“Can’t you even try?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me you feel nothing for me?”
“I felt for the dragon who rescued me. Took care of me.”
“And the man?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I felt for him . . . you . . . whatever.”
For the first time, she was lying. She knew exactly what her feelings for the man were. Lust. Pure, simple, and quite exquisite. But she couldn’t tell him that. She could never admit that to him now. Even as she had to cross her arms in front of her chest to hide her hardening n**ples or that damn distracting pulse coming from between her thighs. No, she could never admit any of that to him.
But when she glanced up at him, she realized he already knew. Just by the expression on his handsome face.
Fearghus moved to her again so that he stood in front of her. Brave man, she thought with intense bitterness. He looked down at her, then lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. He didn’t try to kiss or grab her. He simply rested against her. And it felt wonderful.
She stood stock still, wondering exactly what he was up to until she heard him whisper, “I’m so sorry, Annwyl. Please. Please forgive me.”
No. He wouldn’t get out of this with a simple apology. Not in a million years. Even with an apology as sweet and heartfelt as that.
“There is nothing you can ever say or do that will make me forgive you,” she whispered back.
He pulled away from her and stared. She wondered what he was thinking, but she wasn’t expecting the grin that spread across his face.
“Was that a challenge, Lady Annwyl?”
Her face grew hot as she pushed away from him. “It was most certainly not!” She scrambled away from him, scooting around the table. He stood on the other side, his hands resting against the hard wood.
“It sounded like a challenge.”
“It was not a challenge, but a statement of fact. I will never forgive you.”
“Challenge.”
“Stop saying that!” She tried to look away from him, but she kept seeing his gloriously nak*d body. But when she looked up into his eyes, she kept seeing him. His soul. Staring at her.
She moved around the table again and he slowly followed, every muscle moving, anticipating the chase.
He looked at her and she found herself marveling at how long those black lashes of his were.
“I bet I can make you forgive me.”
Damn him to hell. She hated him. She hated him with every fiber of her being. But her damn treacherous body responded like never before. She kept forcing herself to move away from him, but it became harder and harder. Especially when all her body wanted to do was climb onto the wood table that separated them and let him climb onto her.
“I’m not going to do this.” She cringed. That probably would have sounded a lot more convincing if she weren’t panting when she said it.
“Do what?”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“You know most men try not to get me this angry.”
He stopped, his dark eyes burning into her very soul. “I’m not most men. I’m not a man at all.”
And that’s when Annwyl charged for the tent opening, but he caught hold of her before she could even get within arm’s length of it.
He pulled her to him, her back against his chest. He snatched the sword from her hand and tossed it across the tent. He leaned in close to her ear, while the hand on her waist skimmed under her shirt. “Forgive me, Annwyl.”
“No.”
His free hand pulled her long hair out of the way. His fingers brushing against the skin of her throat, causing her entire body to shudder. Her damn treacherous body. Then his hot mouth was on her neck, his tongue running along the side. The hand under her shirt went right for her bindings, gliding under them, pushing them out of the way.
It felt like her head and her body were completely separate. Her head kept screaming at her to pull away. Telling her to make him stop. While her body ignored her head. Instead, her body did things like reach her arms back so she could dig her fingers into his hair, while also stretching the entire length of her taut so his fingers against her swollen br**sts would feel that much more wonderful. She hated her body. Hated its weakness. Clearly her body only thought about her immediate pleasure and not what this would all mean later. No, only her poor head thought about that.
He gripped her n**ples with both of his large hands as he gently bit the flesh at her throat. He let the bite get a little harder, and Annwyl realized with horror that she rewarded his actions with a moan.
“Forgive me, Annwyl,” he said again, his voice a dark, husky whisper in her ear.
She knew she should just say it and get it over with. But she wanted him to make her say it, and he had a way to go before that happened.
“Never.”
No female had ever made him feel this way. Dragon or human. But Annwyl stood apart from the others. She wasn’t dragon. She wasn’t human. She was something more. She was his.
He pulled the shirt off her body and tore the bindings from her back. He turned her around, his gaze immediately falling on those br**sts that he so loved. He gripped her close, leaning his head down, sucking a nipple into his mouth.
She moaned and leaned back, both her hands in his hair. He ran his tongue over the already hard nipple again and again, teasing it. Teasing her. Her grip on his hair tightened.
“Say it, Annwyl,” he demanded against her hot flesh. “Say you forgive me.”
“No.”
He slammed her against the wood table and ripped the breeches from her body. She let out a startled, hungry gasp and he leaned into her, running his tongue up her neck until he reached her mouth. He swiped his tongue along her full bottom lip. She leaned up, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. Her tongue sliding along his teeth, gliding along the inside of his mouth.
