Page 63 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“You, Donall…” She felt breathless, burning and yearning and aching for him. “Please…”
Closer still, but his kilt was still between them, and Lydia heard herself keening in frustration. “Donall…”
“Tell me ye want me, an’ only me, Lydia Wycliffe.” His voice was throaty, almost as breathless as her own, deep and growling with arousal and desire and need that matched hers.
The use of her real name sent a shock through her, but somehow, it only added to the pleasure… an extra stab of delight, that he could call her by her name and still wished to be with her. “I want you… only you, Donall Ranald.”
The kilt was wrenched from between them, fabric falling over their thighs and her belly and her sex as he pushed his hips forward, sliding himself into her. Donall shifted, then thrust,pressing himself into her to the hilt, even as he knelt there with his hands on her thighs and the kilt splayed around them.
He pressed himself closer still, lifting her hips in strong hands, cupping her buttocks and pressing her thighs further apart before he thrust again, then again, eyes hot with desire as he claimed her.
She had not thought anything could be as arousing as the two of them pressed together, naked in his bed, but the sight of him watching her as he rocked into and out of her, the feel of the soft fabric of his kilt as it flicked and twitched across her thighs and belly with every movement, the way the fabric rubbed and teased the soft hairs of her sex… Lydia moaned, the combined sensations singing through her as if she rode lightning between her thighs. “Donall…”
Donall moved so he was bent over her, hands on either side of her head, fingers intertwining with hers as he continued to thrust. The change in angle, the pressure folding and holding the fabric closer to her sex, increasing the friction of cloth against her most intimate place - it was all almost indescribable.
The heat spiraled higher, heat and pleasure tangling through her, coiling in her belly. Every thought she had dissolved - the world fell away until there was nothing but Donall, the rug under her back and the heat and passion of their lovemaking.
She could see the tension in his gaze, the burning passion and desire and need that matched her own. She was burning, aboutto turn to ash, about to fly away, but Donall was holding her together, holding her to the ground…
He bent his head and kissed her, lips molding to hers and the closeness bringing his chest into contact with her taut, tingling breasts. Lydia cried out, gasping into his mouth and arching against him as she climaxed, the walls of her inner core clenching around him as the wave broke over her with such force that her vision went white.
Donall stiffened, rhythm stuttering before he thrust deep, his release spilling into her welcoming core as his own climax overtook him. The two of them breathed together, trembling through their shared pleasure by the light of the dying fire.
Spent, Donall slid free of her. Her whole body sang with pleasure, and it left her limp, then carried her away and left barely conscious.
Gradually, she became aware of Donall’s rough panting, his arm around her. They lay there for several moments, until he finally spoke, his voice rasping still from the force of their passion. “Lydia, we cannae stay here…”
She tried to move, but she still felt limp, utterly spent. “I cannot move.”
Donall chuckled, and she managed to force one eye open. “All right then lass…”
With tender, gentle movements, he helped her into her dress, then folded his shirt and set it in her arms before scooping her up. There was a moment of awkward fumbling while he unbolted the door, but then they were out, into the hall and gliding through the darkened corridors.
It must be late. Maisie will be wondering where I am.
The thought came, then slipped away in the lassitude that still enveloped her.
They encountered no one in the corridors, at least no one Lydia was aware of. Then a door creaked, and they entered a room that smelled of familiar scents - leather, fire, metal, and Donall. Lydia blinked as they crossed the front room and entered the bedchamber, but she was too weary, too drowsy to say anything as Donall laid her gently on his bed and covered her up.
A moment later, there was a rustle of fabric, a shift in the linens, and Donall joined her. His arm slid around her, and the heat of his body pressed close.
Nestled in the arms of her lover and her laird, Lydia succumbed to sleep. Her last awareness was of Donall’s breath joining hers in a soft, steady rhythm as he slept too.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The bed was empty when he awoke, but Donall could feel the lingering heat of Lydia’s presence. And even if that had faded before he roused, the fact that he woke clear-headed and well rested once more was proof enough that last night’s encounter hadn’t been a dream. Lydia had been with him.
Donall allowed himself a brief grin before he pushed himself out of bed and went to dress for the day.
Lydia wasn’t in the Great Hall breaking her fast, nor in her quarters. Bemused by her absence, Donall fixed himself a quick meal and went out into the courtyard to break his fast and enjoy the fresh morning air. He was halfway to the ramparts to greet the evening guards before their shift changed when he was distracted by a slender, and very familiar figure standing in the training yard, moving awkwardly through a rough imitation of the sword forms he and Alex had done on other days.
Intrigued, Donall swallowed down the last of his meal, then strode over. Lydia saw him coming, and her countenance flushed a becoming rose. Her brow was already dotted with perspiration, and her expression was somewhat abashed as he stopped before her. “What are ye daein’ lass?”
“I wanted to learn how to defend myself. I thought I could practice…” By the dejection in her tone, he knew how successful her efforts were likely to be, given the difficulties that had drawn his attention.
Donall took the practice blade she’d been using and made a dismissive noise. “Och, this is too heavy a blade fer ye lass. Ye’re nae tall enough or strong enough tae be wielding a blade like this.”
Donall led Lydia over to the rack of practice weapons and selected a lighter, smaller blade, almost small enough to be a dirk. “This or a dagger would suit ye best, given yer build.”
