Page 58 of Beguiled By the Highlander
But he didn’t even care.
A frustrated growl tore his throat, and he ripped his shirt over his head before hooking his fingers into the neckline of her shift and tugging her forward. “Now we are wed, ye can strip me every night if it pleases ye.”
Her hands flattened against his chest, and his heart thundered so loud it was hard to think straight. But then, what was there to think about tonight, save claiming his bride?
He trailed kisses along her throat, and she tipped her head back with a soft sigh. The elusive scent of lavender filled his senses, and he worked the ribbons on her shift loose before sliding the material over her shoulders.
Slowly, he eased her shift along her arms and sucked in a harsh breath when it slithered to the floor, leaving her naked before him. The firelight danced over her lush body, shadows concealing as much as the golden glow revealed, and his cock throbbed for release.
Not yet.
Tenderly, he kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair, holding her still for his exploration. Her tongue pushed against his, and need thudded through his blood, pushing his control to its limits.
His fingers traced along her back and over the swell of her backside. He gripped her cheeks and she groaned, the sound filling his mouth like a forbidden caress. When a shudder rippled through her, he wrapped one arm around her, holding her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples erect and driving him out of his mind.
His control slipped and his kisses became more urgent, but she didn’t pull back. She wound her arms about him, and his fingers stroked her damp folds, dipping inside her and teasing her sensitized clit.
Her nails clawed his shoulders, and her gasps grew ragged, urging him on. Not that he could have stopped. Not when Isolde clung to him, mindless with desire, and he caressed her with his fingertip as her release spilled through her in endless shudders of pleasure.
He held her close as she sagged against him, but raw lust pounded through him, demanding satisfaction. He swept her into his arms and took her to their bed, and fragmented memories of the time he’d carried her to the box bed at Sgur hammered through his mind.
But tonight, everything was different. Because tonight nothing would hold him back, and he’d finally make her his.
She lay on the bed, her glorious hair spread across the pillows, and with a primitive growl of need he spread her thighs and loomed over her. His bride.
Mo chridhe.
He pushed into her, and her sharp gasp caused him to still. “Isolde?” His husky voice filled the chamber, as lust and want pounded through his veins.
“Don’t stop, William,” she whispered, and wrapped her legs around his thighs.
His name on her lips was more potent than he’d ever imagined, and the last tattered remnants of his control fled.
Christ, she was so tight around him, an exquisite sheath of flame and silk. He thrust into her, and nothing mattered but this moment, this woman, and when she shattered around him, he followed her over the precipice.
Chapter Eighteen
Isolde stirred, anunfamiliar weight wrapped around her, and still half asleep she snuggled closer to the solid warmth pressed against her back. It was comforting, and felt oddly right, and she gave a small smile, luxuriating in the blissful languor that bathed her mind.
A gentle, unhurried breeze caressed her hair. For a few pleasurable moments she sank into the rhythmic sensation of utter peace. Such a strange dream. If only she could stay here. And as soon as the wish floated through her, a discordant note hummed along the edges of her senses.
No, it wasn’t a breeze that teased her hair.
Breathing.
Her eyes sprung open. Dark shadows swathed the chamber, relieved by a subdued, flickering glow from the hearth. William’s arm was securely around her, holding her as close in sleep as it had last night.
Heat suffused her as memories of last night danced through her mind. She had imagined nothing could be as wonderful as those stolen hours in the solar at Sgur. How could anything be as perfect as that, when Njord didn’t even exist?
Yet William had managed the impossible. Her foolish pledge to remain aloof during the necessity of their consummation had turned to ashes the instant he had entered the chamber, and instead of ice, fire had triumphed.
Worse, she couldn’t even summon the energy to berate herself for the betrayal. For all she could think of was how she longed to lose herself in his arms once again.
Her breath stalled in her throat as his fingertips stroked her naked waist. Exquisite tremors raced across her sensitized skin, and she pressed her thighs together, but to no avail. Dampness bloomed, warm and irresistible, a potent reminder of how readily her body had surrendered to William.
That didn’t mean she was enslaved to her lust. She had done her duty last night, and there was no reason to tarry in his bed. She’d rise and start the day. Now she was mistress of his castle, there was plenty to occupy her, and she would never give him reason to doubt her ability.
But instead of following through on her noble decision, desire licked through her as unmistakable evidence of his arousal thickened against the curve of her bottom. Her heart thundered in her breast, and it was increasingly difficult to remain absolutely still when all she wanted was to twist around and have him take her once again.
