BDP 23 A
A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviews, both here and over at
WBConnections. You are the best! Thank you also for being so patient with
me while I let this story sit on the backburner to finish Miscommunication.
Ian was awed and humbled by the look in Moira's eyes. He had not realized that what he asked for could be any more intimate than being sheathed inside her. How could this be more than what they had already shared? Yet somehow it was.
Every feeling, every thought that went through her mind lay open to his view. Until this moment he had not wondered why Irons had always instructed him to lower his gaze. He had thought it to be a gesture of respect, part of the vassal and liege chivalric code that existed between them. Now he wondered if it was another tool to isolate him, or if it was to keep him from reading Kenneth's thoughts. Perhaps a little of all three, if the truth was known.
Not that such things mattered now. All that was important was that he honor Moira's trust with his own. He met her eyes with equal openness as he waited for her to signify her readiness to continue.
Moira whispered softly in Gaelic, and even if he had not understood a single word of that language, the look in her eyes would have told him everything he needed to know. She was ready for him to continue.
When she had reached between them, he had stepped back a little to give her room. Ian moved forward into her, realizing how much he craved the contact. He flexed his hips slowly, drawing out the moment and the sensation. It was amazing how pleasurable it was to feel her sliding over his aroused flesh, considering there was still a layer of cloth between them.
"How much better would it feel, skin to skin?" Ian had not intended to speak his thought aloud, but it slipped past his lips in a raspy blend of curiosity and hunger.
His voice was the very soul of temptation. Moira shuddered at the images summoned by the hotly breathed question. Her hands slipped inside the elastic waistband of Ian's sweats and pulled down as she tilted her hips back. She barely managed to free his erection before he arched back into her.
Both shuddered under the sensation of flesh meeting flesh. The feeling was a thousand times more intense than it had been through the cloth. Ian had just enough control to keep from thrusting into her as his body was screaming for him to do. She was completely open to him, and more than ready. Instead he continued to stroke himself against her, never losing contact with her clitoris as he moved. He used her response as a guide, learning swiftly that quick short strokes drove Moira out of her mind.
Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, her arms around his chest, clinging to the only solid thing in her universe. Everything else fell away; leaving only the fire he ignited singing through her veins.
Somewhere in the back of Moira's brain was a half-remembered warning, keeping her cries of pleasure muted to whimpers and soft moans. Though even that was fading under the welter of pleasure. She was burning up, "Ian, ta dó."
Moira's outburst surprised him, and he moved a hand up to capture her mouth before she could cry out again, barely muffling her scream of release. Ian watched the pleasure take her. Sapphire eyes still unshielded, sharing with him unstintingly.
Then the strangest thing happened. Her pleasure pulled him over the edge as well. The orgasm caught him completely by surprise. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as he came, hot spurts of semen streaking Moira's belly and thighs.
When she had recovered enough, her eyes twinkled at him and she flicked her tongue out to lick his hand. Startled, Ian pulled his fingers away from her lips. He had been so wrapped up in the moment that he had left his palm over her mouth long after it was necessary to do so.
Free to speak again, Moira murmured huskily, "I think I need another shower."
"I'm sorry," Ian stared at her in mortification, until he realized she was not angry about the mess he had made all over her.
"I'm not. You obviously haven't looked at the front of your pants. Men aren't the only ones you know." Moira laughed softly, mindful once again of the two in the bedroom.
The pants in question were somewhere around his ankles. Ian stepped out of them and held the sweats up for inspection. The fabric over the crotch was soaked. He gave Moira a questioning look.
"It's a good sign. It means you were driving me crazy. I guess we're going to have to throw them in the washer before we go." Moira beckoned him back down the hall to the bathroom.
Ian was awed and humbled by the look in Moira's eyes. He had not realized that what he asked for could be any more intimate than being sheathed inside her. How could this be more than what they had already shared? Yet somehow it was.
Every feeling, every thought that went through her mind lay open to his view. Until this moment he had not wondered why Irons had always instructed him to lower his gaze. He had thought it to be a gesture of respect, part of the vassal and liege chivalric code that existed between them. Now he wondered if it was another tool to isolate him, or if it was to keep him from reading Kenneth's thoughts. Perhaps a little of all three, if the truth was known.
Not that such things mattered now. All that was important was that he honor Moira's trust with his own. He met her eyes with equal openness as he waited for her to signify her readiness to continue.
Moira whispered softly in Gaelic, and even if he had not understood a single word of that language, the look in her eyes would have told him everything he needed to know. She was ready for him to continue.
When she had reached between them, he had stepped back a little to give her room. Ian moved forward into her, realizing how much he craved the contact. He flexed his hips slowly, drawing out the moment and the sensation. It was amazing how pleasurable it was to feel her sliding over his aroused flesh, considering there was still a layer of cloth between them.
"How much better would it feel, skin to skin?" Ian had not intended to speak his thought aloud, but it slipped past his lips in a raspy blend of curiosity and hunger.
His voice was the very soul of temptation. Moira shuddered at the images summoned by the hotly breathed question. Her hands slipped inside the elastic waistband of Ian's sweats and pulled down as she tilted her hips back. She barely managed to free his erection before he arched back into her.
Both shuddered under the sensation of flesh meeting flesh. The feeling was a thousand times more intense than it had been through the cloth. Ian had just enough control to keep from thrusting into her as his body was screaming for him to do. She was completely open to him, and more than ready. Instead he continued to stroke himself against her, never losing contact with her clitoris as he moved. He used her response as a guide, learning swiftly that quick short strokes drove Moira out of her mind.
Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, her arms around his chest, clinging to the only solid thing in her universe. Everything else fell away; leaving only the fire he ignited singing through her veins.
Somewhere in the back of Moira's brain was a half-remembered warning, keeping her cries of pleasure muted to whimpers and soft moans. Though even that was fading under the welter of pleasure. She was burning up, "Ian, ta dó."
Moira's outburst surprised him, and he moved a hand up to capture her mouth before she could cry out again, barely muffling her scream of release. Ian watched the pleasure take her. Sapphire eyes still unshielded, sharing with him unstintingly.
Then the strangest thing happened. Her pleasure pulled him over the edge as well. The orgasm caught him completely by surprise. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as he came, hot spurts of semen streaking Moira's belly and thighs.
When she had recovered enough, her eyes twinkled at him and she flicked her tongue out to lick his hand. Startled, Ian pulled his fingers away from her lips. He had been so wrapped up in the moment that he had left his palm over her mouth long after it was necessary to do so.
Free to speak again, Moira murmured huskily, "I think I need another shower."
"I'm sorry," Ian stared at her in mortification, until he realized she was not angry about the mess he had made all over her.
"I'm not. You obviously haven't looked at the front of your pants. Men aren't the only ones you know." Moira laughed softly, mindful once again of the two in the bedroom.
The pants in question were somewhere around his ankles. Ian stepped out of them and held the sweats up for inspection. The fabric over the crotch was soaked. He gave Moira a questioning look.
"It's a good sign. It means you were driving me crazy. I guess we're going to have to throw them in the washer before we go." Moira beckoned him back down the hall to the bathroom.