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She opened for him, clutching herself to him, spine arching for more contact. Their mouths fused carnal and unbridled, tongues danced, chased, entwined. The kiss escalated, becoming savage and thirsty.
They caught fire, kissing until there was no breath left. Her fingers dived in his hair as his mouth lowered to her throat and chest. It latched on one breast, his palm on its twin, and he suckled avidly as if his life depended on it. He alternated dusky nipples, and she cradled his hips between her flexed knees.
She would surely combust with this torrent of sensuality. He, on the other hand, did not relent. He went lower, sawing breath steaming on her skin. Lower still, his mouth latched to her core making her fear she would pass out with so much delectation. His tongue dived in her wetness extracting a moan from her. His fists grabbed her thigh for purchase, her palms pulling him even closer. He licked, he suckled, he grazed as if she offered a feast for his rapacity. His thumbs opened her to him to intensify the agony until that wet hot tongue had tortured the poor button to breaking point. She splintered with an unrepressed scream while he rode her to the end of her forces.
Not giving her any time to clear her head, he climbed up, lacing her waist with a bunched arm. “I’m making you my wife now,” he said eyes merged on hers. “You’ll be mine, only mine.”
She felt his erection at her entrance as their gazes were still locked. He pushed. Deep.
A sound of extreme delight escaped her at this first intimate contact with the man she had dreamed of for so long. The stinging sensation when he broke her hymen was inevitable.
He froze as her breath accelerated in a quest to stop the discomfort.
His head nose-dived for another scorching kiss that had her forgetting everything but him.
By the time he lifted his head, there was no trace of discomfort, just greed, voracity. “Move, Lachlan, before I die!” she pleaded.
His hips backed off in between heavy breaths, and he lunged in, devastating her with pleasure.
“Bluidy hell, Moira, you’re delicious,” the growl vibrated on her.
He repeated the move, then once more, and took her to madness. Her hips moved with him, craving, seeking. She held him, arms and legs, like a vice, their sweat favouring the sliding of their skin. It seemed he ploughed deeper and deeper.
Her core reacted to his penetration a thousand times more. She opened the widest to take all he gave, she moved in search of more. And went mindless at the disintegration he caused in her for the second time. But this one came a hundred notches more intense making her feel she had transformed in a puddle of heat.
He started thrusting vigorously, serrated breathing and grunts coming from him. Speeding, he reached the depth of her, features contorting harshly. Until he pounded the deepest. She felt the rush of his delivery, his spine arched, his long growl loud. He sagged on her breathless and she held him, never wanting to let go.
When their breathless state had gone back to normal, Lachlan lifted his head from the curve of her neck and directed his dark gaze at her.
“Are you all right?” he rasped, still lodged in her.
“Yes,” she breathed. “This was…this was…” she would say addictive, but did not want to give him even more fodder for his natural arrogance. “…good.” She settled for after a few seconds.
“Only good?” his quizzical question amused her. “Darroch, you’ve just wrenched the hell out of me!” Literally and figuratively, by the looks of it.
“Nice for starters, then, McKendrick,” she compromised playfully.
“Stubborn lass,” he muttered under his breath as he detached himself from her and went to the basin. He brought a washing cloth back and started taking care of her.
Apt hands washed the vestiges of her former maiden state, causing her to suck in air at the sensation. If she was sore, she did not feel it.
After cleaning himself, he put the cloth back and lay beside her, enfolding her in his arms. Despite her bragging, she fell asleep at once.
Lachlan watched Moira’s slumber against his chest still amazed at what just took place in this bed. Never did he feel this sated in his entire life. Not since he turned sixteen, at least. And a twenty-something lass at Beltane pulled him to a secluded place to show him what he could do with his…
And yet, he never felt like this in his life. When she talked about a separate-lives marriage, he had nearly doubled over himself with the prospect of not taking her to bed. Yes, well, she was already in bed. He had come up with that nonsense of husbandly rights. But the lass saved him in the last hour by acquiescing to his request. And, damn, he must confess that as soon as his body came in contact with hers, he was a lost man. His arousal had been so absolute, he had feared he would not last. The effort had him literally sweating for it.
He saw she caught fire at his first touch. To tell the truth, as she commanded him to undress, he had been doomed. Knowing she fantasised with him, that she desired him, proved to be a potent aphrodisiac. His intention was to go slow, guarantee that she enjoyed every minute. The success rate lay in the middle as he managed to keep his control until he kissed her. After that, he was a goner at risk of shaming himself with a mere kiss. The way she held him tight, her utter pleasure at his caresses, her uninhibited response, even the sounds she made pushed him to the edge. As he finally, finally let himself go, he came completely undone, no finesse, nothing left.
At that moment, he lay there awake, cradling the infernal waif in her sleep. A new first to add to the others the lass threw at him. The impetus to wake her up and start all over again thrashing in him to the point he must lock his muscles to keep still.
Determined to let her have her rest, he closed his eyes and invoked his sleep.
He awoke with feather lips trailing down his neck as he grunted in appreciation. His eyes opened to register the first grey light of morning and his wife taking the bedclothes out of the way to explore his nakedness. Fingers lightly scratched his dark nipple while her treacherous mouth covered the other. Where did she learn this, for pity’s sake? He saw stars.
“Moira,” he groaned. “What are you about?” The lass had not the slightest idea of what she was doing to him.
That mass of riotous curls lifted, hazel eyes focusing on him. “Lachlan, more,” she breathed and went back to her task on his nipples.
