Highland Wolf Pact (16 page)

“I do’na wanna harm ye,” he whispered, feathering kisses over her bare shoulders. “Och, lass, ye’re so beautiful. It hurts me heart. “

She smiled, fingers playing in his long, dark hair as he lowered his mouth to her breast.

“Oh!” Sibyl cried out when his tongue flickered back and forth against her nipple, staring at him, aghast at the sensation. Was it supposed to feel like this? She remembered watching babes suckling at their mother’s teats but she had never in her wildest dreams imagined it would be like this.

Raife chuckled, rolling one nipple between thumb and forefinger, continuing to assault her other breast with the hot lash of his tongue. She couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her throat, the way her hands groped him in the dimness, finding all the lean, hard slopes of his body, so different from her own softness, beyond exciting.

He kissed and suckled at her breasts for a long time, so long it made her squirm and cry out, begging him for more, although more of what, she still wasn’t sure. It was endless, exquisite torture, his titillating exploration of the open, yielding terrain of her body. She gave herself over to the sensation, gave herself over to him, to the flickering quiver of his tongue, to the rough press of his hands against the small of her back, pulling her into the saddle of his hips.

“Oh Raife,” she whispered, her thighs trembling as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She couldn’t stand this torture, not for another moment. “Please, oh please, I want you.”

He let out a low groan when she rocked her hips against him.

“Nuh-yet.” He kissed his way down her belly, flicking his tongue into her navel, tracing an invisible line straight down to the triangle of fiery red hair between her legs.

All of the sensation seemed focused there, between her thighs, where she felt soft, moist, swollen with heat. She twisted in his arms, his big hands on her hips as he settled himself between her legs. Always curious, Sibyl went up to her elbows to stare down at him, incredulous, as he nuzzled her sex, parting it with his tongue. His tongue!

“Raife! No!” she gasped in shock, but her protest didn’t last long.

Not once he’d drawn her into his mouth, his tongue probing like a hummingbird looking for nectar. He moaned against her sex and Sibyl moaned too, writhing on the lamb’s wool rug, hips rising against the flicker of his tongue. His mouth covered her, sweeping up and down and back again, his big hands cupping her behind, pulling her in to him.

“Oh Raife, Raife!” She called his name over and over, hands lost in the silk of his dark hair, the gentle throb between her legs mounting, building up and up, her heart thudding hard in her chest, matching the rising rhythm

Something was happening. Something strange and wonderful and beyond her understanding. Sibyl gave into it. She had no choice. The man between her legs was doing things to her body no one had ever taught her or even told her about. Her breath came fast, hands reaching for him, as if Raife could give her some relief from the delicious torture he was inflicting. The pleasure shook her body, making her thighs tremble, and then, then…

Raife didn’t stop when she cried out, when her nails raked his back and scalp at the final, sweet culmination of her pleasure, an ultimate, carnal satisfaction shuddering through her, something completely out of her control. Sibyl stared at him in wonder and awe as he lifted his head to look at her in the firelight, his face glistening as if he’d been eating honey straight from the hive.

“Raife?” she whispered, still trembling as he leaned up to kiss her. The taste on his tongue was strong, musky, his face still wet with her.

“Mine,” he whispered against her neck, his body covering hers. She felt the rake of his teeth against her flesh, as if he might truly eat her alive, and she thought she would let him, didn’t care if he ate all of her up. It might even ease this horrible ache she had for him. Even after the powerful, heady climax he’d brought her to, she wanted him. Still wanted him.

“Yes,” she urged, wrapping arms and legs around him, hanging on tight. “Yours. Make me yours.”

“It may hurt ye.” He sounded regretful as he lowered his forehead to her breasts, nuzzling her still, sending shockwaves through her body. “I’ll go slow.”

