“Ye are maddening, Isabelle,” he murmured against her lips, the words rough and yet full of longing. “And ye make it impossible to stay away.” His voice trembled as desire and frustration mingled.
Every brush of his hand along her arms, the gentle grip on her waist, made her pulse race. She shivered under the intensity, the closeness of him awakening a part of her she hadn’t realized existed.
Declan tilted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his, and his eyes burned with hunger and need.
“Look at me, Isabelle,” he commanded softly, and she obeyed, caught in the gravity of his presence. Her hands traced the hard planes of his shoulders, marveling at the taut strength beneath his skin.
“I am terrified of being pleasured, and yet I cannae resist ye,” she admitted, her voice breathy.
He pressed a little closer, arms sliding around her, holding her against him, and she felt the warmth of his chest, the power in the sweep of his muscles.
“Ye drive me mad with that delicate hand of yers,” he growled though the words softened against her hair.
She pressed her forehead to his, feeling the heat of him seep into her own skin, the rapid beat of her heart matching his.
“Then perhaps ye will have to learn to live with madness, me Laird ,” she teased, daring him, and his hand tightened slightly at her waist in response.
Their lips met again, softer this time, exploring, teasing, lingering, and Isabelle felt a thrill shoot through her as he held her.
Every brush of his fingers across her arms, the gentle sweep along her back, made her pulse quicken.
“Ye are mine, Isabelle, and I will protect ye, but I also want to taste ye more,” he murmured, voice low and rough, pressing his forehead against hers.
Isabelle let her hands roam over his chest and arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath, and marveling at the power he radiated.
“I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered, voice soft, nearly lost in the heat of the moment.
He lowered his hand to her breast, brushing his lips along her cheek, and she gasped at the intimate closeness.
“Nor I,” he admitted, “and I’ll never tire of it nor of ye.”
He pulled her day dress off, leaving her in her almost sheer nightshift. He pulled her nightshift up slowly, and Isabelle was confused.
What is happening? Will we go too far?
She let his hands roam gently along her legs up to her thighs, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns as if anchoring her to him.
“Ye’ve a fire in ye that cannae be tamed, Isabelle,” he said, voice rough, “yet I will try.”
She leaned back as he opened her thighs gently. She found it shocking inhaling his scent, feeling her body relax in the embrace, yet trembling under the intensity of his gaze.
“Dinnae be afraid of me touch, Isabelle. Yer virtue will remain intact,” he said.
She felt his hand move between her thighs, and she lost control. Her breath sucked in, sharp and fast. His dark eyes locked on her as he moved his thumb against a place that felt most tender to his touch.
“Aye, there it is, lass,” he said.
She bit her lower lip as his thumb moved in soft circles. Her thighs opened wider as she sat on that chair, unsure of why she was doing what she was doing.
“Ye are mine, Isabelle, and that means all of ye. This, yer most sacred of places, is mine and nae one else’s,” he whispered, the heat in his words making her stomach tighten.
A blush heated her face. He cupped her gently, thumb brushing along her rosebud, and she felt a delicious warmth flood through her.
“I dinnae ken what comes over me…” she confessed softly, voice trembling.
“Nor I,” he admitted, teasing her flesh, “and I dinnae wish to find out for fear of losing my wits entirely.”
Isabelle moaned softly, heart fluttering, letting herself melt into the safety and intensity of him. The sensation deep in her belly growing with every pressing of his thumb.
