Page 59 of Marry the Highland Villain
Inch by inch, he pressed deeper, moving slowly, until Brigid was nearly overwhelmed with a desire to grab him and pull him closer.
There was a sensation of resistance, and she felt Conall’s hardened manhood press against the barrier of her maidenhead. For a moment, hesitation warred with desire, and then need washed away any nervousness.
Conall bent and kissed her, his mouth claiming hers like a man dying of thirst might fall upon a rivulet of water. There was a sharp, momentary pain as his manhood pressed past the barrier, claiming her fully. Then, he slid forward in a smooth, steady movement and buried himself inside her to the hilt.
It burned, but the heat was part of the pleasure. The sensation of being stretched and filled, the feeling of pressure and need,all of it swirled together until Brigid couldn’t stand it anymore. She needed… She had no idea what she needed, but she needed more. She squirmed against Conall, seeking her pleasure.
Conall smirked. “Och, ye’re a demanding lass…”
But he thrust into her and pulled back before thrusting into her once again, setting up a steady rhythm that rocked her against the pillows.
It was everything she wanted and more. The movement, the sensation, the heat, and the pressure. Conall’s body so close to hers that every thrust dragged his muscular chest over her sensitive nipples… all of it poured together to create a rising tide that she made no effort to resist.
The sensations wound higher, tighter, her whole body coiling in response to Conall’s manhood moving inside her. She felt as if she might fly apart, might burst into flames. She clutched at Conall’s shoulders, her body rocking in time with his, every thrust carrying her higher.
Conall cursed, then shifted his weight. One hand slid between them, and his finger stroked her pleasure center with his next thrust.
Brigid gasped, her back arching as a wave of pleasure crashed over her like a dam breaking. Her body shuddered, a cry ripping from her throat as her release washed over her with an intensity like a lightning strike. White light filled her vision as her inner walls clenched around Conall’s shaft.
Conall grunted, then stiffened, an inarticulate sound emerging from his mouth to join her cry of ecstasy. Brigid felt his release spurting deep into her core. Her body clenched around his in another climax, another wave washing over her and carrying her away as she joined her husband in crying out their mutual pleasure.
Another wave, her body still shuddering around his, and the last bits of conscious thought slipped away, drowned by heat and light, and more pleasure than Brigid had ever imagined possible.
She was dimly aware of her body falling limply against the sheets, and of Conall pulling out of her. Then, lassitude flooded in, replacing passion with a warm sort of glow that lulled Brigid softly into slumber, still wrapped in her husband’s arms.
CHAPTER 21
Conall wokeup to Brigid’s warm body in his arms and the first rays of the morning sunlight streaming through his chamber window. For several long moments, he was content to simply lie there, savoring the warmth that remained of last night’s passion and heat.
Brigid Barr. The name rolled around in his mouth, and he savored that too, like a particularly potent glass of whiskey. Brigid Barr, formerly Blackwood. His wife.
He’d expected a virgin’s hesitation last night, but she’d welcomed him with a warmth and desire that more than matched his own, and the lovemaking that had followed, the release he’d found, had almost robbed him of breath.
Such a responsive, giving lass. It was hard to believe that she was his wife… wife and lover. He’d never had a lover so welcoming. And the way she’d looked at him…
He’d been reluctant to bed any woman after he’d been scarred. He’d seen the way people’s gazes tended to linger on the wound or turn away in disgust or discomfort. Or worse, pity, as if the scar disfigured him to the point of making him undesirable. He’d not wanted to see such expressions while bedding a lass, whether it was for pleasure and companionship or simple release.
But Brigid didn’t look at him as if he were disfigured. She didn’t look at him as if the scar mattered at all. In fact, she barely seemed to notice it.
It was hard to believe that such a warm and loving woman had become his wife. Even more astounding, and disquieting, was the realization he’d come to while drifting off after their lovemaking.
He’d thought, in the beginning, that marrying Brigid was the price he was willing to pay in order to have peace with Clan Auchter. That marriage to a stranger was a small price to pay for a truce that would spare his clan even more bloodshed than it had already sustained.
But then he’d come to know Brigid. Come to care for her. It seemed incredible, but slowly, over the past few days, his feelings had changed. Now, he understood therealtruth—that peace with Eric Holdenson and Clan Auchter was the price he was willing to accept to have Brigid by his side forever.
It seemed an easy decision to him. However, in the cold light of morning, he remembered Oliver’s disquiet and the whispershe’d heard at Auchter’s brief intrusion. Not everyone in the clan felt the same way he did regarding Brigid and the truce with Clan Auchter. Not everyone trusted her as he did.
The memory also reminded him that there was one person he’d not spoken to yet about the truce or his marriage. One person whose blessing and acceptance he still needed.
Conall slipped carefully and quietly from the bed, moving slowly to avoid disturbing Brigid. She shifted, and he paused, but then she curled deeper into the blankets, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
For a moment, he considered waking Brigid and asking her to come with him. Then, he discarded the idea. Brigid could accompany him on a later visit, but for this one, he wanted to be alone. There were some things that needed to be addressed—some words that needed to be spoken in solitude.
He dressed quickly and stealthily, splashed some water over his face, and combed his hair into a rough sort of order with his fingers, before slipping silently out of his chambers. There were very few servants about at this time in the morning, and it was easy for him to leave the castle without anyone seeing him.
He could have taken a horse, but he knew he was traveling no great distance, and it was easier to sneak out of the gates on foot. Perhaps it was reckless of him, but he wanted solitude for the journey, and alerting the guards made it far more likely that Oliver or someone else would feel compelled to follow him.
Nay. I need to do this alone.
