Page 72 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
He shook his head slowly. “Whatever I throw at ye, ye dinnae back down.” A smirk danced on his lips as he tutted under his breath. “And ye called yerself a mouse.”
“Or maybe I learned somethin’ from ye,” she replied in a sultry tone that tingled like a touch in the center of him. “A few things, potentially.”
She tugged his shirt up, but as he raised his arms, she held the fabric there for a moment. Behind the rough material, she couldnot see his grin, but it spread so wide that his cheeks began to ache.
Of course, she did not have his strength. If he wanted to get out of that hold, he could have done it in an instant, but he was curious to see what she would do.
Her fingertips touched his chest almost hesitantly, following the defined lines of his muscles as if she were committing them to memory. The more she touched, the more assured her caresses became, and as they ventured downward, her hand pulling at the buckle of his belt, he feared he was about to disappoint her once more.
Managing to grab some of his shirt, he pulled it the rest of the way over his head. A moment later, his belt loosened, the folds of his plaid threatening to fall aside to reveal him.
“I cannae, lass,” he said, taking both of her hands in his. “Whatever ye think might happen tonight, it willnae.”
Freya tilted her head to the side. “I just… wanted to touch ye.”
“And if ye touch me like that, I’ll take ye right here in this meadow,” he replied, his tone laced with a warning.
Her eyes widened, a flicker of doubt shining in those warm pools. “We should… wait until the weddin’ night, I suppose. I’ve… read about what happens on a weddin’ night.”
“Aye, well, readin’ and experiencin’ are two very different things,” he purred. “Lie back.”
“What? But I thought ye said?—”
“Lie back,” he said in his most commanding voice.
She did as he asked, lying back on the makeshift blankets, her skirts falling to the tops of her thighs. Moving slowly over her, his hands braced on either side of her head, safe in the knowledge that there was still a thin barrier of material between them, he rocked his hips forward. He dipped his head to kiss her as his thick length pushed against her, eager to feel the part of her it would never get to discover.
Freya gasped against his mouth, clawing at his bare back.
“We dinnae… have to wait,” she moaned as he pushed against her again, her neck arching. “Dinnae… make me wait.”
He grazed his teeth across her lower lip, a mix of guilt and satisfaction pulsing through him. If he asked her to beg, he knew she would… but he was only tormenting himself. Tormenting both of them with what could never be.
But that doesnae mean she cannae have her satisfaction.
Kissing her hard on the mouth, he moved down her exquisite body, taking care to lavish his attention on every part of her thathis lips and tongue and hands could reach, kissing every new constellation of freckles he found.
As he reached the soft rise of her stomach, he could not resist a bite, smiling as her hips bucked in response. Indeed, just because they could not lie together did not mean that she would be starved of pleasure. Doughall was already imagining the myriad things they could do together that would have her in blissful rapture.
He deftly untied the ribbon of her drawers and eased them down her legs, challenging his self-control as he moved back to where he was before, holding himself above her, letting his plaid fall to the ground. She gazed up at him with blazing, beautiful eyes as he tilted his hips, a shiver of bliss running through his veins as he felt himself glide through her tortuously slick folds.
“Oh… Oh God… Oh Doughall…” she cried out as his flesh brushed against her sensitive bundle of nerves, making him wish he could somehow feel what she was feeling.
He drew back and eased forward again, barely able to restrain himself. It was the greatest test of discipline he had ever been given, every teasing glide bringing him closer and closer to throwing caution, and all his promises to himself, to the wind.
And it seemed he was not alone. With every spark of slick friction against that swollen bud, Freya became more and more untethered. He could see it in the flush on her face and the delirious look in her eyes, feel it in the grasping, gripping, clawing of her eager hands, hear it in her rousing moans andfrenzied cries. And as her hands ran down the length of his back and over his buttocks, grasping that hard muscle, it moved his hips just enough to give them a taste of the forbidden.
He growled at the sensation of her around him as she cried out his name, her breaths short and sharp, her expression a heady mix of pleasure and pain. Every instinct urged him to press in deeper, to bury himself to the hilt, to join himself with her entirely, but his years of strict discipline had not been for nothing.
Rolling his hips back, giving up that exquisite feeling, he slowly eased his fingers inside her instead, his thumb applying the friction that he could no longer create with his length.
“Oh… aye! Oh… oh…” she half-screamed, her back arching off the makeshift blankets as she moved her hips to the rhythm of his pulsing fingers and strumming thumb.
That was too close.
Doughall panted, fighting to quell those overwhelming desires, forcing himself to focus solely on her. Even so, he doubted he would ever be able to forget how that brief moment of utter bliss had felt.
Deciding that he ought to be as far from temptation as possible, he scooped an arm underneath her thigh and let his tongue take over from his thumb. The first taste of her was like cold, crisp water to a parched man, and he lapped her up, listening to the subtle shifts in the language of her bliss.
