She looked up at him, eyes wide, seeing not just the Laird but the man who had risked everything for her.
“I trust ye, Declan,” she whispered, the words heavy with longing and an unspoken promise, her body alive under his touch and the undeniable heat between them.
His hands lingered on her shoulders, tracing the line of her collarbone, and she shivered with a mixture of warmth and anticipation.
“Ye’ll nae be cold any longer, lass,” he murmured, fingers brushing a stray lock of damp hair from her face.
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the steady strength of his arms as he drew her close, heart meeting heart.
“I ken another way ye can warm me up, husband,” she observed.
She shifted her legs, opening her thighs. He groaned as he watched.
“Aye, I can do that if ye think it would help, wife,” he said with a smirk.
Declan’s hands moved with tender care over her breasts, massaging her with the gentlest of pressure.
She gasped as he cupped her, his thumb brushing against her pink rosy mounds.
“Ye’re mine, Isabelle,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion, “and I’ll pleasure ye now and forever.”
She responded by pressing her palm to his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin, and murmured, “And I am yours, Declan, aye, wholly and entirely.”
He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss across her lips then down along her neck until his mouth rested on her breasts, teasing and licking.
The act sent shivers down her spine. Her hands roamed to his shoulders, gripping gently, and he sighed against her skin, lips.
“I’ve wanted ye so, these days apart,” he admitted, eyes searching hers with a fire she could feel in her own veins.
“I felt it too, every moment, aching for ye,” she said.
Declan’s hand drifted lower, down to her waist, slowly moving between her thighs.
“Oh, Declan. I’ve longed for yer touch,” she moaned.
“And I to feel ye in me hands again,” he groaned.
His thumb traced a slow pattern on her secret place. She placed her leg on the edge of the tub, allowing him more room to roam.
Every stroke he made on her rosebud, deliberate, full of longing and reverence.
Isabelle felt herself leaning into every motion, her body humming with awareness, her heart swelling in the quiet intimacy between them.
“That feels so good,” she moaned.
“Aye, is it warming ye?” he teased.
“I’m very heated now,” she groaned.
The water rippled around them, but it was their closeness that set her skin alive, his strong hands grounding her as they moved together, a rhythm of intimacy.
She felt the pressure mounting between her thighs. The gentle pulse that lingered low in her belly.
“I’ve longed for ye to touch me like this,” she whispered.
Isabelle’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, his neck, and the broad plane of his chest, and each touch made her body hum with the desire to have him, body and soul.
“I was a fool nae to be in yer bed every night,” he admitted, voice hoarse with feeling, “and now, I’ll never let that happen ever again.”
