Page 42 of The Lass Abducted the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 4)

The last word and what it entailed caused an overwhelming wave of heat to suffuse over her. She would not be able to resist any consummation, wedding or otherwise.

Throwing the bedclothes aside, she turned her cotton-clad silhouette to him. “Fine, be done with it.” She was supposed to say it as resistance, but it came as provocation.

A side-smirk stretched those sculpted lips while his eyes burned her. “By the time I am done with it, we'll both be sweaty and panting.” This seemed to come an octave lower.

The images that his answer produced in her overactive imagination spread a flush on her skin and a melting in her core.

Their clasped gazes shot lightning enough to flash the whole chamber. Why fight a lost battle against her own desires? She had wanted this man for over four years; she had tried not to for the same time. Good or not, they ended up tying the knot. The perks of it beckoned too tempting for refusal.

In a tone she did not recognise as hers, she moistened her lips. “Undress, McKendrick,” the command came silky.

One large hand lifted to the clasp holding his tartan over a broad shoulder. “Technically, you’re a McKendrick now,” the practical comment aired as a caress.

“I’ll always be a Darroch,” she replied. Only for the green, black and white wool falling past his shirt distract her.

This silenced her, in expectation to enjoy her dream come true, seeing this man naked before her.

The first button undone on his shirt revealed his thick throat and Adam’s apple. The second presented her with the top of his chest, the skin tanned with his open-air work. The third gave her the hint of hair peppered skin. The last, nearly made her pounce on him. But when he took it off through his head, she became speechless. Bunched arms, solid pectorals, flat abs and the hair leading under the belt to the place she had merely felt against her hips. Hazel eyes strolled up and down his Apollonian form avidly.

“Was this part of your fantasies?” he asked, hand on his belt, remembering her confession of days previously.

She thought none of her fantasies would have prepared her for the reality of watching him coming naked in her own chamber. “They were naïve,” she breathed mesmerised.

His strong fingers pulled the belt to unbuckle it. “I’ve been wondering what you hide under this shapeless cotton too,” he admitted, his eyes strolling up and down said fabric.

At this point, the belt fell to the carpet together with the rest of h

is tartan.

Her dry throat sucked in air.

He was even more glorious than any wild flight of her imagination might have conjured. The dark cluster of hair between his legs proved the perfect background for the thick, long shaft rising proud under her scrutiny. The urge to touch it, register its texture, girth dominated her.

She was too small for him.

And she could not care less. She would take everything greedily and revel in securing it firmly in her femininity.

He afforded her no time for more fantasies when he sat on the edge of the mattress, one palm on the top of her bare foot.

“I’ll kiss every inch of you from bottom to top and then all the way back until I have explored every secret you hide,” he forewarned. His sculpted lips lowered to her toes to start his endeavour followed by a capable hand. The other hand covered the other ankle smoothing it on its way up her limb.

The sight of that enormous man dedicating all his attention to her was simply aphrodisiac. Her nerves primed, heightening the sensations, creating heated anticipation. He reached her ankle, bunching the night rail up on his way past her shin, until he came to her knees. The other hand palmed behind one while he nuzzled behind its twin, causing shivers to ran through her. With his stubble, he grazed her, the abrasion reverberating on every cell as he bunched the fabric around the top of her thighs. Everything combined to lead her to combustion. The feel of his hands, the prickling of his stubble, the smoothness of his lips, the warm breath, and the whisper of the cotton. That banquet of a mouth landed open kisses over her thigh.

He uncovered the centre where the consequences of his caresses coalesced. Her core had, from the minute he came in, melted, heated, hungered; and now it fairly begged. Mussed head lifted to her, those dark eyes contained a wicked glint. Just to go down again and plant a kiss on her hips, an inch away from the patch of hair calling to him. Her breath hitched, but she preferred to send her soul to hell than to ask him to stay there.

The large hands splayed over her waist, pressing his lips on their way up her side, ignoring her breasts that clamoured for him. But he seemed to prefer her shoulder, breastbone, dragging over her neck while she helped him get rid of her nightgown.

Strong arms braced his body over hers as his stare took in the whole of her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he rasped as if transfixed.

“And you’re Apollo Belvedere come to life,” she gave back, not minding if she sounded utterly besotted.

An amused spark came to his eyes. “Good, because you’ll see I’m no cold marble,” he rumbled.

And then he glued all that virile frame to her, wedging between her thighs, pressing his sex to hers, and she felt his entire steaming body on hers. A sigh escaped her a second before his mouth captured hers.

The world disappeared.

---