He didn’t want to take her against a statue where they could barely make a sound. So, he stepped back, reaching for her hand, and lead her out from around the statue. She didn’t ask where they were going. He was certain she already knew.
Chapter 8 - Shannon
Ewan’s bed was carved into the wooden wall of his bedroom. Pillars flanked both the foot and the headboard. There was space on either side for a grown man to stand and move into the room, but once she lay down on it, she was surrounded by wooden carvings. All landscape scenery. It smelled distinctly of pine. The sheets were soft, and the mattress made of feathers. It rustled when Ewan climbed onto it and she turned her head to him, noticing he was still dressed.
She gave a slight pout at the realization since he had already pulled her clothes off her, one after the other. Once they reached his rooms and the bedroom door was closed and locked behind them, it seemed he couldn’t wait to have her naked. His eagerness had both delighted and rattled her. She was not supposed to be doing this. She was not supposed to want him. Not like this.
And her father…
This was what he wanted. This was playing right into his hands.
But she couldn’t stop Ewan’s hands when they reached for the leather threading of the breeches, nor could she pause them when they went to work on the lacing of the shirt that she was in. His shirt. Nor could she stop him when he pushed it off her shoulders as though he wanted to prolong the moment before he got to see her.
He had kissed his way from her right shoulder, following her collar bones, tracing them with light kisses to her left shoulder. It had made her huff a soft laugh.
“It tickles,” she’d said when he’d given her a questioning look.
That had made him smile as well, grabbing her upper arms as he kissed her deeply, making her melt against him while he held her upright. Her knees were really growing weak. She thought that was only something women said happened to them to make the man feel more a man, but here she was, knees buckling beneath her.
Had she known this would happen?
Was it the real reason she had said yes to forming the mating bond?
Because deep down she had wanted an excuse to end up in his bed?
She didn’t care. It mattered so little in this moment. What she cared about was that bed and how exactly she would end up in it. It turned out to be a straightforward affair, as he pulled his shirt over her head and tossed it aside with a nod to the wall-carving that served as that very piece of furniture.
His eyes had lingered on hers rather than roving all over her human form and she had felt her veins ignite at the fact that he was still prolonging the moment. It made her feel desired in a way she never had before. It made her feel as though what he wanted was her, not just her body.
Men had always wanted her body, ever since she flowered and went from girl to young woman. Some of them had disgusted her, some had intrigued, but none had ever come close to touching her hearts.
Malcolm had been an ideal that she had striven for. He had been kind to her, he had listened to her council, had shown trust with matters of the court. But she had played the game with him. For a moment or two she had thought that perhaps there was more there but this… this put that moment or two to utter shame.
She had followed Ewan’s suggestion and moved up to the bed, walking into the space between the wall and the edge of the bed. The fact that she was in a box missing one wall made her feel safely tucked out of sight. This feeling left her smiling as she got herself onto the mattress. She scooted to the center, legs tucked to one side, laying on her back to look at the carved ceiling. It was too high to touch with one outstretched arm and she thought that Ewan could probably stand up straight on the bed without hitting his head.
Then he was there, still dressed, and she was pouting.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. “I am naked in your bed,” she remarked.
He reached for a blanket and pulled it over her, making her tilt her head and give him a look to stop, but he merely shook his head. “I mean, considering…”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked, propping herself up onto her elbows, the blanket slipping to show off her breasts. His eyes drifted to them without his say-so, she could tell, but his gaze lingered.
He was as turned on as she was.
She smiled. “Do you think this is my first time?” she asked.
“Well, I didn’t want to presume anything,” he said.
“It isn’t,” she told him, a slightly perturbed look crossing his face that made her laugh. “Are you about to tell me you don’t dally with your maids? That I’m your first?”
“Perhaps we should discuss the implications—”
“Hang your implications,” she said, one hand behind his neck as she pulled him on top of her. “I want to feel you,” she added, spreading her legs to fit him between them. “Don’t you want to feel me?” Her hand was still behind his neck, her mouth a breath away from kissing him again. She felt the length of him, rock hard and straining, and he didn’t need to voice his reply.
He reached one hand between them, undoing his breeches, pushing them down below his hips and ass. She pulled on his shirt until it was off him and then she felt the tip teasing its way between her folds. She was panting, her hands grasping at his back as he pushed inside of her. She bucked against him, taking all of him inside of her with a few short gasps. He filled her completely and rested there, forehead against her shoulder.
