, stroking her back, and kissing her neck.
Neither of them spoke.
He was, in that moment of the purest love, unable to take his eyes from her, unable to believe that she had come back to him. She lay with her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, her hair a mass of wet and riotous waves, her breasts lifting with each ragged breath. Mared Lockhart made love like a woman who had been cursed for a thousand years.
And he had never been so completely, so wholly satisfied as he was at that very moment.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Then she put her hand on his heart, pressing lightly against it, then took his hand and pressed it against her heart. “Listen,” she whispered. “Our hearts, they are beating as one.”
Epilogue