The Warlord Claims His Bride (6 page)

“That’s it, lovely, let go and give yerself tae me.”

When the pleasure receded she relaxed against the bed, breathing out heavily and trying to get her bearings. Bronson moved away from between her legs, and she forced her eyes open so she could look at him. He had his hands braced on the bed beside her upper body, and his position made him look so very fierce. The thing that had her enthralled was the fact his mouth was glossy from the wetness that he had urged out of her when he had licked at her pussy.

“Come here, darlin’.”

She pushed herself up, and then he claimed her mouth, forcing her to taste herself on him as he thrust his tongue between her lips. The flavor was salty and sweet, with a hint of musk to it. She made a small noise, and that seemed to have something snapping in Bronson. A second later he groaned, speared his hand in her hair behind her head, and pulled on the strands forcefully. She felt the hot, hard length of him press between her thighs as he continued to kiss her. Bronson swirled his tongue around the inside of her mouth, and then sucked
her
tongue back into his mouth with a possessiveness that Genevieve felt deep in her bones. Without breaking the kiss he reached between them and placed the tip of his erection at the entrance of her body. Everything inside of her stilled, tensed, and she panted with wariness. He pulled back and looked down at her face. The fierceness that covered his expression made her picture him on the battlefield taking what belonged to him.

And
she
belonged to
him
right now.

“Lass, it’ll hurt, and for that I am sorry.”

She was surprised he was saying anything, but she didn’t verbally respond. She nodded, gripped his biceps, and held on. He stared into her eyes, and then he thrust deep, hard, and in one fluid motion into her body. He groaned above her, closed his eyes, and she saw how taut his body became. She felt the heavy weight of his balls press against her bottom, but he didn’t move right away. She felt full, stretched, and the discomfort was so shocking that she was having a hard time catching her breath. After a few moments of him letting her get used to him he started moving within her.

In and out he moved, slowly at first, and letting her get accustomed to his size. He didn’t speak, but he breathed hard, heavily, and kept his eyes closed. He almost looked in pain, and she couldn’t draw her gaze away from him. He finally opened his eyes, and the perspiration that covered his face and dripped onto her chest turned her on even more. She felt like another explosion would move through her and steal her away. He leaned back slightly and looked down at where their bodies met.

“Ah, lass, ye’re stretched so far around my cock.” His massive chest rose and fell as he breathed. “Ye’re so pink and juicy for me, so primed.” He groaned out the last word and buried himself to the hilt in her. For a moment he did nothing but stay still, breathing heavily and stirring the hair that fell around her face. Genevieve was so close to feeling that intense pleasure again, and her inner muscles were clenching rhythmically around his girth uncomfortably. “I want ye tae see what I’m doing tae ye, Genevieve.” He looked at her and then started pulling out. When the tip was lodged in the opening of her body, she rose up and braced her elbows on the bed to support her upper body. Watching what Bronson did to her seemed so very obscene, but she also couldn’t lie and say that her arousal didn’t increase because of it.

She glanced into his eyes, and when she saw that he was staring down between her thighs, she followed his gaze. He was massive inside of her, and she saw what he meant when he said she was stretched so wide around him. She was wet, unbelievably so, but it wasn’t just from her arousal but because he had broken through her maidenhead as well. Blood covered his length, and the fact her innocence was gone, and that she was truly a woman now—this warrior’s woman—was a very powerful sensation inside of her. He moved in and out of her, slow and steady at first, but with each passing second he picked up speed until he was slamming his dick into her. These low, clipped sounds left her, and they were notice of her approaching pleasure.

“Bronson, I…” She closed her eyes and couldn’t hold herself up any longer. She fell back on the bed and moaned out as he went primal on her. The sound of their wet skin slapping together filled the room. But it was his harsh grunts that fueled her heightening sensations. But before she felt that intensity inside of her once more Bronson pulled out of her body and flipped her onto her belly. A gasp left her at the feeling of emptiness, but he didn’t make her wait long to feel full once more. He palmed her ass, gripped the mounds and squeezed them in his big hands until the pain mixed with pleasure again. She was on her hands and knees, like a wild animal about to be taken, but she found herself growing wetter at the thought that this wild man wanted her this way. All of this was so new, but Bronson was making sure she was pleasured, too. She could have been married to a man that didn’t care for her, or if she felt pleasure. She felt him place the tip of his shaft by her entrance once more, and then he was sliding into her in one smooth, fluid motion.