She nodded, whimpering when she felt him press between her open thighs, so hot and throbbing, insistent. There was no resistance on her part. She received him with every breath. Even the cry that escaped her throat when he finally pushed into her was an affirmation, welcoming him home. Raife stopped, poised above her when Sibyl’s nails dug into his neck, her heels into his lower back, meeting her gaze in the firelight.

The tears that trembled in her eyes weren’t from pain or fear. How could she tell him they were tears of joy at being his, finally, completely and utterly his? Raife leaned in and kissed her eyes closed, kissed the tears from them, no words between them. There was no need for them.

He moved in her and it was like flying. Her arms slipped around his neck, face buried there as they rode toward release together. Her body was taut, wound up like a lute string, a hunger burning in her like she’d never experienced before. She knew what it was like to crave this man, to spend her days longing for him, but this was entirely new. How was it possible to have him in her arms and still want him just as much?

“Oh Raife, please!” she begged him over and over, yearning for more, her body twisting and thrusting up against him all on its own, as if she might attain some sort of relief from the fever burning between her thighs. So much heat. So much delicious friction.

“Och, me love!” he cried, his motions matching her own fervor, impaling her again and again with steel heat, forged between her legs. Sibyl clung to him just as she did when he took her for a ride as a wolf, squeezing him between her thighs, feeling the hard, muscled planes of his body working as she grasped for something just out of reach.

Almost there
, she thought.
Almost there.

“Oh!” Sibyl’s eyes flew open, meeting his dark, midnight blue gaze. His eyes were dark in the firelight, focused solely on hers, their bodies slick and slippery as they came together. “Oh, Raife!”

She called his name, her whole body quivering with feeling as he gave one, final shuddering thrust of his hips, a cry escaping his lips as they both took one final, flying leap toward freedom, coming crashing down to earth together as one quaking mass of flesh.

She cried.

She couldn’t help the overwhelming emotion that overtook her body and she sobbed in his arms.

“I hurt ye, lass, och! I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kissing her wet cheeks again and again, and then she was laughing, because he had so misunderstood her feeling. They were tears of pure joy, not pain. She had never been in any less pain—at least, in her heart—as she was at that moment.

“No! No!” she protested, holding him fast.

“Ye’re a dervish, woman,” Raife complained when he went to move from her but she clung to him, desperate to keep him with her, in her, forever. If they could just stay this way and lock the world out, life would be perfection, she reasoned.

“I am
your
dervish,” she whispered back, and he kissed her, claiming her mouth as his own, just as he had claimed the rest of her from the inside out.

“I did hurt ye.” Raife frowned when she finally let him climb off of her, looking down at the blood staining the lamb’s wool in the firelight.

“Nay, ye claimed me.” She touched his cheek. “Sometimes claimin’ what’s yers involves a lil bloodshed. Twas worth it.”

“Listen t’ye.” He grinned and stretched, his body like carved bronze in the firelight. “Yer soundin’ more like a Scot e’ry day.”

“I can be a Scot,” she mused, thoughtful now. “But I can never be a wulver.”

“Nuh.” He touched her cheek, eyes searching hers. “But ye’re mine, anyway. I’ve claimed ye and I will’na let ye go.”

“But what about…” She frowned, cocking her head at him. “What about the pack? Darrow? Will they accept me as your mate?”

“Aye.” His eyes hardened. “They’ll accept ye if’n I tell ’em to.”

She wasn’t so sure.

“Did you inherit your place? Or did someone name you leader of your pack?” She puzzled over this. She hadn’t fully come to understand how it worked, the hierarchy in the wulver pack.

“Tis a process.” He smiled at her curiosity. “We do’na inherit titles the way the English do. The leader chooses his successor, but the leader has t’meet all challenges and win in order t’keep ’is place.”

“So… your father chose you?” She wondered at this. She would have thought Garaith would have chosen Darrow, given he knew Raife’s true parentage.

“Aye.” He nodded slowly.

“Were there any challenges?”

“Aye.”

“Darrow?”

