Insolent: The Moray Druids #1 (Highland Historical) by Kerrigan Byrne Page B

his breath hot against the cool skin, as he slowly moved inside of her.
    Gasping, she pulled and grasped at him in a wordless plea for more. His skin was smooth, roughened in some places by hair or by chill bumps. But he would not heed her inarticulate demands as he pushed into and pulled out of her body with infuriating slowness. She couldn’t put into words what she needed from him, what her body demanded. More? Faster? Harder? She wanted that, and yet, she wanted him to do exactly what he was doing.
    She squirmed, arched, and clutched at him, the noises she made sounding like they were ripped from a torture victim rather than a lover. Her soft inner muscles clenched around his invading hardness, drawing his own tortured groans from his throat, and still he kept his rhythmic thrusts slow and methodical. Regardless of her powers over water, it was impossible to find purchase in the loch unless she had her feet on the ground. He had complete control, and he wielded it with complete discipline.
    The feel of him inside her was delicious, voluptuous even, his hard body molding against her soft one. The loch stole away any traces of blood or violence, letting the water become their haven.
    Morgana smoothed her hands up the swells of her Berserker’s arms, and wound them behind his back, displacing the water between them to wrap herself around him in the most intimate of embraces. She didn’t even know his name, but she could feel a century’s worth of loneliness contained in the way his arms held her and it seduced her like nothing else ever had.
    Each stroke of his strong hips told her a little more about him. Every soft nip of his teeth on her shoulder, nuzzle of her neck, or exploring caress of her spine with long, careful fingers conveyed a piece of his soul. Morgana understood that men, like beasts, communicated in such ways.
    It was easier to settle disputes with fists rather than words, and easier to claim a woman with brute strength than with poetry. But this man could use his gifted mouth for something other than words. In fact, it didn’t seem like the Berserker beast had the ability to vocalize anything. And he didn’t need to, because Morgana understood everything he felt. Every impulse he had. And while in this… form, for lack of a better word, his entire being seemed to be focused on her. Her needs. Her safety. Her pleasure.
    Still refusing to quicken his pace, he gripped her ass in his hands and angled her in such a way that his every stroke glided along nerves she wasn’t aware she possessed. She could feel every hot inch of his cock abrading inside her with aching precision, learning what made her moan and repeating it until she cried out. Those cries eventually became screams of unadulterated rapture. Her second climax built within her thrust upon thrust until it eclipsed the first and climbed higher still. Her every muscle spasmed, her jaw locked with helpless pressure, and her hands clutched at his hair, pulling it with desperate strength and eliciting a growl of delight in response.
    His great, heavy body shuddered in her embrace and his groan was a soft breath against her ear that contained too much. It was a sound of relief, pleasure, pain, and joy, the force of which sang through her as her body milked him toward release. He swelled within her, stretching her further, his arms tightening their hold and his hand cupping the back of her head with infinite tenderness even through the most gripping surges of his endless climax.
    Morgana remained locked around him like a barnacle. Her ankles hooked at his hips and her arms around his neck while her face nuzzled into the length of the soft beard at his jaw. This beast had changed everything. She’d always wanted to do her duty, to protect the world from evil. But now she wanted it for a different reason. A gift. For her Berserker. She wanted to save the world for him, and then convince him of its worth.
    Resolved, she placed a kiss on his neck, nibbled