“Oh, lass, I should go slow,” Bronson gritted out, but she was too breathless to respond. “I need tae go slow, but it is so fooking hard.” He moved in and out of her slowly, but just like before started picking up speed until the sound of their skin slapping together filled her ears. “Gods, Genevieve,” he growled out and held onto her hips in a bruising grip. “I’m so fooking hard for ye.”

She lowered her head and looked down the length of her body. She could see the heavy weight of his bollocks swinging as the slapped against her body from his pumping hips. That tightening in her body started to increase once more, and then brightness covered her vision and she opened her mouth to cry out in pleasure.

“Aye, lass, give it tae me. Give all of yerself tae me.” It was like he was speaking to himself, groaning and grunting out the words in that deep voice of his. And then he was holding her hips so tight that the pain had her gasping out. He buried himself deep inside of her, and she swore she felt the hard jets of his seed fill her. He was murmuring these incoherent things, harsh and guttural words that if she really tried to listen and discern she knew they would have been coarse and harsh in nature.

He filled her with his seed, bathing her in it until all she could feel, smell, and hear was Bronson. He covered her back with his sweaty chest, and his hard pants of breath covered the nape of her neck. Her arms shook as she held herself up, and then he pulled out of her and she allowed herself to fall forward. A bed had never felt as welcoming as it did right then, and it wasn’t because it was draped in lavish bedding and ornamental objects. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the fabric beneath her, and tried to calm her frantic heart. Bronson lay down beside her, but before she could even take another breath he had his thick arm wrapped around her waist and had her pulled in close to him. Both of their bodies were so very sweaty from what they had just done, and she could even feel the product of his completion slip from her body. Genevieve was far too exhausted to even open her eyes and contemplate what she had just done with her husband, let alone move off the bed to get cleaned up.

“Get some sleep, lovely.”

This warmth filled her when he leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. And then when he pulled the hide over them, one that felt butter soft and instantly heated her and filled her with this sense of calm and protection, she felt herself drift to sleep.

****

Genevieve slowly opened her eyes, and stared at the fireplace that was lit and crackling with life. Had there been a fire going when they entered the room? She had been so nervous and scared of what was about to happen that she hadn’t thought about anything besides Bronson. She could see out the window that it was still dark, and the heavy weight of Bronson’s arm was still on her waist. She lifted her head and turned it so she could look at Bronson. He was on his stomach with his head turned the other way. She could tell he was asleep given how easy and even his breathing was. His back was a work of masculine power, but also of scarred perfection. It was strange to see the beauty in the wounds he had gotten from killing men.

She shifted as slowly and as softly as she could manage without waking him, and slipped from the bed. Naked, she walked over to the basin and pitcher of water, grabbed one of the cloths beside them, and dipped it in the room temperature liquid. She was sore between her legs and winced as she cleaned herself. But then again Bronson had been so very big, and in the end had been a wild man as he plowed in and out of her. Just thinking about what she had done, and what he had
done
to her, had her cheeks feeling warm. She grabbed a new cloth and dipped it in the water before turning and staring at her husband, who was still on the bed sleeping. The warmth from the fire felt good on her back, but she moved away from it and more toward Bronson. The warmth that came from him was far more welcome. She wanted to tend to her husband, because that was what a good wife did, but she also liked watching him sleep. His body was big, and staring at him lying there, sleeping and not seeming so intimidating, made him seem almost vulnerable.

She moved back on the bed, rag still in hand, and lay on her side facing him. Genevieve pulled the hide up and under her breasts, and stared at the intricate markings that covered the entire width of his shoulders, and moved down his spine. The design that covered the broad expanse was a cross of intricate detail, one that looked like it must have been painful, but then again her husband was a man of power and strength.

