Page 8 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“Oh!” she said quickly.
This isnae Magnus’s old chamber. He took a guest chamber.
The memory of her brother and his room was stained with too much darkness for her to bear. Feeling a rush of relief, she turned her attention back to Damon.
“I cannae believe ye carried me in front of everyone!” she exclaimed, her cheeks still burning with embarrassment. “What were ye thinkin’? Do ye have any idea how that must have looked like?”
Damon crossed his arms, watching her with a faintly amused expression. “It looked like I was carryin’ me wife to our bedchambers for our wedding night. Yer people needed to see that ye and I are united.”
She stuttered as she tried to formulate a response, the frustration building in her chest. “Ye-Ye?—”
“For someone so quick to scold,” Damon interrupted, his smirk finally breaking through his usual stoicism, “ye are awfully bad at finishin’ yer sentences.”
Lilith froze.
Was that an actual smirk?
The sight of the pleasure he was getting out of this only fueled her irritation. “Ye are impossible.”
“And ye are red as a ripe apple,” he countered, his tone teasing.
Lilith’s retort died on her lips as he took a step closer. She hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until his towering presence seemed to envelop her. The air in the room thrummed, heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t fear—notentirely. But it wasn’t comfort either. It was a raw, hot charge that made her pulse quicken.
“Wh-What are ye doin’?” she stammered, her voice quieter now, the bite replaced with uncertainty that unsettled her even more.
Damon’s gaze burned into her, dark and unyielding, a contrast to the careful way his hand rose to her face. His fingers brushed her jawline, firm yet deliberate, as though testing her reaction. The warmth of his touch seeped into her skin, and she couldn’t help but lean into it. His hand moved lower, settling around her neck with a possessive gentleness that sent a shiver through her.
“Stop lookin’ at me like a frightened rabbit,” he murmured, his voice low, rough-edged, and dripping with command. “I’m claimin’ me wife.”
The words seemed to wrap around her like a cord, drawing her closer to him despite her instinct to resist.
Damon’s other hand found its way to her hip, strong and unyielding, grounding her in place. He leaned in, and she felt the brush of his breath against her cheek—a warm, teasing caress that both calmed and inflamed her nerves.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe properly as his lips descended toward her neck. A soft gasp escaped her when he pressed a kiss just below her ear, the sensation so startlingly intimate that her knees almost buckled.
The touch wasn’t hurried or impatient. It was slow, deliberate, and maddeningly confident, as though he had all the time in the world. His lips moved down the column of her throat, the lightest graze of teeth following, setting her skin ablaze with sensation. A quiet, traitorous part of her wondered if he could feel the erratic flutter of her pulse beneath his mouth.
Lilith’s breath hitched, the sound betraying the war raging within her. His touch was both gentle and possessive, a contrast that left her more disoriented than she cared to admit. When his teeth grazed her skin in a soft nibble, it sent an unexpected jolt of heat through her, pulling her deeper into the heat of his proximity.
His hips pressed into her, and then, like a lightning strike, the trance shattered.
“Stop!” she cried out, her voice trembling, as she shoved him back with all the force she could muster.
Her palms pressed against his chest, the solid wall of muscle unmoving at first, but he relented, stepping back with a pace that felt deliberate, controlled.
Her breathing was ragged, and her heart pounded so loudly that it drowned out all other sounds in the room. She wrapped her arms around her middle as though to shield herself from the ghost of his touch, glaring at him with wide, fiery eyes.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded, her voice wavering between anger and confusion.
Damon stood silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those intense, storm-filled eyes—held a flicker of something dangerous. Not anger, not amusement, but something deeper, like a challenge.
“What’s the matter?” he replied evenly, his voice steady, though his gaze flicked to her lips before meeting her eyes again.
Lilith took a steadying breath, careful not to let her composure crack. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides—an act that was not missed by Damon’s ever-observant gaze.
“I need to make something very clear, Damon. I willnae share yer bed. We married for the clan, nae for… this!”
His blue eyes studied her, his face betraying nothing. “Ye intend to deny me my husbandly rights for the entirety of our marriage?” His tone was neutral, not laced with anger or disappointment—just curiosity.
