Page 81 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

Then she kissed him again.

Neilina ran her hands all over him, gliding over the hard ridges of his abs and the heavy muscle of his thighs. He lay back against the furs, his eyes dark and hooded, watching every movement of her hands with a hunger that hadn't been sated.

As she reached the base of his cock, which was already thick under her touch, she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She paused and Marcas reached up, his large hand wrapping around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair to pull her face close to his.

"Ye look at it as if it's a mystery, Neilina," he rasped, his voice rough. "Take it. All of it."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She shifted, sliding down the bed until she was kneeling between his legs. Up close, he was imposing, the scent of him filling her senses. He was fully erecta pulsing vein running along the length of it, the head weeping a clear bead of pre-cum.

She leaned in, her breath hot against the sensitive skin. She didn't take him into her mouth immediately. Instead, she used her tongue to lick the very tip, tasting the salt and the musk of him. Marcas let out a sharp, guttural hiss, his hips giving a small, involuntary jerk upward.

She opened her mouth and slid over the head, the heat of him instantly filling her. She groaned softly, the taste of him overwhelming and primal. She began to suck, slowly at first, swirling her tongue around the rim before sliding deeper, taking as much of the thick shaft as she could manage.

The feeling of him hitting the back of her throat made her gag slightly, a raw, natural reaction that only seemed to drive him wilder. He let out a low growl, his hands gripping the furs beside his head so hard the fabric groaned.

"Gods, Neilina..." he choked out, his voice breaking.

She grew bolder, her movements becoming more rhythmic and urgent. She used her hand to grip the base of his cock, pumping in sync with her mouth, creating a vacuum of heat and friction. She looked up at him through her lashes, seeing his head thrown back, his jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut in an expression of pure, unadulterated agony and ecstasy.

She wanted to feel him break so she increased the pace, her tongue flicking against the frenulum, sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she tried to swallow him whole. The wet sounds of her mouth on his skin filled the quiet room, making the air feel thick and electric.

Marcas wasn't passive. His hand came down to the back of her head, not forcing, but guiding, his fingers pressing firmly into her scalp to drive her deeper. He began to thrust his hips up into her mouth, his movements becoming frantic, hot-blooded and demanding.

She started to writhe, her own body reacting to the intensity of his pleasure. Even without him inside her, the sight and sound of him unraveling beneath her sent waves of heat crashing through her core. She felt a phantom pressure between her thighs, a desperate need to be filled again, and she began to grind her hips against the furs, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps around his shaft.

"I'm... I'm close," he groaned, his voice a ruined whisper. "Gods, Neilina..."

She didn't slow down, instead she redoubled her efforts, her tongue working frantically as her throat tightening around him. She could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his entire body went rigid, vibrating like a bowstring about to snap.

With a sudden, violent surge, Marcas let out a loud, guttural roar that echoed off the stone walls. He bucked upward, his body stiffening as he erupted. She felt the first hot, thick jet of cum hit the back of her throat, followed by wave after wave of pulsing release. She didn't pull away instead she stayed clamped onto him, swallowing every drop, milking him dry with a desperate, hungry intensity.

He collapsed back into the furs, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged sobs. She slowly slid off him, her lips glistening, a stray thread of his seed clinging to the corner of her mouth.

He reached for her, pulling her up his body until she was sprawled across his chest. He kissed her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue, his arms locking around her in a possessive grip that told her he would never let her go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Fearchar found him in the training yard, letter in hand, and Marcas knew from observing his approach that whatever it carried, it wasn't good news.

"Cailleach's answered," Fearchar said, holding out the folded parchment, his jaw tight. "Delivered directly tae my own hand, by a rider who didnae wait for a reply before turning his horse and riding off again."

Marcas took it and read, feeling the same cold precision settle over him that had gripped him on the road two weeks past, watching an archer's arrow split the air beside Neilina's shoulder.

If ye now mean tae stand aside and let that match proceed regardless…that is yer choice. But if ye mean tae put yer own men behind MacKinnon against me, after everything we discussed, understand this plainly: I will consider it a breach of the trust between us, and I will answer it accordingly.

"He's done hiding it," Marcas said quietly. "This isnae a man trying tae quietly pry two clans apart anymore. This is a threat, plain and open. Damn him."

"Aye." Fearchar's hand had curled into a fist at his side. "And it means something else too, MacKinnon. Something I should have told ye plainly the moment I arrived, rather than letting ye piece it together from old boundary maps."

Marcas looked up from the letter. "Tell me now, then."

Fearchar exhaled, his shoulders tightening with shame. "Cailleach came tae me, months past, before any of this began. Before the Accord was even fully drawn. He spoke of the old grievance between our houses, ye ken the river land, his family's loss of it—and he asked, careful and roundabout, whether I'd any interest in seeing it discussed properly, restored tae MacRath hands, if the opportunity ever arose. I dinnae refuse him outright. I simply told him the matter was settled generations past and I'd nae reopen an old wound for the sake of his family's pride."

"And he accepted that."

"He seemed tae. Or I believed he had." Fearchar's jaw tightened further. "I think now he never truly expected me tae agree tae the land itself. I think he was testing something else entirely, whether I'd stand against a MacKinnon match for Neilina, given the old history between our families and yers. He must have believed, from that single conversation, that I'd never allow the Accord tae bind us, that I'd find some way tae prevent it myself without him ever needing tae lift a finger." He looked up, meeting Marcas's eyes squarely. "When I didnae prevent the match, and Neilina ended up at his stronghold only to be taken from it by ye, his whole plan began to unravel. And when she chose ye regardless, he realized he’d failed. He’s been trying tae salvage it by force ever since."