Her heart was pounding hard and fast, but she still found herself reaching out and running the pads of her fingers along the three points of the cross. The dark lines covered him from shoulder to shoulder, and dipped all the way down to his lower back. It was a massive design, with a Celtic pattern inside of the cross that mesmerized her. But it was the massively huge raised line of a battle scar woven between those Celtic knots that hypnotized her. She moved her finger down the scar that lined his side. It had to be from a sword judging by the length of it, and the puckered flesh made her realize that this man was lucky to even be alive. But then again he didn’t have a reputation for being weak.

“Lass, if ye keep touchin’ me I won’t be able tae stop myself from takin’ ye again,” Bronson said in a sleepy, husky voice that had her instantly stilling. She held her hand close to her chest and felt her cheeks heat again. He turned around so that he was now on his back with his head turned toward her. His dark hair was mussed around his head, and for a moment she could picture him as only a man looking at his wife. It seemed so silly to think something like that, because that was what he was. But then again he wasn’t just any man. He looked at the wet rag she still held. “Ye were gonna’ clean me, lass?”

She nodded and glanced down at the rag. “Aye, if that would be okay?”

He reached out, took the rag, and cleaned himself before tossing the rag aside. “Ye’re not a servant, love. Yer my wife.”

She nodded and felt slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I dinna mean tae touch ye when ye were sleeping.” She felt her face get even hotter, and went to turn away, but Bronson reached out and cupped her cheek in his big hand.

“Lass, ye donna need tae apologize. I liked that ye touched me.” He grinned, but it was only the corner of his mouth that lifted. “I just donna’ want ye tae have tae clean me.” Seeing him smile changed his entire face. With the only light coming from the fireplace, the slashes of golden color moved along his face and upper body. “No need to be embarrassed, lass.” He grinned fully this time, and the flash of his straight white teeth brightened his hardened exterior.

“This whole life is new tae me,” she said softly.

He lifted his arm above his head and used his other hand to point to the scar that she had been previously running her finger along. “I got this one when I was defeating Clan Klandine over on the Leelanni Lock.” He glanced down at the scar, and stopped when the end of it reached his navel. “Their leader, Glandoff, got me with his sword. It was a clean cut, and he was aiming tae cut me in half, I’d assume.”

“That must have been verra painful and frightening.”

“Aye, verra painful, but frightening?” He stared right in her eyes and then lifted up so he braced himself on an elbow now. He was only an inch from her mouth, and his warm breath teased her lips. “Nay, I am never frightened, lass.”

“But how can ye not be?” She glanced down at his scar again and lifted her hand to run her finger over it again. She felt this power come from him, this intensity that Bronson truly didn’t fear pain or death, or the things that could happen out in the battlefield. He was still so close to her mouth, and in the next second, without even answering her question, he leaned in the rest of the way and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss that stole her breath, or one that made her heart beat frantically. It was a kiss that was slow, sweet, and almost like he was saying for her not to worry about anything.

He pulled back, but only an inch. “Why fear what we canna control?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Life is about give and take. Ye have tae take it by the bollocks, live it tae the fullest, and have no regrets.”

He spoke so passionately that Genevieve couldn’t help but feel the power behind them right to her bones. “I guess I would just have tae live the life ye lead in order tae understand it all,” she said.

He lay back on the bed, but kept his focus on her. “Tell me about yerself, lass.”

Bronson not knowing much about her wasn’t uncommon even if they were married. Most of the time a woman was betrothed from birth to a man of high social standing, but then again that woman would have to be upper class, too. Even though Bronson’s family was of high standing, even if they had lost their land years and years ago, he hadn’t followed suit as most others in his situation would have. No, he had torn and defeated his way through their Scottish land, taking back what was his, and then deciding he was ready to create his own family and legacy. But he hadn’t found a lady to wed, but wanted
her
, Genevieve, a lowly and poor farmer’s daughter who had nothing to give him but her body and plenty of sons … or so she prayed at least.