Brianna is haunted by the memory of a man she met a decade ago.  The man that taught her what true loving was.  And betrayal. Now, back at the same Beltane festival she was at all those years ago, is history doomed to repeat itself?

With a groan, he moved swiftly to take her lips with his, overpowering her senses with his actions. She moaned against his mouth as his hand moved down to her skirt, gathering it up to slide his fingers beneath the material. The other hand he used to cradle her head and hold it off the ground, pressing her mouth against his.

She was wet. There was no doubt about it in her mind. She knew as soon as his hand reached her pussy, he would find her dripping with need and desire. And she didn’t care. Something about this man urged her to throw caution to the winds, to let nature take its course.

His hand reached between her legs, and she wiggled against him, eager to feel his exploration. But he ignored her and continued his way up, bringing his hand to rest on her stomach under her dress.

He pulled back again to breathe. “You’re an incredible woman. I want to please you all night, until you beg me to stop.”

“Oh.” Bree was at a loss. What did one say to a promise like that?

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He moved his hand back down to where she thought it was headed earlier. His long fingers stroked her outer lips, working their way to her hard, distended clit. At the first stroke, her hips rocked, eager to meet the pressure of his fingers. She moaned as he flicked her there, teasing the nub with butterfly touches.

He shushed her groans with his lips as he slid his hand down and inserted two fingers into her canal. He twisted his hand, moving his fingers back and forth, stretching her, pumping her for what was to come.

“Oh, Goddess,” she whispered against his lips, suddenly conscious there others nearby. “We shouldn’t.”

He pulled back. “You want to stop?”