Page 100 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
He didn’t need words to understand. Her breath hitched—just slightly—but it was enough. His hands moved to her face, cupping it with such tenderness that it was as though he was holding her very soul. “I’ve got ye, love,” he murmured, his voice rough with need, his thumb sweeping across her skin in a tender promise. His voice was gravel and warmth, threaded with need, thick with emotion.
But his eyes—his eyes burned with an intensity that matched the storm brewing between them.
Their lips collided again, but this time it was no longer gentle. It was fierce. His tongue slid against hers in a kiss that was searing, hungry, desperate. Every inch of their bodies seemed to demand more, craving the heat, the connection. As his hands explored, tracing the curve of her back, her body arched towards him instinctively, and she felt the last of her fears melt away under the pressure of his touch.
She gasped against him, her hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the anchor of his body, of his touch.
His hands moved with purpose, trailing down her neck, her back, over her breasts, hesitating on her nipples, learning the shape of her with reverence and want. When he traced the curve of her spine, her body arched into him. Her hips lifted, the way her hands tangled in his hair and held him there, close, told him everything.
He moved over her, his body a shield and an offering, and when he finally slipped into her, the world dropped away. Her breath caught, then quickened, chest rising and falling as their bodies pressed closer, deeper, more urgent. Every inch of him inside her felt like a breaking open and a coming home.
His hand slid into her hair, his other anchored at her waist, holding her as if he was afraid she might disappear. She moaned his name, a sound pulled from somewhere deep and real, and he answered with a kiss so rough and tender it stole the breath from her lungs.
They moved together in a rhythm that was instinct. Her legs wrapped around him, drawing his full length in deeper, her nails raking lightly down his back out of the impossible desire to feel him even closer. Every motion was a question and an answer, a plea and a promise.
He whispered to her between kisses. Just fragments—“so bonnie,” “mine,” “I feel ye”—like prayers offered to something he could barely believe he deserved. She responded in kind, her voice breaking with emotion, with pleasure, with the flood of something deeper than either of them had planned for.
She felt everything—his breath against her throat, the heat of his skin, the way his body trembled with restraint as he tried to hold himself back, just for her, just to make this last. He was giving her everything, and in return, she gave him all of herself—fearless, unguarded, completely open.
The tempo built slowly, then all at once. A rise of heat, a crackling wave of sensation that climbed and climbed until it was too much, too perfect, too consuming. And when she shattered—when he did too—it wasn’t quiet.
They didn’t speak for a long while. He stayed wrapped around her, still inside her, their bodies slick with sweat and still trembling in the aftermath. His hand never left her skin. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, and the edge of her jaw, like she was sacred, and he only just realized it.
She rested her head against his chest, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slowly settle. Her fingers traced lazy circles on his side, memorizing him in a way that went far beyond flesh.
“Ye still with me?” he asked, voice low and rough in her ear.
She nodded, her voice quiet but sure. “Always.”
And she meant it
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"Nay! Daenae touch me! Get away?—"
Lachlan was already moving before Erica's terrified shouts fully registered, his warrior's instincts pulling him from sleep. Her body thrashed against the furs, caught in the grip of another nightmare.
"Erica." He caught her shoulders gently but firmly. "Love, wake up. Ye're safe."
Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused for a moment before recognition dawned. She was breathing hard, her shift damp with sweat despite the cool night air.
"Lachlan?" Her voice was small, vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten.
"Aye, it's me. Ye're safe." He smoothed the damp hair from her forehead. "But that's the third time this week, love. The nightmares are gettin' worse, nae better."
She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry I woke ye again?—"
"Daenae apologize fer somethin' ye cannae control." He rose from the bed, reaching for the woolen shawl draped over the nearby chair. With gentle hands, he wrapped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck as he secured it. "Come. I have an idea."
"Where are we goin'?"
"Somewhere the darkness cannae follow."
He led her through the quiet corridors of Kinnaird, up winding stone steps to the highest tower. The night guard nodded respectfully as they passed, well accustomed to their laird's occasional nocturnal wanderings.
At the top, Lachlan pushed open the heavy door to reveal the tower's roof. The cool Highland air rushed to meet them, carrying the scent of heather and pine. Above them stretched an endless canopy of stars, brilliant against the black sky.
"Oh," Erica breathed, her tension already beginning to ease. "It's beautiful."