He nodded again. Of course his brother had challenged him, Sibyl thought. Darrow would have felt slighted by his father’s choice. Hurt. Angry. It explained so much of Darrow’s character to her now, she was almost relieved at learning this.

“Why did your father choose you?”

“Why d’ye think?” Raife raised his brows, eyes bright.

“Because…” She hesitated, considering her options, realizing all at once why Garaith had chosen Raife over Darrow, a son fathered by another man over his own flesh and blood. “Because you were willing to keep the peace. To honor the pact.”

“Aye.” He laughed. “Ye’re a smart lass.”

“Darrow is angry.” She frowned, remembering the hardness in his eyes when he spoke of the English—and the MacFalons. “He hates the English. I think he might even hate the MacFalons even more.”

“The MacFalons are more
shasennach
than Scot,” Raife scoffed. “The Middle March has gone the way of the English. The MacFalons’re hated on both sides of the border.”

“But your brother, he wants war?” she murmured. “He wants to defy the wolf pact?”

“Aye.” Raife sighed, shaking his head. “I love me brother, but he has a bad temper. He does’na have the level head t’lead. He would’ve gone t’war over Laina.”

“What if it had been me in that cage?” she mused, seeing his face darken at the thought. “Wouldn’t you have felt the same?”

“Mayhaps.” Raife frowned, brows drawn together in thought. “I did’na have a mate when I told Darrow we would’na ride against the MacFalons. But I did what I thought was best for the pack, the best fer all.” 

“That’s why your father chose you,” Sibyl whispered, feeling a wave of pride for this man wash over her. “Because you can see the whole and know what is best.”

“Mos’ times.” He blinked at her, looking surprised. “I may’ve been more clear-headed before I met ye.”

“They say love makes you mad.” She laughed.

“It surely does.” His gaze dropped to her nude body, still sheened with sweat, her thighs moist with a mix of her juices, his seed, and her virgin’s blood. She was a mess, but he looked at her as if he might just swallow her whole.

“I’m mad fer ye, Sibyl,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing his palm to her belly, petting her gently, lightly, making her shiver. “I’ve been pantin’ after ye fer so long, like a damned dog…”

“A wulver,” she countered with a smirk.

He laughed, leaning in to kiss her.

“Does it bother you, that I’m not…?” she asked softly when they parted.

“Not what?” He nuzzled her throat, his mouth doing things to her body, making her tingle all over.

“Not a wulver.”

“Yer Sibyl.” He raised his head to meet her eyes. “Yer mine. Tis all that matters.”

She wasn’t so sure of that. Raife hadn’t denied her—and himself—for so long for no reason. He knew his pack wouldn’t like the fact he’d chosen a human mate instead of a wulver woman. He knew his brother would object, loudly and vehemently, especially given her connection to the MacFalons. And she knew it, too. What would happen, when she was marked, his? Not just here, but out in the open?

“Will I birth a pup?”

She had asked the wulver women about it. Kirstin had told her, as had Laina. Human women who mated with wulver men still birthed wulvers. Their child would be able to change, just like all the wulvers could. But would the child appear first as a baby? Or as a wolf pup?

“Nuh.” Raife laughed. “He’ll be like ye til tis time to change. When he becomes a man.”

“He?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Already a boy? What if he’s a she?”

“I do’na care, lass.” He laughed again at her look of consternation. “Boy, girl, human, wulver. It does’na matter t’me. All that matters is that ye’re mine.”

“Now that you’ve
finally
claimed me,” she teased, sliding a thigh over his and moving her body closer. “I thought I might have to lock you in this room, strip myself naked and…”

“Ye might as well’ve just run me through wit’ a sword. T’would’ve been less painful!” Raife groaned, lowering his head to her breasts in surrender. “E’ery minute I had t’resist ye was torture…”

“But you don’t have to resist any longer.” She turned her face up to his to be kissed.

“No.” He grinned, obliging her, nibbling at her lower lip with his teeth, licking the corner of her mouth, pressing his big thigh between hers.