The Highlander's English Bride (The Lairds Most Likely 6) - Page 82

He stroked the delicate petals of her sex, finding the center of her pleasure and teasing her until she was gasping and he felt the liquid rush of her arousal. How he loved the way her face changed, when she gave herself up to delight. She closed her eyes and parted her lips and released a long voluptuous sigh of surrender. That sound of female rapture made him feel like a king.

While she still trembled in the afterglow, he settled between her legs, poised to join his body to hers. With exquisite care, he edged forward, watching her face all the time. When a faint wince tightened her expression, he made himself stop.

"Are you all right, Emily?" he asked in a raw tone.

She opened her eyes and summoned a smile. Her hands clenched hard on his shoulders. "Don’t wait, Hamish. We’ve waited too long already."

By heaven, that was true.

He kissed her with all the reverence he felt for her. Gradually the stiffness seeped from her body, and he shifted deeper. Then deeper again, until she cried out and dug her fingernails into his skin. Tomorrow, he’d bear her mark. Dear God, he’d b

ear her mark for the rest of his life, whether the world could see it or not.

To his dismay, he saw a tear trickle from the corner of her eye. He stopped moving, although every atom in his body insisted he push home and claim her. "Emily, I’m sorry. I’ve hurt you."

"No," she said in a husky voice.

"Liar."

To his surprise, she angled up and kissed him with clumsy but volcanic passion. "It’s a little uncomfortable, but not too bad. I feel so...stretched."

Yes, she must. She closed so snug around him. The sensation was glorious – for him, at least.

Emily kissed him again, and he felt her desperate grip as he inched further. With a shaking hand, he reached down and tilted her upward. The change in position drew a guttural sound from her. This time, it wasn’t a whimper of pain but a moan of pleasure.

Encouraged, he kept going. As the delicious pressure built, she released another of those beguiling little hums of enjoyment.

She wriggled, and he felt her body loosen in sudden welcome. With a naturalness he would never have expected, he seated himself fully inside her.

"Hamish…" In that soft contralto, his name was a caress.

"My wife." Profound emotion flooded his heart. It vied with this unrivaled physical pleasure for the most powerful experience in his life.

Fergus was right. A wife wasn’t like other lassies. Or at least his wasn’t. This connection he formed with Emily beggared previous encounters the way the sun outshone every other object in the solar system.

He rose on his elbows until he could see her face. She was flushed, and her eyes were heavy and dark with arousal, green as forest pools. After his ferocious kisses, her lips were swollen and red.

When he’d taken her, she dug her fingernails into him. Hamish was a barbarian to admit it, but the sting had added extra spice to this first extraordinary connection.

Now she released her frantic clutch on his shoulders and began to stroke him, touching his arms and neck and chest. It was like she discovered him through touch alone, while all the time, her body held him as if she never meant to let him go.

"I had no idea," she murmured. Her hands trembled as she explored his damp skin. "The…closeness is astonishing, isn’t it?"

"Sublime." He dipped his head to kiss her. The urge to move became irresistible, but he was reluctant to shatter this radiance. "Does it still hurt?"

"A little. That’s part of the pleasure."

"Yes," Hamish said, glad she started to understand.

"You’ve occupied every inch of me," she said in that same wondering tone. "I don’t know where I end and where you begin."

His heart expanded to the point of bursting. "My darling…" he whispered and kissed her again.

Her roaming hands moved up and down his back, tracing his spine and the long muscles over his ribs. Her touch felt like a benediction. Wherever she stroked his skin, she made him whole in a way he’d never felt before.

He started to move and transcendent stillness changed to furious action. As he withdrew and thrust forward again, she made a raw sound of appreciation. Her grip on his back tightened. The next time, she lifted to greet him. He lost himself to the blazing dance of desire.

Emily crossed the barrier first. As her body clenched around him, she cried out on a high pure note that would echo in his ears forever. He held still while she shuddered and convulsed around him.

Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical
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