Page 49 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
“I thought I told ye to beg,” he teased, his lips teasing her neck. She felt the lightest pressure on her sensitive skin, but it was a barely-there kiss.
“Please, Magnus,” she begged, “kiss me.”
The words finally had him surging forward and taking her lips in a passionate kiss. It was somehow even better than the first. There was no hesitation this time, no pause. His lips met hers, and she immediately opened up for him, letting his tongue tangle with hers.
They were both standing, but Magnus had one hand on her braid and the other squeezing her waist.
“Take this out,” he rasped, pulling on her braid a little.
She nodded, and with shaky fingers, she untied the ribbon in her hair. When the ribbon fell to the ground, Magnus ran his hands through her hair to loosen the braid.
“Beautiful,” he breathed when her hair fell down her back. “Beautiful either way, but I wanted ye wild,” he added.
All she could do was nod and look at him with pleading eyes. Her lips still tingled from their kiss, and she wanted it again. Biting her lower lip, she watched as his jaw clenched.
The seconds dragged on as they both stood there, watching each other, their breaths heavy and loud.
“I dinnae ken how ye expect me not to kiss ye constantly after this,” he breathed. “Now that I’ve seen ye like this.”
“Ye’re nae kissin’ me now.”
He laughed then, a dark chuckle full of promise.
“Do ye need me lips on yers again, lass?” he teased, taking another step towards her.
“Please,” she begged again, nodding vigorously.
Ciara didn’t have any room to be embarrassed by how needy she sounded because every inch of her focus was on the man in front of her. The strong lines of his jaw, the deep tenor of his voice, the desperation in his eyes, it was all she could think about.
Thankfully, she didn’t need to wait long because he pulled her against him once more. She felt the strength of his chest against hers as he kissed her with abandon.
Her hands were tangled in his hair this time, both of them equally wild as they grabbed at each other, their lips moving in sync. Whatever shyness she might have felt was long gone. His strong body comforted her just as much as it set her on fire.
After a while, Magnus walked them to the velvet chaise on the other side of the room, not breaking their kiss. They bumped into a table along the way but neither of them cared, simply moving around it as they continued to kiss.
When she felt the chaise lounge bump against her calves, he finally broke their kiss and lowered her onto the seat, bending to remove her shoes.
He groaned when she was settled. She could only imagine how she looked. Her hair mussed from his hands, her lips plump and red, her eyes wild with lust. She felt more powerful at that moment than she ever had.
Especially since he was unable to tear his gaze away from her.
“God, Ciara,” he rasped, running a hand through his messy locks. “Ye look… positively sinful.”
He sat down at the edge of the chaise, at her feet, her legs stretched out. Slowly, he moved her legs so they were bent at the knees and spread a little.
He put a hand on her ankle, right below the hem of her gown, and asked, “May I?”
* * *
Ciara nodded and let out a breathy “Aye.”
Magnus groaned again. She was a vision, laid out for him like this. And she washis, his wife, his to devour and taste and pleasure.
He could have kissed her for hours, content just to feel her soft lips against his and listen to her breathy moans. But he could feel her squirming in his arms, and he knew she needed more.
Ever so slowly—the pace killed him, but he wanted this to last—he dragged up the hem of her gown and her petticoats, raising them over her knees and thighs, until the fabric pooled around her waist.
Magnus teased her calves with feather-light touches, rubbing circles over each part of her that he exposed. Her skin was so soft, and the higher his hands reached, the heavier her breathing got.
