The Warrior and the Druidess by Cornelia Amiri Page A

like a flame of the great fire, leaping as the heat built. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along, running to the wheelhouse. He lifted her into his arms, carried her through the entrance and then laid her on the bull hide-covered pallet.
    He unfastened the silver brooch that pinned her gold speckled cloak. Underneath was the ceremonial garb of a druidess. Brude slipped the purple robe bedecked with gold flakes up, slowly revealing her smooth calves and then her knees, and finally her arched thighs. He cupped her slender foot at the ankle and kissed his way up her long, shapely leg.
    Brude’s fingers wandered up her soft inner thighs, and she writhed at his touch. Tanwen curled her arms around his broad shoulders and crushed her lips against his. With his fingers still stroking her inner thighs, his hand rested on the tuft of hair between her legs. She gasped. He probed the wet crevice there. As the kiss lingered, he slipped his tongue between her lips, thrusting in and out while his finger plundered her sex in matching rhythm. Her heart raced. He pulled his lips from her and withdrew his finger. She groaned. Hastily, she slipped off her cloak and robe.
    He pushed her dress over her flat belly to her breasts and then tugged it off over her head. She smiled up at him. She wore a gleaming gold torque around her neck and gold clasps on her ears, but the rest of her body was bare for him. He pulled out his brooch pin and tossed it down as the plaid cloak it had fastened fell to the floor. He tugged his red tunic off over his head and threw it on top of the other clothes. He unbelted his checkered braies and kicked them off his feet, then slipped his leather shoes off.
    Standing nude before her, he reached out, kneading and stroking each aching breast. Brude lowered his head and reclaimed her mouth. He sucked her trembling, swollen lips as his hands pressed her breasts hard. As he palmed and molded her soft flesh, his tongue stroked her mouth to ecstasy. He withdrew his lips and gazed at her curved mounds and rosy teats. He rolled the nipples and they tightened to pebble hardness. She gasped as he flicked each one.
    Cupping one breast, he lowered his head and captured the nipple between his wet lips. He sucked the throbbing peak. He moved to the other breast, covered the pink bud with his mouth and, taking it between his teeth, he nibbled the tortured nipple. She cried out.
    He was on fire. She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but, by the gods, she was the most alluring. He wanted no one but her.
    He slid his hand back down to the hot cleft between her legs and probed the curly mound. He plunged one finger into the damp, deep heat within. She spread her legs further apart as he pumped his finger into her soft flesh. Fast breathing turned to urgent gasps.
    Between pants, she breathily commanded, “Take me.”
    He slid deep into her, emitting a low, soft grunt of primeval pleasure. Ecstasy thrummed through every pore of his being. “You are so tight. It feels so good.”
    She rasped, “Yes. Yes.”
    He was as hot as a spark from a flint, and he had the same need—to be placed on a candlewick to burn the wax down to nothing, or to set to a pile of wood and engulf it in a roaring fire. He was driven to consume her, or he would flicker out. He was aflame and had to engulf her in his heat.
    As he rode her in a hard, rocking rhythm, she matched his every thrust. Her raw desire took him to a great height of arousal. He pumped harder. Passion raged until he burst within her. Never had he celebrated Lughnassa so well. He wouldn’t want to make merry at the fire festival with anyone but her—ever.
    He rose up on his elbow and gazed at her eyes, which were closed in sleep, exposing the long fringe of her lashes. His gaze settled on her lips. He lowered his mouth to hers, and, with a gentle kiss, soft and warm, his soul melted.
    Women always came at his beckoning. They liked virile, handsome warriors, and he knew it.