Page 71 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
He pulled her even closer, brushing the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “Ye’re forgiven for yer previous ingratitude.” Then, he leaned in, his smile a little sly as he softly whispered, “But I should still punish ye for runnin’ off into the night without a word and nearly catchin’ yer death in the loch. I told ye once, I’ll tell ye again—I couldnae bear the thought of bein’ a moment too late to get to ye if ye were in danger.”
He punctuated the sentence with a gentle kiss to her neck, pressing his smile to her soft skin as she trembled in his arms—not from the cold anymore, but with the anticipation that had been building since he pulled her to him in the loch, both of them stripped bare of clothes and artifice.
It’s goin’ to kill me,he wanted to tell her,but I cannae lie with ye. I cannae take the risk because if I ever lose control with ye, if I ever sink meself into the depths of ye, I willnae be able to stop ‘til I’ve spilled me seed inside ye.
He grazed his teeth across her earlobe, dipping his head to bite her neck gently, soothing the spot with a searing kiss, torturing himself with the breathy moan that slipped past her lips. Her back arched, pushing her body into his, her bosom heaving with a fervent desire that threatened to doom them both.
I should get her back to the castle. I should tell her to sleep in the library, with the door locked. I should go to Flynn in the distillery and lock meself in there until tomorrow. I should?—
His lips caught hers in a fierce kiss that could only lead down one road. She melted into him, kissing him back with equal fervor,leaving him in no doubt as to how long she had been waiting for him to do that again.
She grasped fistfuls of his damp shirt while his hand cradled the curve of her neck, the other exploring the swell of her hip and the dip of her waist, grasping and pulling and feeling the give of her soft flesh.
If there was any magic to be found in the meadow, it was her—she was an enchantment, and he was bewitched, and if she was to take him in hand and draw him into the depths of her, he knew he would not be able to resist.
I should forbid her from touchin’ me, as I did before.
He nearly voiced the thought, but she released her grip on his shirt at the same moment and smoothed her palms over his chest, the sensation too tantalizing to prohibit. Aside from their dizzying kiss in the courtyard, too marked by what happened after to be counted, he could not remember the last time he had been touched by anyone. Heneverpermitted it, but with her, he no longer had any desire to prevent it.
Her fingertips caressed his throat, his neck, running over his broad shoulders and back down his chest, sliding around to his back. As he kissed her harder, swept up in his need for her, her fingernails raked down his shoulder blades.
A shiver of pleasure and pain ran down his spine, his shoulder blades squeezing at the claw of her nails, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat.
Not only did she want him, but she wanted him to be rough.
Dinnae tempt me, lass.
28
Ignoring the warning in his head, Doughall rolled his tongue against hers, capturing her mouth in an overwhelming kiss. His hand skimmed up her waist, smoothing over the swell of her breast, kneading that supple flesh while his mouth sought her nipple, eager to suck until she bucked and writhed against him, desperate for more.
Spurred on by her sighs and moans, he scooped her up into his arms, groaning as her legs locked around his waist. His manhood strained for the Siren call of her silken depths, burning with the need to plunge inside her, to thrust until she screamed his name, to satisfy himself to the last drop.
Kissing her as if he had made no vow to show restraint, he carried her to the spot among the heather that her spinning had flattened. Holding her to him, he unfastened his cloak and tossed it down, before laying her down on it.
He halted there for a moment, breathless, holding himself above her. He could not ignore the yearning in his loins, the temptation overwhelming as his burning flesh rested between her thighs, her skirts falling back, her legs still loosely wrapped around his hips. All it would take was one tear of the seam of her drawers and an adjustment to his plaid and he would be able to feel that sweet release, burying himself inside her.
For what? A fleetin’ pleasure that might result in a bairn?
His yearning manhood would have to go on yearning.
Mustering every shred of his discipline, every scrap of his frayed willpower, he sat back on his haunches and pulled her with him. Holding her intense gaze, he lifted her dress… but as it covered her face, he could not resist. Dipping his head, he took the neckline of her stays between his teeth and tugged down like a beast, freeing her breasts.
Holding her arms above her head, her face still covered by the fabric of her dress, he kissed his way across her bosom. Her every breath was a shaky gasp, enticing him to play a little before he let her look upon him again.
He flicked his tongue against one erect nipple, and her entire body shuddered in response. He flicked his tongue again, her breath hitching.
Smiling, he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked, her back arching as a cry of pleasure filled the air. All around, the fireflies glowed brighter, as if they were the ethereal embodiment of herbliss, pulsing and burning with the sheer power of feeling within her.
Not wanting to spoil one and neglect the other, he trailed his tongue across the valley between her breasts and drew her other nipple into his mouth. Freya bucked as he had hoped she would, her back arched, her moans filled with delicious frustration.
As he kissed his way up the slender column of her throat, he lifted the dress the rest of the way and threw it to the ground as a second blanket.
Freya blinked at him, her face flushed in the moonlight, an almost drunken smile on her lips.
“Ye keep surprisin’ me,” he said before he could stop himself.
“How so?” she replied, running her hands over his chest, pulling his shirt free from his belt.
