Page 59 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

“Just… dinnae hold back” she whispered, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“Never again,” he promised, gathering her close. “Never again, mo chridhe.”

Her bare skin flushed under the firelight, every curve exposed to his hungry eyes.

“Ye’re bonny,” he breathed, “and burnin’ fer me. I can see it plain as day.”

He pressed his mouth to hers again, slow and deep, claiming her with a hunger that stole her breath. His hands slid down to cup her breasts, his thumbs tracing lazy circles over the taut peaks until a sharp ache bloomed beneath his touch.

She trembled, her lips parting as his mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck.

When he pulled back, his breath hot on her skin, Morag gasped with desire.

He spread their clothes on the ground, guiding her to sit on the small pile. His strong hands parted her thighs gently but firmly, lifting her legs so that her feet rested on his shoulders, exposing her slick, waiting flesh. Kneeling before her, his breath ghosted over her heated folds, heavy with promise.

“Tell me, Morag.” His voice was low, rough with desire. “Would ye rather I take ye slow, or dae ye want me tae take ye hard? Would ye like me tae tease ye like I did the other night?”

A shiver ran through her as her hips bucked slightly, craving his touch. Her voice came out as a whisper, heavy with need. “Hard… slow… just everything, Colin. All of ye.”

He chuckled deep and warm, his tongue darting over her tender nub with teasing precision, coaxing soft moans from her lips. His fingers slipped inside, curling expertly, coaxing her closer to the edge. Her back arched, her breath catching as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her.

“Colin …” she gasped, lost to the exquisite torment of his touch.

He pulled back, his voice low and husky. “Ye’re mine, Morag. Me Highland flower.” His hand traced her side, firm and possessive. “Say ye want me deep inside ye. Say it loud, and I’ll give ye everything ye desire.”

Her eyes met his, but she could not focus. “I want ye. Deep,” she breathed.

He lifted her gently, his hands firmly cupping her buttocks, holding her steady. With a low growl of satisfaction, he eased his manhood inside her, slow and deliberate, each inch filling her completely.

The stretch was deep and thrilling, a delicious ache that tightened around him as he paused, letting her adjust to his size.

Then, he settled into long, steady thrusts—measured and sure—sending heat spiraling through her with every movement. His hands gripped her hips tightly, guiding her as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, the world narrowing down to the press and pull of skin and muscle, breath and desire entwined.

“Ye feel so tight, so warm,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Ye make me want tae bury meself in ye forever.”

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as his pace quickened. Their breaths mingled, ragged and desperate.

“Would ye like me to go faster, Morag? Would ye like me tae show ye what passion truly means?” he asked between thrusts.

She nodded, her voice trembling. “Yes… faster… please, Colin.”

He unleashed himself then, wild and fierce, driving deep with each movement. Her cries filled the room, echoing off the stone walls and mingling with his low growls.

His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her closer as his breathing quickened. “God, Morag, ye’ll be the death of me.”

Her cheeks flushed, proud and shy all at once. “Am I daein’ it right?” she asked quietly.

His laughter rumbled like distant thunder. “Aye, I’ve never wanted it more.”

His hands moved on her, strong and sure, sliding up her torso to cup the heavy swell of her breasts. His fingers kneaded them with rough tenderness, his thumbs circling her taut nipples until they peaked sharply, aching beneath his touch.

“Ye’re mine, Morag,” he growled. “Nay one else will have ye.”

Slow and deliberate, he pushed inside her from behind, every inch sliding deep with a sweet, reverent stretch that stole her breath away. A low moan escaped her lips as her walls wrapped tight around him, nerves igniting where he filled her.

His hips rolled slowly at first, building a steady rhythm that sent waves of heat deep within her. She gasped softly, her back arching, her fingers curling into the sheets, her body rising to meet each thrust with growing hunger.

“Ah, Colin …” she breathed, her voice trembling, “mo-more…”

He growled low in response, his voice thick with need. “Ye’re close, bonny lass. Let it come.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening on her hips as his thrusts grew harder, faster. Their moans rose and fell in a fierce, urgent harmony.

As the fire built, his hands slid around her waist, flipping her over with practiced ease until she was on her back, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted in a breathless plea.

Without hesitation, he slid inside her again, deeper, harder, driving into her slick heat with raw, desperate power. Their bodies moved as one, a frantic rhythm pulsing between them, hands clutching, nails digging, breathing ragged.

“Come fer me, Morag!” he growled, his voice cracking with need.

A trembling cry tore from her lips, every muscle clenching, waves of release crashing through her as she shuddered beneath him.

His body tensed, a guttural roar escaping as he spilled deep inside her, pulsating and shuddering with the force of his climax.

They collapsed together, breathless and trembling, wrapped tight in the fierce, tender aftermath of their union.