Page 61 of Steel & Surrender

Panting now, she looked down at where the pale globes of her small breasts thrust up at him. Her nipples had puckered with cold and arousal. In this light, their rose-pink tips contrasted against the paleness of her skin.

Greig sucked in a sharp breath—and when her gaze flicked up to his face, she marked the heat in his dark eyes, the way his lips parted, and the faint blush that had risen to his cheekbones.

He liked what he saw.

In truth, Brìghde had always been a bit self-conscious about her breasts. Not their size, really—large breasts could be a nuisance—but her nipples were as large and pink as two fat strawberries. She found them a little indecent.

But Greig was transfixed.

Whispering something she couldn’t quite catch under his breath, he bowed his head, drawing one of her nipples into his mouth.

Brìghde gasped. The heat of it, after the cold brush of the wind, came as a jolt, although when he began to slowly suck, all rational thought fled her mind.

Instead, she let out a low whimper and, without thinking, reached down, her fingers sliding into his hair. She gently pulled away the leather thong that held it at his nape, letting her fingers tangle in it.

God, each suck sent an aching arrow of pleasure straight through her belly and between her thighs.

Her lower belly felt as if it were melting.

Arousal quickened inside her. Something was waking up that had long lain dormant.

Reason whispered to her to stop. But her body—traitorous, hungry—did not listen.

This could only end badly.

But at that moment, she didn’t care. And when he shifted his focus to her other breast, sucking hungrily upon it, she groaned his name.

Shoving aside the remnants of their meal, Greig pushed himself up and over her, capturing her mouth with his once more.

His kisses were still slow and sensual, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he had no intention of ever leaving the summit of Ben More—or her.

It was an enchantment, though, one she knew would break.

And yet, she clung to it. Clung to him.

Her hands squeezed his shoulders before sliding down over his gambeson. His body was strong and warm underneath it, his chest impressively broad and muscular.

Excitement flickered low in her belly at the thought of being able to explore that skin with her fingertips. She wondered what it would taste like against her tongue.

Trembling under his sensual onslaught—by the Saints, this man could kiss—she slid one hand down further, past the waistband of his braies, and cupped his groin.

She hadn’t intended to be so bold, yet instinct drove her now, as it clearly did him.

God … he was hard, hot, and thick against her palm, and she slowly slid her hand down the length of him, marveling at his strength.

The tender flesh between her thighs began to ache then. She felt all wet and needy down there. The sensation was urgent, unfamiliar. Was this what other women spoke of in whispers—this heat, this reckless, unmoored wanting?

Suddenly, she craved for him to lift her skirts, free his shaft from his braies, and take her.

It would likely hurt. She was a virgin, and his member was of a goodly size.

She cared not. The desire to join with him was stronger than anything else.

Stronger than reason.

But then, as she stroked her hand back up the length of him, Greig froze. Then his hand closed firmly around her wrist. Breath rough, he dragged his mouth from hers. “We should stop,” he said huskily.

Brìghde’s belly clenched. The loss of him hit her like a blow. She wanted him to lose control, for them both to, yet his withdrawal left her feeling exposed.