Page 39 of Marry the Highland Villain
Conall stroked her again, then slid one finger into her slick channel. Brigid shivered again and clung to his shoulders as he thrust his finger inside her, the slight roughness of calluses like a heated brand against her sensitive walls.
His finger pressed slightly deeper and found a small, sensitive nub of flesh. Conall stroked it, and Brigid cried out, her back arching slightly as his finger glided over that spot, releasing a burst of pleasure so intense that it made her knees go weak.
Conall stroked her again, then a second finger slid deeper into her. Brigid gasped at the stretching sensation. “Conall…”
He began to stroke her pleasure center again, a steady, even rhythm that sent wave after wave of pleasure and heat through her. Brigid tried to maintain some semblance of control, but Conall’s touch was almost too much to bear. She lost herself in the sensations, barely aware that his other hand was helping hold her up as she writhed under his touch.
The strokes continued, now and then changing direction, or angle, or speed, or pressure. Each change sent a new wave of sensation through her body, carrying her higher on a spiral of heat and pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced, or even imagined.
Her heart was pounding, her knees weak, and all she could focus on was pleasure, heat, and Conall.
His finger slid a little deeper into her channel and then stroked a little harder, just as he dipped his head and laved her already sensitive breast with his tongue and a slight scraping of his teeth.
Brigid gasped, her body stiffening against her betrothed’s as a wave of heat and pleasure caught her up and swept her away,blurring her vision and sending warmth and wonder through every inch of her.
For a moment, there was nothing but warmth and light, and the sensation of flying and falling all at once, tremors rocking her frame as wave after wave flowed over and through her and her body shuddered in release.
Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings again. She was still in Conall’s room. In Conall’s arms. Her body was singing from what he’d done to her, and she felt somewhat dazed.
She also felt his rigid length pressing against her thigh—the sensation teasing her with the promise of more to come.
Conall kissed her, pulling her close against him. Brigid saw red marks on his chest and blushed as she realized she must have scratched him in her release.
His hips shifted, and she parted her legs, anticipating what was to come.
But then he stopped.
Brigid sucked in a breath at the mingled sense of disappointment and relief and bewilderment that flowed through her. “My… Conall?”
He chuckled, the sound dark and rich like smoke and velvet and treacle all at once. “Och, I like that. Yer Conall.”
He kissed her again, this time slow and sweet and gentle, then stepped back and pulled her shift back up to her shoulders.
Brigid stared at him, perplexed. “I dinnae understand…”
“I ken ye dinnae.” He cupped her cheek gently. “What ye’re offerin’ is something I wouldnae mind acceptin’… but nae until we’re wed.”
Brigid blinked. “But… wearebetrothed.”
“Aye. But ’tis a matter of honor. I’ll nae tak’ the risk that someone might make any claims against ye.”
Brigid blushed. She knew very well what claims he was talking about—she’d heard the whispers in the village about lasses who were too loose with their favors or ‘couldnae keep their dresses laced’, according to the miller’s wife. She’d simply never thought that anyone would make up such rumors abouther. No one at home had ever wanted to bed a Blackwood lass—or at the very least, they’d never wanted to sleep with her.
“I didnae think about that. Would they really make such claims, even though we’re promised to each other and the wedding will take place tomorrow?”
“They might. There are fools enough, and I wouldnae put it past Laird Auchter to tell such tales if he thought it would gain him something.” Conall’s tone was grim.
The thought that her own grandfather might spread lies to paint her as a wanton woman stung, but not as much when she remembered the events of just over seven days ago and the realization that he might have sent her to die at Laird MacKane’s hand.
“I hadnae thought of that.”
“Aye. And I’d rather nae be thinkin’ of it now.” Conall’s voice was a low growl, his eyes dark with an annoyance that Brigid shared. “But even so, I’m nae the sort of man to put desire above the welfare of someone in my care… especially nae my bride-to-be.”
She could still feel the tingles of desire coursing through her, the sensitivity of her breasts, the dull ache in her core, but knowing he was waiting for their wedding night for her sake was more than enough to wrap her in a warmth that offset her disappointment. After all, no one outside her family had ever cared much for her welfare and reputation before.
She nodded. “I understand. And…” She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, where his scar curled toward the corner of his mouth. “Thank ye. For savin’ me tonight from harm, and for carin’ enough to save my reputation as well. Kennin’ that it matters so much to ye… well, it makes it far easier to wait until tomorrow.”
To her surprise, Conall shook his head. “Nae tomorrow.” He touched her cheek with a gentle hand and tenderly brushed some of her loose hair from her face. “I promised ye, days ago, that if yer sisters hadnae come by the wedding date, that wecould discuss delayin’ it. And ye said just now that ye were out walkin’ by the gates because ye were distressed that they hadnae arrived, aye?”
