Page 48 of Loched in Love

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve met people I thought were only myth and legend, but for whatever reason, I decide to be brutally honest with him, because I can’t take much more. “I don’t know what’s happening or why Lachlan, but I’m completely and unbearably aroused right now, and it’s making me crazy.”

Lachlan blinks, as if the sudden revelation catches him completely off guard as he processes the real reason for my state of breathing, and the shock in his gaze makes me want to wrap myself around him and kiss him that much harder.

Chapter 17

ELENA PIERSON

“Och. I’ve no doubt Vivian doused you with a hefty dose of her magic and I know she was using as much as she could to keep us there. It’s an aphrodisiac. Let me help you,” he says.

I melt.

Lachlan doesn’t hesitate. Seeing the distress I’m in, he pulls me into his arms, and his mouth finds mine in a pleasure inducing kiss that instantly softens the desperate edge I need slaked. He lifts me easily, moving us toward the four-poster bed and shifts his weight over me, providing my body with the heavy and solid pressure my overstimulated senses are screaming for.

When Lachlan finally pulls back and allows me breath, I’m trembling, and my hands are gripping the flannel of his shirt like a lifeline.

True to my nature, I scramble to make sense of the oncoming sensations using the only framework I know. “It’s just a dopamine surge going through my body,” I gasp out, my voice shaky as I try to gaze at him through a haze of desire. “I can barely think.”

I try to explain, knowing I’ve never felt this rush before, this needy sensation that seems to center on only him. Logically, I know it’s a stimuli going through my system, he’s obviously triggered my hypothalamus, and I can’t stop my response.

Lachlan lets out a low husky laugh that seems to reverberate through my skin. His hands slide firmly up my waist, completely unphased by my word vomit. “Elena, my wee woman, let go and let me make you feel good, aye?”

Knowing the science of what he can do to me only makes me more intensely aware of every chemical reaction I have to his caresses. And it’s quickly driving me to a fever pitch that leaves me breathless and helpless in his capable arms.

He leans down and his lips press to the sensitive skin at my throat, his hands finding the hem of my shirt. The intense deliberate focus of his touch completely shatters my ability to form coherent thought.

Instead of clinical definitions, sharp moans cut off my explanation.

“Lachlan, I need you,” I gasp when he reaches out and tugs at my nipple.

“I know, and I need you more, but we must take this slowly, aye?”

He pulls away, taking my shirt with him, and I’m left in only my bra, panties, and leggings, but what feelings I have about how overdressed he is in comparison fly out the window when he bends to kiss me.

With the soft bed at my back, and Lachlan caressing me at my front, our lips meet in a hot, wet slide, and a groan of surrender climbs my throat. His mouth works mine as the kiss turns more possessive and greedy, and I become consumed by the smell of cucumber melon and him.

He breaks the kiss and my hands bury in his thick red hair, pulling him down until his rough breath stutters against the crook of my neck. The heat rolling off his body is intoxicating, and I arch my hips upward, trying to get him even closer. I want and need him with every particle of my being, but he freezes, his entire frame locking into an unyielding wall of muscle above me.

I press a palm to his chest and gasp. A strange heavy vibration, a low rumble, that seems to resonate right through my own ribs and doesn’t sound human.

“Slow,” he rasps against my skin.

His voice is thick, painfully deep, as if the words are being dragged up from immense depth. I let out a frustrated grunt, my fingernails digging hard into his flannel covered back, demanding he give me more. For a split second, his eyes snap open and meet mine.

My breath catches.

His pupils are gone, leaving bright green light that seems to have swallowed his irises whole, turning his eyes into two endless turquoise pools that mirror the cool waves of the ocean.

He blinks, squeezes his gaze tight, and the illusion of the man returns.

But his touch changes. The frantic urgency of before is gone, replaced by agonizingly deliberate restraint. When his lips press to my pulse point, they trace my skin with terrifyingly gentle precision, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His hands glide down my waist, so featherlight it aches, yet I can feel the sheer uncompromising strength of his grip.

My impatient movements begin to dissolve under his absolute control, and I let myself just feel for a moment. My hands slide up his chest, and I can almost imagine the roughness of his hidden scales rippling beneath his skin.

He watches my face closely, searching for any hint of unease, but finds only my stark hunger. As if reassured by me, his large hands skate down to the waistband of my leggings, his touch torturously slow as he begins to peel the fabric from my legs.

Every inch of my skin he exposes is met with the heavy warmth of his gaze, treating me like the most precious treasures, and making any misgivings about my first time vanish like they never existed at all.

“Alright, my flower?” he asks.