She began to disrobe and when she saw her husband doing the same, her hands began to tremble. It was not being naked in front of each other that caused her anxiousness, it was the possibility of what may come of it.
“Get in bed,” he said as he walked toward her.
She hurried into bed, pulling the blanket over herself, only to have it yanked off when he joined her. She shivered at the chilled air that rushed over her and sent gooseflesh tingling along her skin and shriveled her nipples hard.
He turned on his side, to face her, cushioning his head with his hand. “I am going to touch all of you, wife.”
“You’ve done that before,” she reminded.
He smiled, a wickedly sinful smile. “This time it will be much different.”
“Then I will touch you as well,” she said, her hand drifting down along his side.
He grabbed her wrist. “I gave you no permission to touch me.”
“It is only fair,” she challenged.
His wicked smile returned and as he lowered his lips toward hers, and whispered, “I never play fair, wife.”
She tensed not at his kiss that was most welcome, but at his hand on her breast, his fingers, gently squeezing her nipple. His kiss was tender yet powerful and aroused an equal response from her. She soon was lost in their kiss, the sensations it evoked firing her passion.
When he moved his lips to her nipple, her body arched in response, and he splayed his hand on her stomach to ease her down. Having watched many a mother nurse her bairn, Bliss wondered how it would feel for a newborn to suckle her breast. Never had she thought a man would be the one to suckle there first, nor that she would enjoy it so much.
A soft moan escaped her lips as his hand moved off her stomach to caress the slight curve of her waist before drifting down over her slim hip. When his lips moved to her other nipple her moan was not as soft. But when his fingers brushed the hair between her legs, she gasped.
He lifted his head, the intensity of his passion-filled eyes sending a shiver through her.
“You are mine, mo ghràdh, there is no changing that now… not ever.”
She gasped when his fingers brushed her intimately and by the time his fingers slipped into her, she had lost all sense of reason. The pleasure was intense, and it grew with his every intimate touch and kiss. She grabbed the bedding at her sides, gripping it tight as her passion soared to overpowering heights.
Rannick brought his lips near her ear and whispered, “Let go, wife, I will catch you.”
Bliss turned her head and gazed into his heated eyes, the green flecks sparking wildly.
“Let go,” he whispered again and left her no choice as his fingers brought her to climax.
Bliss cried out as she burst with pleasure that raced through her until she thought she would die from the incredibly satisfying sensation. And the ripple that followed slow and easy until coming to an end left her completely satiated.
“It is but a taste of what we will share,” Rannick said when he saw she was able to focus. “You will feel far more pleasure when I am inside you.”
She shuddered not only from his remark, but the chill that slipped over her when he left the bed. He tossed the blanket over her before he grabbed his plaid off the bench, donned it, and left the cottage.
Bliss pulled the blanket up over her shoulders as she stared at the closed door. The urge to cry poked at her, but she refused to let tears fall. She arrived here fearful of what she would find, and now she believed she may have found something she thought she never would—love.
She could tell herself repeatedly that she simply cared for Rannick, that he was a good man despite what many believed or, at times, his actions. But how did she ignore what she had been feeling of late? How did she ignore that she actually favored her time spent with him or the way they talked easily with each other? Or the joy and satisfaction of sleeping in his arms. And never had she suspected to not only favor his kisses but to yearn for them. Then there was his touch, intimate or not, she loved the feel of his hands on her. Whether powerful or gentle, both made her feel safe, protected, and she did not know why, but his touch felt as if he actually cared for her.
A tear fell from one eye. She felt foolish to think she loved him. He had no thoughts of love for her. Did it matter? At least if her heart felt for him, it would make their marriage more bearable. And maybe, just maybe, her love could help heal his heart enough for him to truly care for her for the time left to them. Another tear fell and another. What did love matter when the curse hung over them, threatening every day?