Page 39 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Perhaps,” he said, and her eyes flashed with hope. “But I cannae stop thinking it should have been me. Why was I the one saved?”
“We’ll never ken,” she told him. “But the truth is ye are alive just as I am. So we must choose to live.”
He was struck by her optimism. The gentle smile on her lips tried to tell him everything would be alright. His hand was still on her neck, his fingers slipping into her hair and he couldn’t take his eyes from that smile. He wanted to fall into her hopefulness, to accept the purpose for his life that Feya clearly saw.
“I cannae argue with ye,” he admitted, and her teeth flashed white in a playful victory. Archer dropped his hand down her arm, feeling the soft fabric beneath his fingers, until he grabbed her hand. Feya looked down between them before looking back at him, heat suddenly in her eyes.
“Not when ye are so close,” he whispered. They both felt electricity passing between them. Archer was far too aware that only a thin towel hid his manhood. He could feel his body stirring for her, and his eyes dropped to the quick rise and fall of her chest.
She tipped her chin up and her mouth fell open, as clear an invitation as Archer had ever seen. He grabbed for her, placing a hand on the small of her back to pull her into his body. Then his mouth dropped to hers, eliciting a cry of surprise that turned into pleasure. She melted against him, the drag of her body all too tantalizing.
Feya’s hands gripped his back, exploring his bare skin for the first time. He was driven wild by the faint scratch of her fingernails as they raked across his shoulder blades.
“Ye should have told me,” Archer said between kisses. He kissed his way to her ear before taking it in his mouth, making Feya gasp at the feeling.
“What?” she asked, hardly able to get out the word. He chuckled against her ear before whispering into it.
“That this was part of your healing regimen,” he teased. “Ye would have gotten me to agree much faster.”
He kissed her hard, silencing any response, and pressed his tongue into her mouth. Feya arched her back and pressed her chest against him, holding herself up with a firm grip on the back of his arms. Archer smiled against her mouth as his hands held the curves of her waist. He ran a hand up the front of her body and over her breast, placing his palm against her as his fingers teased the exposed skin above her neckline.
“Archer,” she gasped, but she didn’t need to ask. He continued to the ties that crisscrossed the bodice of her gown and found the end. He pulled his mouth away, allowing them both to look down as he pulled at the string, loosening her dress.
He sensed Feya’s nervousness beneath her excitement, and he moved gently, following her lead. He brought his fingers to the hollow between her collar bones and then ran them downward to the top of her dress. He gently pushed aside the fabric he had loosened, revealing the tops of her breasts and then, a beautiful sight, her eager nipples.
Archer locked his eyes on Feya’s as he ran his fingers down, brushing against her gently. Feya jumped at the touch, but then her mouth dropped open, shocked and pleased by the sensation. He grinned at her and started again, this time running his finger in a circle around her sensitive bud. She moaned and pressed her eyes closed.
The image was too much for him, and he felt himself lengthening, his manhood pressing against the towel. He wondered if he should stop, if he was letting things go too far, but then Feya reached for his other arm and pulled him close, standing on her tiptoes to press her mouth against his.
Archer’s hand was trapped between them as he continued to tease her nipple. Feya’s tongue moved with urgency inside his mouth, and suddenly she was rocking her hips against him, the same tantalizing motion they had found against the wall in the village. Archer’s length responded, no match for the flimsy towel between them. He kissed down her neck and let his mouth explore further until his lips wrapped around her breast, replacing his fingers.
“Oh,” Feya cried, and he had to hold her up with a strong arm around her back. As Archer’s tongue flicked against her, she gave small cries of pleasure that only increased when he brought his thumb to her other breast.
Archer laughed as Feya’s knees grew weak, all the muscles in her body going limp in her pleasure. She cried out in protest when mouth and hand disconnected from her breasts, but then Archer swooped an arm under her legs and lifted her in his arms.
He could hardly handle the image she made as he carried her to the bed. Her breasts were exposed to him, and a flush of pink was evident across her chest and up her neck. Her wide eyes looked up at him with such trust, such blatant longing, that he could think of nothing except bringing her more pleasure.
“Now it’s my turn,” he whispered. He laid her gently on his bed and came up beside her. He ran a finger between her breasts, making her shiver as he pushed aside the fabric of her dress even further, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach.
“For what?” she asked, and he saw there was no fear in her voice. Only anticipation.
“To treat ye,” he said. Archer reached down to her ankle and the skirts that were bunched around her legs. He had imagined doing this so many times. He could hardly believe that he was here, pushing up her skirts as his fingers felt their way between her legs.
“Treat me?” Feya gasped, and he felt her legs open to him, silently moving in agreement.
“Aye. Let me give ye some medicine,” he chuckled. He swept his hand up to the heat between Feya’s legs. With the slightest touch, he brushed against her, delighted by how eager she already was for him. Feya arched her back and squeezed her eyes closed as Archer pushed gently between her lips.
“Aye,” he whispered. His fingers found her wetness and gently stroked, eliciting nearly silent moans from the woman beneath him. “I have something that can help ye.”
She had never felt something as amazing as Archer’s fingers pressing between her legs. She had to squeeze her eyes closed, overwhelmed by the sparks of pleasure jolting through her core. Her hands gripped the sheets, and she arched her back, finding herself gently rocking with his movements.
She forced her eyes open and looked at him, her mouth a round O. He looked down with amusement, clearly pleased he could bring her such pleasure. The towel he wore had fallen away, a realization that made Feya blush all over again. But Archer lay on his side, his leg and Feya’s skirts masking what she felt long and insistent against her side.
“How am I doing?” he asked, mischief written all over his face.
Feya could barely speak. She nodded at him, pushing aside the waves of pleasure so she could form the words she needed.
“Very good,” she gasped. But just as she said it, Archer’s fingers swept higher, finding a spot even more sensitive, a spot that sent sparks to her toes and up to her already pert nipples.
