Page 76 of The MacGregor's Lady
She liked it so verra much she caught a rhythm as he explored for them both all the folds and creases of a woman’s most intimate parts. She liked it enough to growl into his mouth and to nearly tear his hair from his scalp.
“You’re wet for me, Hannah. I adore that you’re wet for me. Shall I love you now?”
She couldn’tevenbeg. She tried to scoot under him in answer, to wrestle him over her, and he allowed it, covered her with his heat and strength, braced himself up on his forearms, and went still.
He hitched close, brushed her hair back from her forehead, and spoke right near her ear. “There’s no undoing this, my love. No turning back or forgetting it. This is forever.”
“Please, Asher…” She sought him with her sex, and there he was. Big, blunt, hot, hard, and everything she wanted, forever and in the next instant.
“Please you, I shall.” He eased forward, just that. Hannah’s body gave easily at first, welcomed him into soft, damp heat. The next part had her opening her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to move?”
He sighed and pushed forward a bit more, to the extent that Hannah’s grasp of how intimate they would be underwent a transformation.
“Ye must relax, Hannah. I will linger right where I am until ye do.”
He could do it. He could stay right where he was, kissing her brow, her temple, bumping his nose along hers while she lost her mind on the battleground between anticipation and anxiety.
“Asher MacGregor, you’re killing me.”
“We’ll die together.”
This time, he shifted to brace one hand under her backside while he propped himself on the other forearm. A short, sharp nudge, and Hannah was wonderfully impaled on his fullness.
“That’s better,” she began, ready to reassure him that things were proceeding in an acceptable direction.
“You approve?” He started to withdraw, of which she did not approve in the least.
“Don’t you d—”
“Then this might be to your liking as well.” He glided more deeply into her body, retreated, and eased forward, waltzing his way past her wits and even her ability to think.
“Asher MacGregor, I love”—you—“it.”
His movement picked up intensity without becoming any faster. “I’ll tell ye a secret, Hannah.”
Hewastelling her secrets. Wonderful secrets about the body she’d inhabited for nearly a quarter century, and secrets about his body too. “Mm?”
“In this, with me, ye can be greedy. Ye can have all ye want and more, as often as ye like, because my desire for ye will have no end.” The blessed man dropped into Gaelic, his tone promising wicked bliss, his body turning the promise into a vow.
Hannah clung to him, moved with him, and when her body shook with the fulfillment of Asher’s vows, she fell and fell and fell with him too.
***
He’d loved her right to sleep.
Hannah’s passion was a wonderful, generous, unstinting thing, a measure of intimacy Asher lay thinking about as he held his prospective bride and matched his breathing to hers.
She’d been matter of fact about the aftermath—“That’s the scent of your seed, isn’t it? The scent of copulation?” and “This is not all neat and tidy. I like that it isn’t tidy.”—which was very different from Monique’s shyness and self-consciousness.
Monique had laughed her way through life’s difficult moments. Only now, holding a lady for whom humor played a different role, could Asher see that Monique’s approach was that of a very young woman, one who’d not strayed from the smile she’d learned to wield early in life, a means of coping she could not put aside in favor of more mature strengths.
Strengths like courage, resilience, honesty, or trust. “Ilikethatitisn’t tidy.”
A universe of joyful marital potential lay in that confession.
Had Hannah been awake, Asher might have said to her, “I was married before. It was sweet and precious, and when it ended, I thought I’d died. IwishedI’d died, and I knew I would never love with my whole heart again.” He might have added, very softly, “I was wrong.”
