Page 78 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
Harder.
Faster.
Then he guided her legs around his hips, pressing him closer to her, drawing him in even further as they found a rhythm that belonged to only them.
The air between them was hot and their breaths were ragged. Every shift, every movements, every delicious moan, fed the coil of tension low in his body until it was all could do to hold on. He wanted to savor this moment but Christ, when she let her eyes close, her head tilt back, and lips fall open as her grip intensified… it was as if she was being thrown from a cliff, and it was only him keeping her safe.
At her last, ragged inhale, her core clamped down around him like a sinched belt, and the last of his control broke.
His climax shook his entire world as he throbbed inside her, pushing her further and further off the edge with him. Never had he experienced the powerful shudder that made his body convulse as he did in that moment, and all the wanted was more and more and more.
They were both panting, foreheads pressed together, their bodies still tangled. Everything around them slowly coming back into focus.
This lass will be the death of me.
And by the look in her eyes, she felt exactly the same.
“Stay, lass,” he said roughly into the soft curls that had escaped her braid.
From the look of her gentle smile and the heat in her eyes, he thought she might agree. If she stayed with him, he would truly show her how to forget. How to chase her pleasure. How to focus on herself, for once.
But then he saw it flash across her eyes. It was shame. It was pleasure. It was fury. It was craving.
It was the realization that they were naked in his bed in his chambers, and that he had finally claimed her. His wife.
Just then, the soft cry down the corridor crept back into the space around them.
And the moment was over.
“I should— I should check on Elise,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost apologetic.
He released her without protest.
She dressed quickly, smoothing her skirts and pinning her hair back with practiced hands, though she didn’t quite meet his gaze. At the door, she paused for half a heartbeat.
“Goodnight, Kian.”
And then she was gone.
The room felt larger without her, the fire quieter.
He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his jaw. He’d claimed his wife, finally.
A marriage of convenience... sure. But a marriage, after all.
The taste of her still lingered on his lips, the memory of her body against his still burned into his skin, but there was still a lingering chill.
Because she had come to him to avoid a conversation, and then she’d left without looking back.
Kian crossed the room and poured himself a measure of whiskey. He drank it in one swallow, and the burn in his throat felt almost exactly what he needed.
He’d told himself for the past eight months that all he wanted was to bring her to heel, to close the distance, to make her his in every way that mattered.
Tonight he’d done it. The relief coursed through his veins as he stretched his neck, finally free from the months of tension and pent up angst.
He grinned.Should like to do it again… and soon.
15
