WyndRiver Sinner: 1 (WesternWind) Read online

He held her gaze for a moment longer then took hold of the brass headboard once more as though it was his anchor and he was a drowning man. Never had anything but a wanton woman put her mouth on his cock, and only then when he’d paid her. Few whores had caught his eye over the years and those who had not trembled at the mere sight of him were the only relief he’d known when his juices had built to the boiling point.

  “Never touch yourself, Reaper,” Morrigunia had warned him. “I am placing a Geas upon you. Should you try to take matters in hand, you will feel a pain that will bring you to your knees! Use a willing woman if you need to but never mate with her unless you want her to be with you for all time!”

  The only time he had attempted to relieve the ache in his cock, he had experienced a driving, vicious pain in his head that had, indeed, driven him to his knees. For over an hour he experienced a savage spike of agony in his brain. He never tried masturbation again and only resorted to whores when the ache was such he could no longer ignore it.

  Aingeal’s lips enveloped the head of his cock and Cynyr groaned, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down so he tasted his own black blood on his lip.

  Her mouth was a sweet cavern of ecstasy that was sliding its warmth around and around the knob of his rod. The wet heat of her tongue slipped over the slit and he could feel his juices oozing forth. When she slid her mouth down the length of him and he could feel himself totally enveloped, he could not stop the shudder that rippled through him.

  Poised on her knees, bent over him so that his cock was as far inside her mouth as she could take him, Aingeal relaxed her throat and suckled him, drawing gently upon his sensitive flesh. She put one hand to his scrotum and began to massage him, lightly squeezing his balls as though she was milking him.

  Tensed, his knees drawn up and quivering, heels pushing into the mattress, Cynyr could only stare down at the top of his lady’s head as she suckled him. Pleasure was lapping at him in waves that sent heat through his groin and before he realized what he was doing, he was lifting his hips in a rhythmic motion. He was panting, sweat dripping down his forehead and temples, lining his upper lip. His heart was beating a mile a minute, his blood rushing through his ears. Jabs of need were traveling through his belly and stitching down into his balls and he was lost in the sweetness of Aingeal’s soft mouth.

  Easing her hand from his balls and moving it upward beneath him, she had barely touched the puckered rim of his ass when his cock exploded in her mouth, his juices rushing down her throat. She looked up at him as he was staring at her with shock, his cheeks reddening and she knew he was horrified at what he’d done. Before he could reach for her and push her away again, she swallowed the salty cum as easily as if she was drinking a glass of water. She saw his eyes widen.

  The pleasure was nearly more than he could stand. Her mouth was drawing upon his shriveling flesh as pulse after pulse of exquisite pleasure rippled through him. The hotness of her moist cavern, the tiny tugs she drew over his cock as she suckled, the steady gaze from her beautiful eyes combined to take every last vestige of strength from him and he collapsed upon the bed, his legs shooting out as though devoid of muscle, bone and cartilage.

  Aingeal rose up, sliding her fingers ever so fleetingly across his anal opening as she removed her hand. His gasp brought a smile to her lips. “I take it you liked that, mo tiarna?”

  He was so weak from the depth of the pleasure he’d just received, he couldn’t even answer her. He couldn’t even nod. He simply stared at her—his heart in his eyes—and his breath still dragging into his lungs with harsh gasps.

  “When a woman wants to pleasure her man,” Aingeal said, moving back to his side and lying down so that her head was once more on his shoulder, “there is nothing that is taboo. Nothing that isn’t right for the both of them.”

  Her palm was on his chest, just above his thundering heart, and it took every last ounce of strength he possessed to lower his arms so that he could cradle her against him.

  “I…” he said, and had to start again. “I never knew it could be like that.”

  Aingeal craned her neck back so she could look up at him. “You didn’t enjoy it the first time we made love?”

  “Aye,” he said, “but that was… It was…” He was at a loss to adequately explain to her how forceful had been his climax.

