He was grinning as he knelt beside her. She shifted to allow him to take her kirtle up, and obligingly raised her arms for him to pull it over her head.
She was shaking. Half with shock at her own boldness, and the other half with the sheer wanton pleasure that rushed through every fiber of her body.
He slowly rolled down her stockings, holding up each leg in turn and layering kisses along her leg from her knee to her ankle as he pulled them off. Then he reached for her shirt, finishing unlacing it so that it fell over her shoulder exposing her breasts. It was the work of only a moment for her to raise her arms and for him to remove it.
Naked to his gaze, save for her petticoat, she lay back on the pillow, enjoying the expressions flickering over his face. His eyes were black and hooded as he brushed the sensitive nub of her breasts with his fingers, circling them with finger and thumb so that she cried out and thrashed her head on the pillow.
He licked his lips and leaned down as if he was at a feast and had just spied a delicate morsel that he could not forgo. As his lips closed around the tip of her breast she moaned again, biting her lip for the wild sensation that took her by surprise. A conduit between her nub and the space between her thighs drove the sensation in a blissful cascade, making her writhe with the pleasure of it.
He sat up, his fingers reaching for the string tying her petticoat.
She gasped and raised her hips so he could pull it down and over her feet, so that, at last, she lay naked before him.
Her cheeks burned as he gave a satisfied grunt, his gaze raking her from head to toe, lingering at her breasts, moving down to linger again on her mound and the triangle of curls between her thighs.
Without further delay, he rose to his feet. With nimble fingers he unlaced his shirt before pulling it over his head and exposing his bare torso to Annora’s hungering eyes.
She gasped. He was magnificent. The shadows cast by the firelight outlined every muscle of his shoulders and his broad chest with its spattering of rough, black, hair. She relished the sight of his strong arms, the muscles knotted and powerful, and the flat belly, tapering to an arrow of hair drawing her eyes below his waistline.
He undid the button of his britches and untied the lacing to open his trews where the bulge was unmistakable.
She held her breath as he folded back the fabric, releasing his shaft, her eyes glued to every majestic inch of him.
He looked at her gazing at him wide-eyed, her mouth ajar, and he laughed.
“Look yer fill, lass, fer this will be yer plaything this night.”
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “And, pray tell, what will be yer plaything?” Her voice was little more than a croak.
He smiled again, his finger tracing the delicate outline of her breast.
“Ye spread before me, naked as ye are, is the most beautiful playground of all. Me plaything will be all of ye.” He bent to whisper in her ear. “Me fingers will toy wi’ ye fer yer enjoyment as well as mine, exploring all yer secret places.”
She trembled with wanting him.
It had all become so crystal clear. Edmund was the man she was destined to be with. There could never be another. She would give herself to him and even if her father should find her and demand her return, she would not give herself to any man but him. She would tell her father that she had consummated her love with Edmund Sinclair MacNeacail and there could never be any question of her marriage to Radcliffe or any other wretched old nobleman her father chose for her.
Her heart opened fully to him as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, taking her lips again in a demanding, greedy kiss, that robbed her breath and flew every thought from her head. All that remained was sensation: the, rasping, urgent, sound of his breath, the slight whisky taste of his lips on hers, the bliss of the warm hard touch of his fingers on her breast, the press of his rigid shaft against the soft dampness between her thighs.
Impatient, she writhed against him. Now her mind was made up she wanted nothing more than for him to make her his, it was like a fire burning deep inside that only Edmund’s touch could vanquish.
And oh, how she desired his touch.
With growing urgency his fingers traced the contours of her body, her waist, her hip, until they came to the place at her thighs where the flames burned the brightest.
He stroked over her mound and her slick nether lips; his touch sent the flames higher. She moaned against his hand, her hips rising unbidden to meet it, and she opened to him with a rapturous moan.
“Take me, Edmund, I cannae wait another minute fer ye.”
“I dinnae wish tae cause pain, the first time…”
She answered him through gritted teeth. “I cannae help this feeling, I wish tae be yers. God’s hooks, I dinnae wish tae wait.”
He kissed her then, and all the pent-up passion and longing that had passed between them since they’d first set eyes on each other was in their kiss.
He rolled her onto her back and placed himself above her, his shaft angled against her mound, their hips rising and falling together. She lifted her legs, spreading her knees wide, afraid of the size of him, but reveling in the feel of his hard shaft against her softness. She wriggled and he groaned, stroking her, pushing his tip into her entrance, stretching her.
She lay back on the pillows and opened her eyes. His gaze locked with hers as he thrust gently into her. She bit her lower lip, feeling him slide inside her, igniting every tiny part of her body.
