Page 88 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

She whimpered. She hadn’t expected how much she would need him. How urgent it would feel. She was already arching into him when he moved to line himself up.

His eyes searched hers. “Ye’re sure?”

She lifted her hips. “Tav,” she gasped. “Please.”

When he pressed inside her, she gasped from the fullness of it. From the impossible, unbearable stretch of the feeling of him inside her.

He stopped immediately, kissing her cheek, her jaw.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, even as her nails dug into his back. “Dinnae stop. Please.”

He moved slowly. So slowly. Letting her adjust. Letting her pull him deeper, inch by inch.

And then he was fully inside her.

The fullness of it stole her breath. It wasn’t just the stretch of him, the unfamiliar pressure, but the way it made everything else fall away. Like she was being reshaped from the inside out. Her heart beat in her ears, fast and panicked and alive. There was a moment where she thought she might cry, not from pain but from the terrifying intimacy of it. She had never been seen like this. Never been claimed like this. Never let someone so close that it felt like her body and soul blurred at the edges.

They were still for a moment.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her thighs trembled against his hips. She clung to his shoulders like she might fall through the mattress if she let go. He was holding himself above her, one hand cupping her cheek, his forehead pressed to hers, whispering her name like it was a question and an answer all at once.

Then he moved.

She cried out softly, clutching him to her. It hurt. But it also didn’t.

“I’ve got ye,” he whispered. “I’ve got ye.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her like she couldn’t stand any space between them. Her legs circled his waist, ankles locking as if to hold him in place. Her body met his with growing urgency, hips tilting up to receive him again and again, the motion desperate, instinctive. Each thrust sent a ripple of heat through her, the pressure building fast, wild, uncontrollable.

They moved together in a rhythm older than language, primal and sacred all at once. Every shift of his hips dragged a gasp from her throat, every deep stroke making her feel fuller, tighter, like she was being undone from the inside out. The stretch had become pleasure, sharp and sweet, burning under her skin in waves that made her whole body arch into him.

“Agnes,” he whispered her name like a prayer against her ear, over and over, voice ragged, reverent.

His mouth found her throat, his lips brushing the soft skin there before dragging open-mouthed kisses down to her nipples. She broke every time he kissed her there, her gasps turning to cries, fingernails digging into the muscles of his back as her body shuddered around him.

The tension inside her coiled tighter, sharper. She was close. So close. And then—when she came, it was sudden, a white-hot bloom that started low and spread like fire. Her whole body clenched around him as she cried out his name, voice shaking, hands fisting in his hair. She felt herself unravel in his arms, and every thought burned away, every boundary breached. And he was still moving, chasing the edge with her, teeth gritted, breath harsh against her skin.

He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck with a groan, holding her like she was the last real thing in the world. They lay tangled, sweating, trembling, his heart pounding against hers.

Agnes stared at the ceiling. There was no going back to Caithness now.

Tears pricked her eyes. She knew it was selfish. But as Tav pulled the blanket over them and kissed her temple, she knew she would never go back.

She just didn’t know what it would cost.