The pleasure was maddening, but he didn’t relent, not even when she pulled at his hair.
“Please, Ruaridh,” she cried out.
He groaned against her and increased the pace of his tongue and fingers, and soon she couldn’t hold back her moans as white heat began to build in her core.
“Ruaridh!”
She felt the world shatter into nothing as everything in her began to spasm. It was even better than the first time.
She fell back limply onto the ground, unable to do more than look at him, but when she noticed him pulling back, she sat up.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “Is that…” She swallowed. “Is that all?”
His eyes widened, but then he gave a knowing smile, leaning in till her body thrummed in anticipation.
“Daenae worry, lass,” he muttered darkly. “There are only a few days left until our wedding, and I daenae intend to stop meself any longer.”
Her face reddened at his dark promise, but when he kissed her and then turned to pull her against his chest, she found herself smiling softly. She didn’t have anything to fear with this man, who treated her tenderly even when his lust burned as hot as it did.
Her heart was thudding in an unsteady rhythm as she lay against him, but his was even faster, and she smiled, burying her face in his chest. He was so warm and solid that it felt as though she were living in a dream she did not want to wake up from.
“Let us return to the castle before we’re missed,” he said suddenly, rising to his feet and helping her up.
She nodded with a pout and let him lead her by the hand. Her knees still quivered, and her body thrummed with the echoes of his touch. Their proximity did nothing to quell the flames of desire in her belly, and with how gently he guided her, her heart swelled in her chest.
This was what she had been looking for in a match—softness, desire, and… love.
The realization hit her with a force that had her heart racing in her chest. She had fallen in love with this kind man, and for once, she felt no fear of the future.
A disbelieving laugh escaped her, drawing his concerned eyes to her.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing is wrong,” she answered. “Everything is perfect.”
25
Perverse excitement oozed from Ruaridh’s pores as he made his way to Violet’s room. He had never felt a feeling so thrilling. He flexed his fingers in anticipation.
From the very moment she had descended into the dining hall in that dress that showed her breasts in their perfect fullness whenever she took a breath, he had been aching to pull down her petticoats and feast on her.
She had taken a seat next to him, and her scent, reminiscent of vanilla, filled his nose, overpowering the smell of Cook’s famous roast. She knew what she was doing when she put on her best dress in her most flushed state, which called attention to the sweetest parts of her. She had to have known because she had only looked at him with sultry eyes and had dropped her voice many octaves when speaking to him.
When dinner ended, he had given her an hour to prepare herself before he left the table. He had given her a look to let her knowthat he would be visiting her that evening and needed her in a more accessible state—in her chemise.
Now, he rapped a knuckle against her door.
He would not take her to the loch like he did last night. He would spread her over the smooth sheets of her bed and consume her. He already knew her taste.
He licked his lips.
He knew her sweetness and her saltiness. He knew her softness and her hardness, and he had shown her how those textures and flavors could bring her ecstasy.
What he wanted to show her anew was the gymnastics that magnified that pleasure and could only be achieved atop the softness of a mattress… and perhaps some furniture.
The door creaked, and his heart leaped so fast that it almost dislodged from its spot. When the gap revealed her maid’s face, his heart stopped beating.
“Good evening, me Laird.” She bowed, unaware of his inner turmoil.
