Page 70 of When the Laird Claims
He kissed lower still, sinking until he was on his knees, his mouth grazing a tingling line along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
He paused, gazing up at her with a sly smirk on his lips. “Is this what ye want?”
“Yes,” she panted desperately. “Yes, my love!”
With a smile that he pressed against her inner thigh, he lifted her leg over his shoulder, and his hands slid up the back of her thighs to support her if the wall was not enough. She tiltedher hips in anticipation, still ever-so slightly concerned that this might all be a dream.
The first brush of his exploring tongue was both the undoing and the making of her, as a rush of electricity sparked upward from that bundle of nerves between her thighs. The second stroke of his tongue, gliding through the slick folds of her before tasting that swollen bud, sent a fresh wave to bolster the first, until her entire being became the splintering forks of a lightning bolt, crackling through every vein and limb as if she were half-mortal, half-divine.
“Yes, my love,” she moaned, arching her back off the wall, hungrily needing more of that feeling.
He was every bit as masterful as she remembered, his tongue a thing of magic that could conjure up such exquisite ecstasy, transforming her into a new woman, a bolder woman who did not think twice about enjoying herself, savoring every moment with delicious satisfaction.
“Oh, my love…” She murmured, luxuriating in each roll of that gifted tongue, each curl and suck, each circling and fluttering flick. “Yes… oh, yes…”
He seemed to know exactly what she liked the most, as if he had some way of reading her body and giving it precisely what it craved. When she wanted him to be slower, he slowed. When she wanted him to be quicker, he sped up. When she wanted pressure, he sucked. She did not know how he did it, but perhapssome things were better left mysterious, a thing that did not require examination, just pure enjoyment.
Then, she felt the slight pressure of his fingertips coming to rest at the entrance to her sex.
“Yes!” she gasped her consent, any other words abandoning her as he slowly eased two fingers inside her.
She arched at the intensity of the feeling, her mind imagining what it would feel like if that hard flesh was inside her instead, stoking that imagination into a thrilling swell of potent desire. He slid his fingers in and out in a slow, stroking rhythm, touching upon nerves that fizzed and thrummed upward, joining the perpetual lightning bolt of the rest of her pleasure in a gathering storm of bliss.
It was not long before she felt her entire being rushing toward that point of absolute ecstasy, his tongue and touch working together to tip her over the edge into her climax.
When it came, it hit her harder than any that had come before. Her right hand desperately clawed at the wall while her left hand slid down to grasp Arran’s free hand, sliding her fingers between his as that powerful wave of bliss overwhelmed her.
She half-screamed his name as every muscle tightened and every vein coursed with a scorching current of ecstasy and every nerve danced a merry jig within her, her body in Arran’s complete control. There was such immense power in knowing that he would only use that control for this, to make her feel as if shecould fly, to make her entire being feel as much pleasure as it could.
All too soon, the intensity began to ebb, and as she sank back against the wall, Arran slowed his movements. He carefully withdrew his fingers, bringing another gasp to her lips, and ceased the potent curl of his tongue, turning his head to kiss her thigh instead.
He kissed his way back up to her mouth, where she met his lips with a smiling, satisfied kiss of her own.
“Daenae be sleepy,” he whispered, bending his head to brush his mouth against her neck. “I’m nae done with ye yet.”
“Sleepy? Not at all,” she replied with a chuckle that became a startled yelp as he hoisted her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.
He lay her down with care, the heat of his bare skin like a furnace against hers. Nudging her legs apart with his thighs, he rested on top of her for a moment, hands braced so that his strong arms bulged in a way that demanded to be touched. Lightly, she traced her fingertips down the defined lines of those protective arms, admiring all the years of effort and strain that had gone into honing them. She caressed the healed scars that marked his skin and raised herself slightly to kiss them.
“Are ye sure of this, love?” he said. “We can wait until the weddin’ if ye prefer?”
She smiled up at him, shaking her head. “I do not want to wait,” she told him. “After all, one never knows what might happen on a wedding day. I might be kidnapped by a handsome, somewhat mysterious, remarkable laird who would do anything to keep me safe.”
He laughed at that. “There’ll be nay more of that. Ye’re already where ye belong.” He settled against her, the pressure of his manhood making her breath catch, though he did not push inside her yet. “It might hurt, love. If ye’re in pain, tell me to stop.”
She gave a small nod, nervous and excited in equal measure. “I trust you.”
“Ye do?” he said, sounding surprised. After all, not long ago, she had said explicitly that she did not.
A wider smile curved her lips. “I would trust you with my life, my love, and I trust you with my heart.”
He kissed her then, slowly and sensually, taking his time to put her at ease. It worked, her body relaxing as she looped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back in kind.
But soon enough, she was ready for more, ready to experience everything and anything that Arran could show her. He seemed to know it, listening to her body once more, as he took that moment to rock his hips forward.
Her fingernails dug into his back as he eased into her for the first time, slow and careful, inch by intimidating inch. She tried to breathe but couldn’t; a gasp lodged in her throat, as overwhelming pleasure and a slight bristle of pain dizzied her thoughts.
“Do ye want me to stop?” Arran asked, his voice thick with his own desires.
