Page 46 of Dark Victory

She thought about everyone always saying how elegant she was, how proper and genteel, how she was held up as the perfect lady, and she started to laugh somewhat hysterically.

Was that woman forever gone? Or would she reappear when Macleod went back to the Middle Ages?

If he came to her now, which woman would climb into his bed?

She wanted some of that perfect lady back. She wanted the grace, the good humor, the confidence, the unflappable composure. She even liked being so preppie! But she really, really wanted to be able to continue to enjoy a man in bed. If she could hold on to one thing, it would be her newfound passion.

She never wanted to fake it again.

She slowly turned.

Macleod stood on the bathroom’s threshold. She hadn’t locked the door. Of course she hadn’t, because she had wanted him to come to her. Without turning, not taking his eyes from her, he closed the door behind him and pulled the plaid away from his tense body. He tossed it aside. “Be careful what ye wish for.”

She inhaled.

He started forward, stiffly aroused. “Ye dinna need to pleasure yerself, Tabitha, when I am here to do it fer ye.”

She dropped her hands, aware of her resistance crumbling, and whispered, “Macleod…I’m frightened.”

He took her hands in his, and his long, strong fingers closed over hers. For an instant, as he looked into her eyes, she thought that there was something possessive in the action. She thrilled but her fear increased.

“Maybe I can’t do it again.”

He began to smile. “Ye can do it, Tabitha, ye may trust me on that.”

“I was frigid, Macleod, until you. Do you know what that means?” she cried desperately.

“I ken.” He laid her hands on his shoulders. “It means ye faked it every time.”

“I’ve had, like, two orgasms with a man in my entire life. I have been dead inside!”

“But now ye’re with me.” And he tilted up her chin before running a finger down her body, from the hollow of her collarbone to the tip of her breast, her navel and then to the most swollen aching part of her pubis.

She gasped, tears forming, because she’d wanted him to touch her again so badly ever since the first time. Tabby seized his shoulders. His finger pressed low and deep, then high and she stiffened entirely, throwing her head back, the wave of pleasure rapidly building, releasing the raging torment.

“I canna bear yer pain,” he said bluntly, clasping her waist. His fingers tightened there. She tried to protest. His eyes gleaming, his face hard and determined, he pulled her abruptly forward. She gasped as the long, solid ridge of his manhood was crushed between them.

The shower started to spin.

She cried out. She couldn’t stand it. “Make me come, Macleod.”

He gave a sexual sound, seized that hank of her hair again, tilting her face upward, toward his. Tabby couldn’t breathe. Their gazes locked. Pleasure mingled with pain while he throbbed hotter and harder against her. She couldn’t stand it. For the second time in her life, she did not want foreplay and she did not need it. “You win, I lose. Hurry, Macleod,” she said harshly.

For one moment, he looked at her, his face determined, his eyes ablaze with lust and desire, his huge manhood pressing against her belly. Then he smiled and moved.

He abruptly lifted her leg and wrapped her calf over his hip. Tabby climbed up on him and he helped her, lifting her other leg. He spun her around as she locked her ankles against the small of his back, clawing him mercilessly and pushing down onto him. She realized she couldn’t impale herself, not until he allowed it, and she started to weep against his huge shoulder, the friction between them mind-blowing.

Her back against the tile wall, he tugged on her hair, hard. “Look at me, Tabitha.”

She did, furiously. “Damn you…damn you.”

Anchoring her hips, holding her back to the wall, he thrust upward.

She choked as he stabbed his entire huge length into her. She was shocked to feel so much pleasure. She hadn’t imagined it the first time. She began to spin out of control, yet she was desperate for more. She clawed him. Ecstasy blinded her. She soared off the precipice, into a zillion stars, shattering in more pain and pleasure than could possibly exist. “Harder,” she wept. “More.”

She seemed to climax again, blinded by him now, his mouth tearing at hers, her mouth tearing at his. Each climax was more intense than the previous one. She whirled in so much ecstasy she couldn’t stand it and she screamed in release after release. His skin shredded under her nails.

She became aware of his cries, his semen burning inside her. She became aware that she was on the bathroom vanity, but otherwise, in the exact same position, her legs locked around his hips. She blinked and realized she had a death grip on his shoulders, and he remained embedded within her. Having him inside her was sheer heaven. She didn’t know how long they had been going at it, nor did she care.