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“Marry me, and you will never regret loving me,” Alasdair promised fiercely.
Her mind swirled, and her body came alive at the promise in his tone. If she didn’t trust him, the clawing empty ache that had been living inside her since the moment she told him she didn’t love him years ago would never be filled. And she loved him so much, she wept from the intensity. She had never stopped either, and since he came back, the possibilities of true happiness had been hovering, and she was tired of doubts belittling her joy. Only a fool would think the future was absolutely certain. And Willow was no fool. She wiggled in his arms, and he gave her enough space so she could tug his lips to her. “I want you, now and always—”
Her words were smothered as he seized her lips in a powerful kiss. Desire shot through her. His tongue stroked into her mouth with exquisite thoroughness, and any resistance she possessed caught fire and burned to ashes in mere seconds. He smelled lush and rich—evocative. He tasted even better. Alasdair pressed kisses over the arc of her throat, muttering sweet nonsense as he stormed all her defenses with bliss.
“I need you, Alasdair, love me,” she urged huskily.
He pulled from her. Sounds shifted in the room, and she inhaled sharply as she interpreted the sound of his shirt being drawn over his head and tossed away, followed by the soft purr of his breeches sliding off his skin. She waited, laden heat surging through her limbs. He pressed her body to his, and she jolted at the contact.
He was naked.
He undressed her in silence. Slowly unfastening the tiny buttons that adorned the back of the stiff satin of her dress, she listened to it as it swished to the carpet. He untied her lace festooned petticoats, and they joined her dress around her feet. His fingers moved to unlace her stays and swiftly they too slithered to the ground.
He turned her to him, and her heart clenched at the kiss he pressed against her forehead.
She stroked her hands over well-defined muscles, enjoying the heat and power of his body. Her fingers trailed over his abdomen down to his thighs and brushed against the heated length of him. She gasped at the silky feel. Her fingertips glided over his shaft, and a muttered curse slipped from him. He was long and thick, and she could feel the pulsing need within him. Willow had seen the male form presented in sculptures and paintings. And had been avidly curious about those parts that were so different from hers. The reality far exceeded everything she could have imagined. She gripped him tightly, her fingers barely closing around his length. As a whole he was magnificent. And she desperately wanted him. He buried his face in her neck, inhaled deeply, then gently stroked the tip of his finger over her back.
“Don’t ever doubt me, Willow. Don’t walk away from me, from this, from us,” he said, his voice now roughened.
His words splintered the dam of doubt she had been clinging onto. “Yes,” she whispered. “Never again. Whenever I falter, I will always trust you.”
That was all it took.
He yanked her hard against his chest and claimed her lips. Devoured her. He trailed kisses against her neck and down to her breasts, which were heavy with arousal. She bucked as he flicked his tongue over her throbbing nipple. As if impatient, he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed in the center of the room. He laid her down and kept trailing kisses over her body without breaking his tender assault. He slid his tongue down to her stomach, licking her navel, and then even lower to her most intimate valley. Willow’s breathing fractured as confusion and lust hazed her mind. He wouldn’t. He did. She arched her hips, lost in the bliss twisting through her veins. He licked and nibbled at her wet flesh, drawing moans and whimpers from her lips.
Her body was on fire with sensations.
She lowered her hand, feeling and encountering his head. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to grip the strands of his curly hair as she arched even more onto his tormenting tongue. She was rewarded with waves of ecstasy splintering through her body. He did not stop his sensual assault, now combining fingers with his tongue. He slipped one, two, and then three fingers inside of her slickness.
“Alasdair,” she gasped.
The sharp bite of pain had a sob clawing from her throat. Then the sweetest of pleasure rushed through her veins. She lost awareness of everything, but the feel of his fingers deep inside of her.
He climbed over her, all power and grace. The heat of his body, the strength of him, caged her, protected even as it intimidated. He was pure hardness where she was voluptuously soft. He tilted her hips and pressed against her wet aching entrance, and then he plunged deep. Willow gasped at the shock of his entry, tightening her grip on his sweat slicked shoulders.
Alasdair held himself still, kissing her until she squirmed, desperate for him to move and end the pressure low in her stomach. But a greater need to bare her soul to him rose in her.
“I should never have run from your love, your passion. I feel safe with you,” she confessed. “I feel loved and protected. I feel like me. Like nothing has changed, and I can be who I am, without being pitied and doubted. I worried my disability would wear on you and eventually turn you to disdain. But I see now that it is not possible. Because you love me with all your being. The adoration I feel in your touch can never fade. And I love you with all of me, Alasdair.”
He trembled in reaction to her declaration, dropping his forehead to hers.
She coasted her hands over his back, and curved her hands possessively over his buttocks, pressed her heels into the bed and arched up to him. It was all the encouragement he needed.
Sweet heavens. The pull of his flesh as he withdrew and then sank into her was glorious. Pleasure cascaded through her and she moaned into his kiss, loving the strength he took her with. She did not feel fragile, but like a woman, his woman. She gloried in the feel of his powerful body surging inside of her. The sweetest erotic pain blended with the pleasure of each deep thrust, but she never wanted him to stop.
She never wanted this interlude to end.
She loved him.
Alasdair kept his thrusts slow and deep, delighting in the way Willow clung to him, and the sweet moans spilling from her throat. Passionately, she yielded to him, and he took it all. It was a feast of the senses as they licked and explored each other. Every touch was an imprint, a brand across his soul. Every sob of pleasure that slipped from her chained him deeper into need. He had to give her everything.
Her delicate fingers skimmed across his brow.
“I desire to be your wife, Alasdair.”
He stilled his thrusting and peered down at her. Joy, wonder, and lust suffused her face. She lifted her mouth to his, and he succumbed to the need burning inside of him. She did not wrest his control from h
im, he willingly surrendered it at her declaration, trusting her to meet his passion.
