Wicked Highlander

Twenty

Marcail couldn’t believe Quinn was really back. She had thought she would need to resign herself to never seeing him again. Yet here he was, his hard body pressed against hers.

She licked her lips, still feeling the kiss he had given her. There had been such desire, such hunger in that kiss that it had shaken her to her core. She didn’t need her magic to know that she was becoming attached to Quinn. Despite that knowledge, she couldn’t move away from him.

It was as if Quinn had magic of his own that tugged her to his side. They were in the worst place in the world, but all she thought about was Quinn and how he made her feel.

Quinn’s revelation about having to watch Ian being beaten made her heart constrict. She couldn’t imagine having to endure something so terrible, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“Are you really all right?” Quinn asked as he tugged gently on one of her braids.

She smiled up at him and nodded. “I’m much better now that you’ve returned.”

His hand stroked through her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into his hand. She reached up to begin releasing her braids so he could move his fingers through her hair when he stopped her.

“Nay,” he whispered and kissed her neck. “I love your braids. They are part of what make you you.”

Marcail stroked his cheek and whiskered jaw before letting her finger trace his lips. The feelings he stirred in her were arousing and glorious. And she never wanted them to end. “Quinn.”

No more needed to be said. His arms wound around her tightly, crushing her against his chest, but she didn’t mind. She couldn’t get close enough to him.

His mouth nipped and nibbled hers, and then his tongue licked along the seam of her lips. She groaned and opened for him. His tongue swept inside her mouth in a rush, swallowing her moan of pleasure.

Marcail was carried away on a tide of ecstasy unlike anything she had ever known. Quinn’s mouth conquered hers, seducing and claiming her with just the touch of his tongue.

She didn’t stop him when Quinn lifted her and settled her on his lap so that her legs straddled him. Marcail gasped when she felt the rigid length of his arousal against the sensitive flesh of her sex.

She throbbed with a need so deep, so intense that she ground her hips against him, sending spirals of yearning through her each time she came in contact with his cock.

“You’re driving me wild,” Quinn told her, his breath coming in great gasps.

Marcail wanted to tell him he was doing the same to her, but her voice wouldn’t work. She clutched his shoulders as he began to massage her breasts.

One of his fingers grazed her nipple, sending shock waves of longing to her center. She cried out and arched into him. She had to have more of him, all of him.

She clawed at his tunic, wanting it gone so she could feel his skin under her palms. He released her only long enough to jerk the garment over his head.

Marcail sighed in contentment as she brushed her hands over the muscles in his back and they moved beneath her hands. His mouth was doing wonderful, amazing things to her neck that left her panting and needy.

She threaded her fingers in his light brown locks and tilted her head back.

“Remove your gown before I strip it from your body.”

Marcail shivered at the desire that roughened his voice. With shaky hands she tried to remove her clothes. She heard a seam rip when Quinn’s hands joined hers and he gave a quick yank. But she didn’t care. Not when she was in Quinn’s arms.

His lips closed around a nipple and began to tease it with his tongue and teeth. She whimpered when his tongue swirled around the tiny bud. She ground her hips against him seeking the release that was building with each nip of his teeth.

She reached between them and grasped his cock through his breeches. He groaned, the sound ecstasy to her ears. Just like before, she was amazed at the hardness in her hand.

“I want to touch you,” she told him.

In the next instant he had unfastened his breeches and pushed them down so his rod sprang free. Marcail took him in hand and marveled at the feel of him. He was spectacular. And for now, he was hers.

“If you doona stop, I will spill.”

She wanted to bring him to climax with her hand, but the need to have him inside her was greater. She rose up on her knees and positioned herself over him.

He looked into her eyes while his fingers pinched one of her nipples, blending pleasure and pain so that she groaned and swayed toward him.

She lowered herself onto his thick, hard shaft. Marcail closed her eyes when she was seated fully. The feel of Quinn deep inside her was one that she would never grow tired of.

Quinn’s hand wound in her hair and held her head in place. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes when you come.”

A tremor went through her at his words. How he could touch her with his voice alone, she didn’t know, but she loved that he could. She opened her eyes. With his free hand, he gripped her hip and began to move her back and forth. Marcail bit her lip as a wave of rapture raced through her.

She never looked away from Quinn’s amazing light green eyes, not even when he ground into her, rubbing her clitoris in the process.

It was amazing the control she had being on top of him. She rotated her hips, loving the sound of his moan as she did. She also used her legs and rose up and down on his shaft. But then it became too much. Her release was so close that she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Quinn took over then, rocking her back and forth until her world fell apart. Her breath locked in her lungs and white lights blinded her to all but Quinn as her body convulsed around him.

“Marcail,” he whispered as he gave a final thrust and she felt him jerk inside her.

She collapsed onto his shoulder while his hands caressed her back. Now that Quinn had returned, the anxiety that had plagued her vanished, and all she wanted to do was lie in his arms for all of eternity.

Each time she made love to Quinn, it seemed a part of her opened up, as though she felt more, experienced more. Understood more.

The strange musical chanting she had been hearing ever since she had been thrown into the Pit suddenly filled her mind and grew louder than it had before.

She lost herself in the chanting. Though she tried, she could only catch a few words, but she recognized the language as that of the Celts.

What it meant though, she had no idea.

Quinn kissed her neck, reminding her that she was naked and Arran or Duncan could walk in at any moment. She sat upright as the chanting vanished and looked around for her gown.

“They will not bother us yet,” Quinn said with a smile.

She winced as she imagined the sounds she had made. “They heard us, then?”

Quinn’s laugh was music to her ears. “I doona know, and I doona care. Do you?”

“Aye, I do. What we did is personal.”

“True, but we aren’t exactly in a private place.”

She thought over his words and then shrugged. She would never see the light of day again. Who knew how many days she had left before she was killed? Why should it matter if everyone in the mountain knew she and Quinn had made love?

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t think I do care.”

“Liar,” he said with a quick kiss on her lips. “I like that you are bashful about our lovemaking. Makes me want to take you again until you scream my name.”

Marcail’s body throbbed at the idea. “Does it?”

“You know it does.”

A laugh escaped her as he toppled them sideways until they were lying face to face on the stone slab.

Charon looked away, unable to watch Quinn and Marcail another moment. He hadn’t intended to spy upon them as they made love, but he’d been unable to turn away.

The way they touched each other, looked at each other, was unlike anything he had ever seen before. They had made magic together, something Charon knew he would never in his very long life experience.

He turned from the entrance and retraced his footsteps to his own cave. Ever since Marcail had told him she had the spell to bind his god, his mind had been working.

Given his two-hundred-plus years of life, he knew better than to align himself with a side that was destined to lose. Yet, neither could he go against Deirdre who was so powerful. Marcail’s admission, however, gave him just what he needed.

He had planned to speak to Quinn about it, and he was glad he hadn’t. Charon’s plan was his own. He had never needed anyone before, and he certainly didn’t need anyone now.