Page 78 of Bride of Fire
Courtesy had made him cater to her desires first. It was always his way. But then he’d claimed her with all the grace of a barbarian, taking no special care to be gentle with her.
She should despise him.
But when he looked at her, it wasn’t hate he saw. Aye, she was vexed at him for believing she wasn’t a virgin. And he was sure she’d not been truthful about the pain. But a glaze of desire lingered in her eyes.
Still, he’d already guessed wrong once. He wouldn’t do it again.
No matter how much he craved the lass.
No matter how beautiful and tempting and desirable she looked with her damp hair spilled across the coverlet and her glorious body naked beneath him.
No matter how he throbbed in the irresistible grip of her womb.
No matter how painful it would be to withdraw from her now.
“Tell me the truth,” he breathed. “Do ye desire this?”
She didn’t answer him at first, only gazing up at him with her smoky green eyes, as if she stared into his soul. After a moment, a soft sparkle glistened there, joined by the upward curve of one corner of her lip in a coy smile. “Oh aye.”
Relief flooded his veins. But he still intended to be careful. “If ye like, we can…”
Before he could finish, she arched up against him with a smug look of triumph.
He gulped. “If ’tis less painful, I can lie…”
She angled her hips backward, easing him halfway out, and then thrust forward again, sheathing him completely.
The sensation left him speechless. It had been so long since he’d lain with a woman, it was almost like starting anew. And to couple with a lass so direct and unashamed was intoxicating.
He’d intended to let her sit astride him, to allow her to set the pace, to slow, to stop if she wished. But she never paused long enough in her amorous pursuits for him to make the offer.
Even from beneath him, she became mistress of her own passion. She retreated to draw back the bow of her arousal. And surged up to impale herself on the shaft of his desire.
Again and again, she fired with ever-increasing swiftness and precision, until his heart was pounding and he forgot how to breathe.
The roar that erupted as he shuddered on his arms and exploded into her was deep and loud and fulfilling.
It was also loud enough to wake the next town.
But by some miracle, as their gasps collided in the room, making the candlelight flicker wildly…as they covered each other with grateful kisses and collapsed in a tangle in the sheets…as they drifted off to deep, untroubled slumber…the bairn never stirred in his crib.
By the time Jenefer woke, the candles had guttered out. The fire was burning low. The bath water was no longer steaming. The light of the waning moon filtered in through the crack of the shutters. But there was still no sign of Cicilia or Bethac.
Miles slept in his cradle. She could hear his shallow breaths.
She bit her lip. As much as she was enjoying lying beside the Highlander—savoring the heat of him, feeling his hot breath on the back of her neck and his warm flesh against hers—she wondered why the maidservants hadn’t returned.
Soon Cicilia would come to feed Miles.
More importantly, someone had to catch Jenefer in bed with Miles’ father. After all, how else would she snare Morgan for her husband?
Her husband.
The words made her smile.
As heir to the du Lac title, she’d always expected her marriage would be one of political strategy. She’d be wedded to a wealthy but landless man. Or a landed man with whom an alliance needed to be forged.
Never had she considered she might arrange her own strategic match. Not in her wildest dreams did she imagine she’d actually be attracted to her husband.
