Insolent: The Moray Druids #1 (Highland Historical) by Kerrigan Byrne
Authors: Kerrigan Byrne
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infused her with a current of desire and power and Morgana could swear that the water heated around them. His eyes devoured her as hungrily as his lips had, touching on the rivulets of water finding intimate crevices to escape back into the loch. The caverns beneath her breasts, the creases of her hips, the hollow of her neck. When his eyes found the nest of dark curls between her thighs, his tongue reached out to wet his full lower lip, and the motion sent slick desire rushing from her body.
Feeling mischievous, Morgana parted her legs and opened her arms, but only to prepare for a strong stroke through the water, surging her away from him.
But the beast was too fast. His hand lashed out and caught her ankle in an iron grip, dragging her through the water back toward where it lapped at the wide swells of his shoulders. Without preliminaries, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and imprisoned her thighs open with his big hands, utterly exposing her.
Morgana felt like she should struggle, that she should give some maidenly protestation to his bold treatment, but the pure awe affixed to his brutal features gave her pause. He looked at her, at that most intimate part of her body, with the eyes of a demon and the reverence of a saint. He swallowed once. Twice. And then licked his lips again with an anticipatory noise that reverberated through her like the roar of thunder.
A deep tremor overtook him, as though his barely leashed beast was about to be splintered by desire. His hands felt heavy against the tender skin and muscle of her inner thighs as he turned his head to press a kiss against the sensitive flesh above her knee.
Morgana’s ears echoed with the beats of her heart as she watched the last vestiges of evening light slide along the wet layers of his dark hair when he bent his head. His mouth drifted to the inside of her thigh, pulling her toward him in dangerous increments, his hands moving to make way for his venturing lips.
Her breath caught at another kiss, higher this time, where the skin was sensitive and thin, where blood and nerves scattered incomprehensible sensations through her entire body.
Morgana spread her arms to keep her upper half afloat, feeling as though she watched his ministrations from far away, but felt them through her whole being. Her skin felt both scorching and freezing all at once, gooseflesh blooming and tightening her already aching nipples as her heavy breasts bobbed weightless atop the water.
She gasped as his rough palms began to explore her hips with excruciating slowness. A shuddering weakness stole her ability to move. Paralyzed by desire, she allowed him to push her legs wider and secure her hips above the waterline.
A hot current of longing escaped the place that now quivered for his touch. For his mouth. Her bones felt as though they might melt like steel in a forge. A liquid fire snaked through her, followed by moist and languorous pulses of need.
Finally his hands spanned the place where her hips met her sex. His thumbs stroked through her fine hair, parting the folds of humid flesh.
A sob ripped from her throat as the heat of his reverent exhale caressed her, followed by the pressure of his lips. A soft lick was followed by a gentle tug at just the correct spot, and the throbbing need she’d felt instantaneously released into a flood of searing, luxuriant pleasure. His tongue was silk against the satin of her body, slipping playfully among her intimate flesh, finding places that made her buck and caused her feminine muscles to clench around emptiness, demanding to be filled.
He tested the entry to her body with his tongue, then split her with a sinuous lick, latching on to the exposed nub of pure sensation, abrading it gently as his long, curious finger replaced his mouth. She was so wet, so incredibly slick, that he glided in with no resistance. This seemed to further excite and encourage him. He withdrew, and his second finger joined the first, stretching her body
Feeling mischievous, Morgana parted her legs and opened her arms, but only to prepare for a strong stroke through the water, surging her away from him.
But the beast was too fast. His hand lashed out and caught her ankle in an iron grip, dragging her through the water back toward where it lapped at the wide swells of his shoulders. Without preliminaries, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and imprisoned her thighs open with his big hands, utterly exposing her.
Morgana felt like she should struggle, that she should give some maidenly protestation to his bold treatment, but the pure awe affixed to his brutal features gave her pause. He looked at her, at that most intimate part of her body, with the eyes of a demon and the reverence of a saint. He swallowed once. Twice. And then licked his lips again with an anticipatory noise that reverberated through her like the roar of thunder.
A deep tremor overtook him, as though his barely leashed beast was about to be splintered by desire. His hands felt heavy against the tender skin and muscle of her inner thighs as he turned his head to press a kiss against the sensitive flesh above her knee.
Morgana’s ears echoed with the beats of her heart as she watched the last vestiges of evening light slide along the wet layers of his dark hair when he bent his head. His mouth drifted to the inside of her thigh, pulling her toward him in dangerous increments, his hands moving to make way for his venturing lips.
Her breath caught at another kiss, higher this time, where the skin was sensitive and thin, where blood and nerves scattered incomprehensible sensations through her entire body.
Morgana spread her arms to keep her upper half afloat, feeling as though she watched his ministrations from far away, but felt them through her whole being. Her skin felt both scorching and freezing all at once, gooseflesh blooming and tightening her already aching nipples as her heavy breasts bobbed weightless atop the water.
She gasped as his rough palms began to explore her hips with excruciating slowness. A shuddering weakness stole her ability to move. Paralyzed by desire, she allowed him to push her legs wider and secure her hips above the waterline.
A hot current of longing escaped the place that now quivered for his touch. For his mouth. Her bones felt as though they might melt like steel in a forge. A liquid fire snaked through her, followed by moist and languorous pulses of need.
Finally his hands spanned the place where her hips met her sex. His thumbs stroked through her fine hair, parting the folds of humid flesh.
A sob ripped from her throat as the heat of his reverent exhale caressed her, followed by the pressure of his lips. A soft lick was followed by a gentle tug at just the correct spot, and the throbbing need she’d felt instantaneously released into a flood of searing, luxuriant pleasure. His tongue was silk against the satin of her body, slipping playfully among her intimate flesh, finding places that made her buck and caused her feminine muscles to clench around emptiness, demanding to be filled.
He tested the entry to her body with his tongue, then split her with a sinuous lick, latching on to the exposed nub of pure sensation, abrading it gently as his long, curious finger replaced his mouth. She was so wet, so incredibly slick, that he glided in with no resistance. This seemed to further excite and encourage him. He withdrew, and his second finger joined the first, stretching her body
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