  “Only the first of many times,” she finished for him.

  His heart was finally slowing, but the building emotion growing there was deepening. This tiny woman lying beside him was fast becoming the most important thing in his universe and he wanted nothing more than to lie there with her for all eternity.

  “You know,” she said, drawing his eyes down to her, “a man can pleasure a woman in just the way I pleasured you.”

  Cynyr’s forehead crinkled. “How, wench?” he asked. “You don’t have a rod.”

  “Aye, but I do,” she said, her eyes mischievous as she took his hand and moved it over her hip and to the silky triangle at her thighs. She opened her legs and slid his hand over her damp curls.

  “That’s a relief,” he said, stroking the heat between her thighs. “I thought you had sprouted something you ought not to have.”

  Aingeal pressed his hand over her then dragged his fingers up until he touched her clitoris. Moving his finger over that sensitive nub until she could feel it harden, she watched the surprise light her lover’s gaze.

  “Ah,” was all he said and unhooked his arm from around her, sliding down in the bed until his mouth was on the same level as her nipples. With a wicked gleam in his amber eyes, he lowered his mouth to her breast and drew her nipple between his lips.

  Aingeal threaded her hands through his hair and gave herself up to the delight his suckling brought. He was mimicking the spiral of her tongue over his pap, laving her nipple and gently worrying it between his teeth.

  His hand was moving over her belly, lightly pressing into the slight mound. She knew he was following the unspoken desires that were flooding her, doing for her things she had always wanted and needed but never received. For once she didn’t mind him reading her thoughts and sent wave after wave of silent instruction to him—guiding his hands and his mouth.

  Cynyr released one nipple to savor the taste of the other. Beneath his lips, he could feel his lady’s heart pounding and could smell the release of her love juices flowing from the mysterious place between her legs. He was anxious to taste her there but he was determined to give as good as he had gotten and took his time with her breast—reaching up to gently squeeze one globe as he swirled his tongue around the other. Her thoughts guiding him, he knew he was giving his lady great pleasure and that made him feel more like a man than he ever had before.

  When she sighed deeply—signaling to him he had worshipped her mounds long enough—he visited tiny kisses from her breast to her navel then dipped the tip of his tongue inside that concave little treasure, grinning as she lifted her hips in invitation.

  “You’re a quick learner, Reaper,” she whispered.

  “I’ve a good teacher,” he said around the gentle suction he plied upon her navel.

  Moving lower, he trailed little flicks of his tongue down into the silky thatch that covered her pubic mound. He buried his face in the slightly damp offering and breathed in her scent, imprinting it for all time on his very soul. The musky scent of her sex was doing strange things to his belly and he could feel his cock growing hard once more. Such a thing was out of his level of experience and it surprised him he could want her yet again so soon.

  The first sweep of his tongue over the folds of her vagina arched Aingeal’s hips upward. She gasped and dug her fingers into his scalp, careful not to hurt him.

  “Hurt me all you want, wench,” he said, and his voice was a gravelly demand of need.

  Aingeal thrashed her head back and forth on the pillow. Never would she hurt this wondrous man. His tongue was doing such unbelievable things to her, and she could feel her flesh rippling along her back. Goose bu
mps were popping up all over her as he closed his lips around her clitoris and she whimpered loudly.

  How he knew to do it, he would never know, for it was not something that he took from her thoughts, but Cynyr hummed against that tiny little pearl as he drew on it with his lips and Aingeal went wild as she bucked beneath him. Thought after thought that did not come from his lady flitted through his mind and he put a finger to her opening, sliding first one then two digits into her moist heat and turning them slightly from side to side before swiveling his hand until his palm was up and he could find a slight protrusion inside her.

  “Press upward and hold it as you graze your teeth across her clit.”

  That voice in his ears was as familiar as his own and he would have sat up to look around him had not Aingeal’s hands been buried tightly in his hair.

  “Do it, warrior, and you will have her forever.”