He ran his hand down her body and between her legs. Her head fell back as he slipped his finger inside of her, slowly moving in and out.
“Tell me, woman.”
“Go to hell.”
He jerked back startled. She stared up at him, her eyes full of lust and challenge.
“Want it that way, do you?”
He pinned her to the table with his body while his eyes wandered around the room. As the leader of the rebellion she received the best of what they could manage. That meant she had an actual bed. Made of a solid wood frame, it wasn’t very large, but long enough to suit her height. It would do quite nicely.
In seconds, he caught sight of what he needed lying on the floor, conveniently beside the bed.
“Come on then.”
He gripped her wrists in one hand, stepped back, and pulled her up.
She watched him with wary eyes as he dragged her to the bed. But when he reached down and snatched up a good length of rope that someone had been practicing knots on, she burst into laughter and began to fight at the same time.
“Not on your life, dragon!”
“You started this.”
“No I did not!”
He leered at her as he held her tight. Ignoring her struggles, he hauled her to the bed and threw her face down on the fur coverings. His knee, well placed, held her down.
“You bastard! Let me go!”
“No.” He mimicked her recent simple delivery as he took her wrists, bound them securely with the rope, and tied the end of the rope to the wood frame.
“Fearghus, let me go! Now!”
He ignored her, instead crouching by the bed and running his hand along the entire length of her body. She closed her eyes and gave a shuddering moan.
“Tell me what I want to hear, Annwyl. Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”
“No!”
In response, he slapped her rear.
Annwyl froze. Her eyes wide in shock. Did he just slap her ass? As if in answer, he slapped the other cheek.
She glared at him. “Have. You. Gone. Mad?”
He smiled at her and she couldn’t believe how beautiful he was. “Just forgive me. Unless, of course, you want me to . . .” He raised his hand above her rear. Annwyl snarled. How could she hate him and want him at the same time? How could she feel completely betrayed and still be having the time of her life?
Fearghus kissed her, taking her breath away as he smoothed his hand across her rear. He slid two of his fingers inside her. Already so wet and ready for him, her body offered absolutely no resistance.
He began again to slowly move his fingers in and out of her, making her writhe on the bed. She closed her eyes and moaned. The man must have some kind of spell he used on her. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could feel this good on its own. Her body tightened as heat spread across her groin and up her spine.
Then he stopped.
Annwyl’s eyes flew open and she groaned in frustration. “Don’t you dare stop!”
He stared at her mouth. “Then say it. Say you forgive me.”
She wanted him to finish. Wanted him to bring her the pleasure only he could. But she would never give in that easy. Unable to speak for fear she’d start begging, she shook her head.
He gently pushed her tangle of hair out of her face and stared at her. Her eyes boldly swept across his body, lingering on his erection. He growled in response, standing up. His body towering over her, Fearghus placed his knee on the bed and leaned in, his engorged c*ck right by her mouth. Without a second’s thought, she pushed her mouth onto it, taking in as much of it as she could until the head tickled the back of her throat. She began to deeply suck his shaft, while her tongue ran along the underside.
His eyes closed and he growled her name.
* * *
Clearly her mouth was a gift from the gods. There could be no other explanation for something that felt so wonderful. He let himself get lost there for several minutes, as she sucked and licked him. He pulled away before he came in her mouth, although the little moan of disappointment she gave when he did almost made him reconsider. But he wanted to release while buried deep inside her.
Panting, he stood back and almost came just looking at her. Laid out on the bed, bound at the wrists, her body vibrated with her need for him. He couldn’t wait any longer, whether she gave in or not. He had to have her.
He knelt between her legs, pushing them up and under her so that he had a delicious view of her rear.
He entered her from behind, gritting his teeth as her head dropped forward, and she gave a guttural gasp. He moved in slowly, taking his time, ignoring her pleas and rude demands. He waited until he imbedded his c*ck deep inside her, then he leaned forward.
“Tell me, Annwyl,” he panted desperately in her ear. “Tell me you forgive me.”
“No.”
He sank his teeth into the flesh of her back and she bucked under him. He ran his hand down her body until he had his hand at her bottom, then he slapped her rear again.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
“Because now it’s getting fun. Besides, you wench, you’re enjoying it.”
“No, I am not!”
“Liar.” His hand slapped the firm flesh of her rear and she growled. “Now tell me you forgive me.”
She took a moment to get her breath. “Why? Why do you care?”
Fearghus blinked. By the gods, she doesn’t know.