Pleasurably Undone! by Christine Merrill Page A

him starting to pull away. “Why haven’t you given me to the king already?”
    He ran his thumb over her mouth. “Because I am weak.”
    Aisling took his hand again, but this time, he gripped her wrist in return. “You should go back inside. Sleep.”
    “Is that what you want?”
    His eyes raked over hers, leaving no doubt of his need. “If you don’t go now—”
    “You’ll touch me in the way I want you to?” she whispered. At the disbelief in his blue eyes, she wound her arms around his neck. “One night, Tharand. Give me a memory to hold.”
    He cursed beneath his breath, lifting her into his arms. Aisling held tight, as though he were her shield in the midst of a battle.
    Thank God. She needed him, if for only a few hours.
    He picked up a torch and led her down to one of the underground cellars used for storing food. Though the temperature was freezing, Aisling felt none of the cold.
    Tharand set the torch into an iron sconce and regarded her. In the flickering light, his dark-gold hair gleamed. His eyes pierced her with disbelief. “Why?” he demanded. “I am your enemy.”
    She touched her hand to his, not at all certain of what she felt for him. “I don’t believe that anymore.”
    “Then you are a fool.”
    “As you say.” Aisling took the lead, bringing his hands around her waist. Leaning in, she kissed him. Against his mouth, she felt his reluctance. Did he no longer want her? She shivered in the cool air, wondering if she’d made a mistake. “Shall I stop?”
    He responded with words in the Norse tongue, endearments that made her blush. He kissed her temple, cradling her face in his hands. “I will try,” he swore, “to get both of you out.”
    It was enough. Aisling released the edges of the cloak she was wearing. The cloth pooled to the ground in the moment that he took her mouth.
    Like the invader he was, he commanded the kiss until she surrendered. She held fast to him for balance as each new layer of clothing joined the cloak upon the ground. When she stood naked before him, he knelt. With his mouth, he worshipped her, kneading her bare bottom as he kissed a path up her thighs. He disarmed her, tossing both daggers to the ground.
    When he probed at the juncture of her legs, Aisling froze.
    “What are you—”
    “Open for me.” His mouth teased her, soft bites that made her legs tremble.
    “I can’t.”
    He would not allow a refusal, and used his hands to ease her apart. At once, she felt like a true captive, unable to free herself from his touch. He spread her apart and caught her gaze for a moment.
    “You’re a gift to me, Aisling Ó Brannon. One I intend to savor.” With that, his hot mouth kissed her wetness, his tongue invading where she wanted him most.
    His arms supported her against the wall while his tongue moved against her, driving her into such desperation she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, as the fist of pleasure broke through her, spiraling until she sank against him.
    “We have hours yet,” he promised, removing his own clothing until he stood naked before her. Lean and muscled, his body resembled a god’s. The dark tattoos entranced her as he lifted her hips.
    And then, she felt the tip of him at her entrance. Thick and hard, he eased himself into her tight well. While he filled her, she wrapped her legs around his waist. It took a moment for her body to adjust to his size.
    In his eyes, his own awakening dawned. Deliberately, he moved against her, raising her up before letting her slide down his manhood.
    “I dreamed of holding a woman like you in my arms,” he said.
    He didn’t ravage her, nor treat her like the slave she was. Instead, he made love to her as though she were cherished. Like a woman he wanted to keep at his side.
    The swelling need intensified with each stroke. She gripped his hair, fighting not to cry out as he withdrew and entered her body.
    “Don’t leave me here alone,” she responded, pressing herself against him until he