  It was Morrigunia’s voice purring through his mind, instructing him on how to please his lady. He could not detect her presence but he knew she was watching.

  “Now move your fingers in and out of her as though you were thrusting your precious cock in her slit.”

  Snarling in his own mind, ordering Morrigunia out of his thoughts, he nevertheless did as she instructed, for he could feel the tremors building inside Aingeal’s cunt. Fluid was soaking his fingers and he could taste it as it leaked out her opening. It was a heady nectar that flowed from her and it was spurring his cock to hardness.

  With his lips firmly circling her clit, his tongue flashing light touches against the swollen tip, he began easing his fingers in and out of his lady until she was thrusting her hips up to him in total abandon. His movements grew quicker, thrusting deeper, until the first spasm rocketed through her velvety channel and he marveled at the firm grip her inner muscles plied on his fingers.

  Aingeal opened her mouth and squealed as the climax shook her so forcibly. She held her hips up against the invasion of his fingers until every last pulse rippled from her and left her depleted, exhausted, as she crashed limply back to the mattress.

  Cynyr lapped at the moisture that came from between her thighs and thought it was a delight only the gods could know. Between her scent and taste, he was as hard as Ionarian steel.

  “I want you inside me.”

  It was an invitation he neither questioned nor prolonged. He slid his arms under her legs, hefted them over his shoulders and rammed himself into her to the hilt.

  Aingeal’s hands were still in his hair. She brought his mouth to hers and took him in a kiss that spurred his thrusts to mindless frenzy. He was pummeling her, the slap of their bodies together a heady sound that filled the room. His tongue dueled with hers—ravishing her mouth and taking what was rightfully his—and his teeth grazed her lower lip. His hips were like pistons as he arched into her sweetness and, when his climax came, he tore his mouth free of hers to howl his possession to the stars.

  Her face as red as the crimson glowing in his eyes, Aingeal slapped her hand across his mouth. She knew everyone in the hotel had heard that fierce growl.

  He shook his mouth free. “I don’t care,” he said. “Let them hear how much this man loves his woman!”

  Aingeal’s heart did a funny little jump in her chest. She knew he meant exactly what he said. He had not only claimed her—twice now with his seed—he had said words she had never heard any man say, and her soul melted.

  Throwing her arms around him, she brought him down to her chest, his head pillowed on her sweaty breast, and held him as tightly as she could. All her life she had searched for happiness and here it was. Never would she allow it to escape her.

  “I’m not going anywhere, wench,” he said, panting against her. He released her legs and grunted when she immediately locked them around his hips. He was still buried within her and she began bucking against him until he realized she was about to explode around him.

  And explode she did! Aingeal was stunned at the ripples of pleasure that squeezed through her lower belly. It was a deep, abiding release that drained her completely so that when the last spasm echoed softly away, she was as spent as she could ever remember being. Lowering her legs, she was not surprised to find them quivering.

  “You know how to milk a man, don’t you, wench?” he whispered to her.

  “My man,” she said, and he realized she was about to fall asleep.

  Very gently, he eased himself from atop her, pulled her into the safety of his arms and even before he smoothed away a lock of her damp hair, knew she was sound asleep.

  A smile on his face, Cynyr Cree followed her down into the arms of Morpheus. For the first time in his life he was at peace.

  Chapter Five

  She woke him sneezing violently and when he turned to look at her, he saw her nose red and her eyes swollen. Her body temperature concerned him and he put a hand to her forehead.

  “You’re burning up, wench,” he said.

  “Jus’ a cold,” she said, and he could hear the scratchiness of her throat.

  “Aye, well, you aren’t getting out of this bed until I’m satisfied you’re able.”

  “Jus’ a cold,” she repeated, and started to fling the covers back.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” he said, shoving the covers back over her.

  “Gotta get up,” she mumbled, and tried to, but he reached out to pin her down.

  “You aren’t going anywhere, Aingeal,” he said, menace in his voice.

