She wasn’t the only one who was afraid. Liam was terrified.
Of losing her.
Of loving her.
And at this moment, he was in mortal danger of both.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The flavor of Ravencroft’s lips pushed Mena past shocked to absolutely witless. She wasn’t pliant so much as thunderstruck. She didn’t kiss him back, but neither did she push him away.
The sweet burn of whisky on his tongue caused her jaw to sting with overwhelming thirst as her mouth flooded with moisture. She closed her lips to swallow convulsively, and instantly his hands were there, his thumbs dragging the corners of her mouth open so he could thrust his slick tongue back inside.
A growl caught in his throat, quickly turning into a groan. The calluses of his palms abraded her skin as he cupped the side of her face, lifting her to give him better access.
He might be a little drunk, but Mena knew she was on the edge of pure, carnal intoxication.
It was impossible to tell what was harder, the wall behind her, the man trapping her against it, or the length of his sex pulsing as hot as a branding iron against her belly. His arousal was as incomprehensively large as the rest of him, enough to send her thoughts scattering to the most indecent places. Its purpose unmistakable, his desire inescapable, Mena found herself rocked by sensation so thoroughly that she feared she would lose consciousness. Dizzying chills racked her frame until she trembled as though she’d been left out in the bone-chilling cold. But it was liquid heat spreading through her, settling in her core and causing a rush of alarming moisture to pool there.
She’d been angry, hadn’t she? Mortified, hurt, and … leaving? She’d been afraid. Should be afraid. This was wrong, though she couldn’t at all remember why. Somehow Liam Mackenzie was able to dissolve her ever-churning thoughts into a puddle of nothing. With one kiss, he’d morphed her into a creature as instinctual and primal as he, with just as much difficulty controlling her most secret and basic of needs.
The sharp scent of his soap and the musk of something darker, earthier, invaded her senses and Mena breathed it in, making it a part of her. His kiss gentled from bruising to merely relentless. His movements against her lips were urgent and greedy, but strangely unhurried as he penetrated her deeply, searching the recesses of her mouth with a tender sort of aggression.
Mena waited to feel the inevitable revulsion that came with intimacy, the forbearance, the distaste and apprehension. As hands trailed down the fragile skin of her neck, evoking shiver after shiver, she couldn’t believe those terrible emotions never found her. It was only anticipation that coursed through her as his powerful fingers curved down her shoulders.
“Kiss me, Mena,” he moaned against her mouth, his hot, sweet breath fanning over the moisture on her lips. “Touch me. Teach me to keep the demon at bay.”
She could only see the whites of his eyes in the dim light, circling the obsidian of his pupil and iris in such a way that truly seemed demonic.
With trembling fingers, she reached up to softly test the shape of his masculine jaw. Bristle scraped against her fingertips as they explored the raw, hard features that she’d always wanted to study, but didn’t even allow herself to look at for too long, lest she be lost.
How fierce he was all the time. How strong and capable and remote he had to be. Never showing weakness, never allowing vulnerability.
Except in this moment. With her.
He turned into the press of her fingers, seeking more of her touch as a primitive sound escaped him on a shaken breath.
She was lost. Never in her life had she been able to turn away a wounded animal.
Liam Mackenzie was no different. The scars he carried upon his soul were horrid and deep as those on his back. Some of the wounds remained open and bleeding, poisoning his chances at happiness or peace.
What a tragedy they both were. Bruised and beaten by those who were supposed to have loved and protected them. Tossed upon a sea of cruelty, and seeking refuge in this unforgiving world. Seeking sanctuary, but hoping for redemption.
Shivering and impassioned, Mena lifted to her toes, pressing her lips against the hardness of his mouth. This time, her tongue met his with welcoming heat as she dragged her hands down the swells of his chest and around his broad torso to wrap what she could of his big frame in her embrace. Her hands searched for a place to settle, light as moth wings at first, and then stronger as she clutched him to her.
A shudder coursed down his spine as she smoothed her fingers over the powerful stretch of his back. The wide muscles flinched and flexed beneath her touch and he groaned his approval into her mouth. She noted the scars, but only the man beneath them registered to her tantalized senses.
His hunger became a tangible thing, escalating his breath until it heaved against her. Hands were everywhere, cupping her breasts, shaping them as the tips instantly hardened and ached against his palms. Testing them with gentle, insistent pressure, molding until she could no longer think past the sensation gathering there.
A whimper of surprise escaped her as her hips tightened and jerked against a stab of need she’d not even thought herself capable of. Wet and swollen, her body called to him.
And his answered.
Chilly air kissed her ankles as his hands gathered her filmy robe until it parted. His knee gently pressed between her legs as he ravaged her with deep, drugging kisses. His solid weight pinned her in place as her robe gave way and he replaced it with his body.
The marquess swallowed her gasp as she realized his kilt had also ridden up between them, and with one smooth and sinuous movement, he’d split her legs and pressed the flesh of his naked thigh against her exposed sex.