Page 47 of Highlander Unraveled
She cupped my hand to her face, and then kissed my palm. “I feel fine. More than fine. Better than fine. And I want to be close to you, in the flesh.”
I lifted her up in my arms and carried her back toward the chamber we’d just vacated.
“Not that one,” she said. “I don’t want to be in the one wherehewas.”
“As ye wish, my love.”
13
Emma
In Logan’s arms, the headache that had blurred my vision eased, and memories of Steven’s assault were washed away. My husband had my full attention. The fire in his dark eyes, the chisel of his features, every line and ridge of his solid body.
He closed the door, shutting us away from the craziness of this world and the next. Laying me down gently on the bed, he stretched out beside me, and though we weren’t at Gealach, I felt so much closer to home. He leaned on one elbow, his free hand tracing a circle on my belly. I watched his tender movements, leaning in as he stroked my cheek, then the line of my jaw.
Our eyes were locked on one another, so much unsaid, but powerfully evident in our gazes. We’d almost lost each other.
“I love you,” I said, cupping his hand to my face. “So much.”
“I love ye, too,mo chridhe.”
His heart. I was his heart and he was mine.
I leaned up at the same time he leaned down, our lips finally touching. His mouth was firm, but velvet soft, and even after kissing him hundreds, thousands of times, his lips still had the ability to spark a storm of butterflies in my belly and tingles throughout my limbs.
I rolled onto my side, curling a leg over top of his, my arm around his back tugging him closer to me. His heat sank into my skin in a wave of decadent, blissful pleasure.
We normally played so many games in bed. Who was dominant, who was submissive, who was going to win, and who was going to be the infinitely pleasured loser? But tonight, I didn’t want to play games. Tonight, I just wanted to be loved, and love in return. To leisurely explore. To kiss forever and ever. To make love slowly. Deliciously intoxicated by his touch.
Logan seemed to sense this, or maybe it was what he wanted, too, because he stroked my cheek, rocked his body against mine and kissed me with such passion I could barely breathe. But, he didn’t taunt me. He didn’t tease me like he normally did. No, he gave, and gave and gave, and he seized what I offered in return.
I trembled with nerves, with excitement, with emotion, and I realized, as Logan’s hand stroked over my shoulder, down my arm and around the small of my back, that he, too, was trembling.
We’d not made love—except in the dream—since before I’d birthed Saor, and the nine months prior to that had been an adventure in seeing what position worked best with my growing belly. In reality it had been nearly a year since my body had been my own, and that we’d made love with nothing between us but sweat.
I was changed, fuller, softer. And for the briefest of moments when his hand curled over my hip, I worried that he wouldn’t like the way I’d changed. However, I worried needlessly. Logan gripped me tighter and groaned against my lips, his cock full and pressed urgently to my lower belly.
I shifted, pulling myself a little higher so that I could press that hard strength more fully between my legs.
The fabric of the black dress I sported was thinner than the gowns I wore in 1544, allowing me to feel his potent erection more fully. I gasped.
The sudden spark of need that filled me had me nearly wrenching up his kilt, my dress, and getting to business, but I didn’t want it to be so fast. I wanted to cherish these precious moments together, because I didn’t know how long they would last—we could be transported back in time at any moment. And most of all, because I didn’t know when I’d get them again.
Logan’s hand caressed down my thigh to the ticklish spot behind my knee, over my calf and to my shoe, which he flipped off, letting it fall to the floor with a small thud.
He massaged his way back up to my hip and then over to my behind, cupping its roundness and massaging it, all the while moaning against me, making me shiver with delight.
“Ye’ve always had the most beautiful arse,” he whispered, tugging at my lower lip with his teeth.
And then he was rolling me onto my belly and trailing kisses over the back of my neck, his fingers forging a path down my spine to the hem of my dress.
He slowly pulled the hem up over my thighs, until my buttocks were exposed—along with the high-cut practical panties I was wearing. He skimmed a finger beneath the elastic, and I held my breath at his touch.
Logan leaned down, pulling the dress higher and pressed a kiss at my lower spine.
“There are no buttons. How do I take this off?” he asked, his voice gravely, husky. “Tis more like a shift, is it not?”
I laughed. “There is a tie in the front.”
