Page 39 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
His deep voice vibrated through her, making her shiver in the most delicious way.
She nodded slowly. “I couldnae… easily forget it. It was… shockin’ to a nun’s ears.”
“Ye can leave if ye want,” he said, his hands fisting in her dress.
She did not move. Leaving was the very last thing she wanted to do, considering that everything he had whispered in her ear that night had ended up on her list of experiences. And now that she had some clarity about her mistake, she could not think of any reason to remove herself from the tower.
It wasnae Murdoch whom Tara was speakin’ about. I’ll have to ask her who it is when I see her again.
But, right now, she had no space in her mind to think of anyone but Murdoch and what he meant to do with her. Was he toying with her, or did he really intend to enlighten her with some of what he had mentioned that night?
Without a word, he gathered up the skirts of her dress and lifted the garment up and over her head, before tossing it on the low stool. It draped over the stool as if he had spent an age moving each piece into the right place, the red standing out against the neutral tones of the room.
He removed her shift next, throwing it off to the side. She stood with her back to him, breathing fast, in nothing but her stays and her drawers, with no blanket to ward off the chill of the room.
“I’ll have to ease yer undergarments over yer hips,” he purred, his voice like the pounding crash of a waterfall as he loosened the ribbon that held her drawers in place.
She could not catch her breath as he obeyed his own instruction, the fabric gliding over her hips.
“And down yer thighs,” he murmured, his calloused palms skimming over her smooth skin as he slid her drawers down her thighs and calves, sinking down with the movement.
He raised her legs, one by one, and discarded her undergarments. But he did not stand up again, running his hands over the contours of her thighs and calves and ankles, his warm breath tickling her skin.
Her knees nearly buckled as his lips traced a searing path up the back of her thigh, while his fingertips caressed her inner thigh, moving up and up until she was certain he would touch the burning, pulsing center of her pleasure.
But then he pulled away and stood up.
His fingertips made quick work of the laces of her stays and pushed the garment forward, off her outstretched arms. It joined the rest of her undergarments, and though she had never been naked in front of any man before, she was curious to find that she was not at all afraid. She waited for the shame that she had been warned about, but it did not come.
The heat of his body left her, and she knew he had taken a step back, as if to observe her from a distance.
“Ye’renae leavin’, are ye?” she asked, swallowing thickly.
He made a gravelly sound that might have been a laugh, and that heat radiated through her again as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her to him.
His hand slid up her stomach and the valley between her breasts to her throat, and his fingers closed around the fragile column. With just the strength of his forefinger, he nudged her jaw and turned her head to the side.
Then, he captured her mouth in a fierce kiss, hungry and unforgiving. She kissed him back in kind, but when she tried to turn around to face him, he pressed her harder against him and tightened his hand around her throat. Evidently,thatwas to be her punishment—to not be able to touch him or kiss him as she pleased, surrendering to his wishes.
But she had never been particularly good at obedience.
So, to satisfy her mischief, she raised one hand to cover the one around her throat and moved her other hand behind her, gripping the hard muscle of his thigh. His belted plaid was still in the way, but as she slid her hand up and touched the defined ridges of his abdomen, he did not stop her.
Instead, he seemed to take inspiration, loosening his grip on her waist. His fingertips trailed up her stomach to her breasts, kneading that pliant flesh as he kissed her harder, her breaths ragged as they mingled with his.
“Oh… Oh, Murdoch!” she gasped as he pinched her nipple lightly, making her long for the softer suck of his mouth.
His hand slid down again, mapping the curves of her waist and hips, before sliding over her mound. She shuddered against him, grabbing a handful of his plaid as he finally touched the bundle of nerves that had been aching with desire.
“Oh God!” she panted.
Apparently, that was not what Murdoch had wanted to hear, as he immediately withdrew his hand, leaving her trembling with frustration. Surely, he did not mean to kick her out of the tower again at that pivotal moment?
“Until ye’re bare to me,” he growled, repeating the words he had spoken in the hunting cabin.
She blinked in surprise, uncertain of what he meant.
Fortunately, he saw fit to instruct her. “Put yer hands on the stool.”