  She looked him in the eye. “Gotta pee,” she stated.

  “Oh,” was all he said, and allowed her to get up. He looked away as she bent down to drag the chamber pot from beneath the bed. His cheeks burned as he heard the tinkle hitting the porcelain.

  “Better get used to it, Reaper,” she said with a loud sniff. “This is all part of living with a woman.”

  It was the living with a woman that prodded Cynyr’s sense of honor. He had made this woman a part of his life and he knew he would never allow her to leave him. He would die for her if such was required of him. She was his and he was responsible for her.

  He turned to watch her as she squatted over the pot, reaching out to snag her nightgown and dragging it over her nakedness as she hunkered there.

  “An bposfaidh tu me?” he suddenly asked.

  Aingeal was climbing back in the bed, shivering. She thrust her feet under the cover. “What?”

  “An bposfaidh tu me?” he repeated, and at her confused look translated his words into her language. “Will you marry me?”

  Aingeal blinked. She had not expected such a commitment from the Reaper. She could only stare at him, her lips parted.

  “I mean it, wench,” he said. “I want to make this official.”

  She closed her mouth then storm clouds began gathering across her lovely face. “Official?” she echoed.

  “Tá grá agam duit,” he said, his heart in his eyes.

  “Stop that!” she snapped. “I don’t understand Gaelach. Talk Terran to me, Reaper!”

  “I love you.”

  Aingeal opened her mouth to speak but she began sneezing. Her nose was running and her head was throbbing. Her throat hurt and she knew she looked like something the cat had dragged in. Could the man possibly be asking her to marry him with him lying there as naked as the day he was born and her looking as she did? She felt like crying.

  Dredging the thoughts from her mind, he slid beneath the turmoil and the sickness of her cold and wandered amid old memories, old wishes and needs and found what he knew would please her. He threw aside the covers, reached for his britches and dragged them on as she continued to cough and sneeze. Plucking a handkerchief from out of thin air, he skirted the bed and knelt down beside her, holding out the snowy linen as though it was a precious offering.

  Aingeal watched him out of the corner of her eye as she blew her nose. He was kneeling on one knee, his hands on the edge of the bed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He reached out for her hand and took i
t between his own. “Aingeal Portman,” he said, using her maiden name, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Aingeal gaped at him. There he was kneeling beside her—his naked chest an invitation that beckoned her hands and lips to explore it—and he was staring into her eyes with a look that made her toes curl.

  “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “As serious as I’ve ever been, wench,” he whispered. “I want to live my life with you at my side as my lawful bride.”

  Tears filled Aingeal’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, mo shearc.” He corrected himself. “My love.”

  As bad as she felt, Aingeal’s smile was as bright as a summer’s day. Outside, it was raining again and somewhere in the hotel a clock was chiming the ninth hour. They had slept the afternoon away after making love.

  “Will you?” he prompted. “Will you accept me as your husband?”

  “Aye,” she said, tears falling down her flushed cheeks. “With the greatest honor, Cynyr Cree!”

  Never one to rest when there was work to be done, the Reaper kissed her quickly then stood up, snatching his shirt from the chair.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “After a sagart,” he replied. “A priest.”

  “You think they have one?”

  “Every town has a holy man,” he said, buttoning his shirt. “All I need is one to say the rightful words over us, no matter his religion.”

  “This is important to you,” she said, a bit surprised that a Reaper would feel he needed such a thing.

  “Very important to both of us,” he said, for he had taken as much from her thoughts. Her first marriage had been a sham, a simple going-through-the-motions affair. This one—the real thing and her last one—would be everything she desired it to be.

  He marched to the door, buckling on his gun belt as he did. A Reaper was never without his weapons. Flinging open the door, he stopped, turned and pointed a finger at her. “You stay put until I get back. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded, unable to do anything else. Long after the door closed behind him, she stared at it, completely amazed at the turn of events in her life.