Page 30 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

Gabriella was still in her chemise, the soft linen clinging to the swell of her hips, the roundness of her breasts outlined by firelight. Hector stood facing her, his shoulders squared, his plaid hanging loose around his waist, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths.

“Hector…”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her, one calloused hand rising to grip her jaw—gentle but firm enough to remind her who was in charge here. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, his eyes dark, dangerous, wanting.

“Ye ken what I see when I look at ye, Gabriella?” he asked, his voice quieter now, rougher. “A woman who plays brave but is burnin’ inside. Burnin’ for me to peel her apart.”

Her lips parted, but she had no words. Not when he was looking at her like that. Like she was a secret he’d been waiting all his life to uncover.

“Ye wanted rules,” he growled, brushing his mouth across her cheek. “Fine. We’ll follow ‘em. I willnae take ye… nae ‘til ye beg me. But dinnae think for a second that I willnae teach ye what beggin’ me will feel like.”

The promise in his voice made her knees tremble. This wasn’t just about desire anymore—it was about trust, about surrender, about letting someone past every wall she’d ever built.

And just like that, she melted.

He dipped his head and kissed her—not with tenderness, but with hunger.

The kind of kiss that left no room for questions.

He took her mouth, claimed it, devoured it, and her knees nearly buckled.

His hand slid into her hair, fisting the strands as he deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers, coaxing and demanding all at once.

She felt herself drowning in his scent, his warmth, the taste of him. There was no steady ground left beneath her feet, no control she could cling to.

Her fingers gripped his arms because she feared she might fall without them. But falling didn’t feel like losing anymore. It felt like flying.

When he broke the kiss, her lips tingled, her heart thundered.

“Strip,” he said.

She stared up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I said, strip, Gabriella.”

Still breathless, she obeyed. Fingers fumbling slightly, she untied the laces at the top of her chemise, then slid the fabric down her shoulders. It slipped down her body and pooled at her feet, leaving her bare under the glow of the fire.

Hector’s eyes swept over her slowly. Reverently. But when he looked back at her face, the reverence vanished.

“Turn around. Hands on the post.”

She hesitated.

“Now.”

The steel in his voice had her moving.

She turned toward the bed, bracing herself against the tall post at the footboard. The cool air kissed her bare skin, but she hardly noticed. Not when she felt him come up behind her. Not when his hand slid up her back, then back down, his fingers splaying at the base of her spine.

“Ye’ve nay idea what ye do to me, do ye?” he murmured. “But ye will, lass. Ye will.”

He kneeled behind her, and the warmth of his breath hit her skin a second before his mouth did. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as his tongue traced a path along her lower back, his teeth nipping softly at the curve of her rear.

His hands gripped her hips, anchoring her, and she shuddered when his mouth traveled lower.

“H-Hector…”

“Aye,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Say it again.”

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a whimper.

And then his hands gripped her thighs, and she parted them.

“Good lass,” he said. “Stay like that.”

His mouth found her again—lower now—and this time, he didn’t hesitate.

The first stroke of his tongue over her slick folds made her cry out, sharp and breathless, her hands fisting into the sheets as her knees buckled.

He licked her slowly at first, savoring her, his tongue parting her with deliberate pressure.

She hadn’t known it could feel like this. Like he wasn’t just tasting her body, but claiming her soul.

Every nerve in her body was alive, raw, straining. She wasn’t sure if she was shaking from pleasure or fear. Fear of how much power he had over her. How easy it would be to lose herself if she let go.

A deep, hungry groan tore from his throat as he pressed his mouth harder against her heat, the vibrations making her entire body jolt.

Then, he found that aching little nub and latched on, his tongue flicking it—light at first, then with more precision, more rhythm, teasing it in circles, sucking on it until her legs trembled and she thought she might shatter.

Her hips bucked against him, helpless, desperate. But he held her still—one hand firm on her thigh, the other gripping her hip like he owned her.

“Hector—oh God!”

“Aye, ye feel that?” he rasped between strokes. “That’s what it means to be worshipped.”

His thumb replaced his tongue for a moment, rubbing slow, controlled circles as he stood behind her. She barely registered the sound of fabric shifting, the thunk of his belt hitting the floor, until his bare chest pressed against her back.

She felt him—hard, thick, hot against her thigh.

“Do ye ken how close I am to takin’ ye?” he growled in her ear, his teeth grazing the shell. “But I willnae. Nae until ye say it. Nae until ye ask me, beg me.”

He turned her around then, quick and rough, and lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her thighs locked around his waist on instinct, and as her body pressed against his, she felt his member—hard, thick, and straining against her.

His manhood throbbed where it pressed against the slick heat between her legs, and her breath caught in her throat.

There was no mistaking his size, no pretending that she didn’t feel how ready he was, how badly he ached for her.

He was rigid, pulsating, the head of his member nudging her entrance. And yet he didn’t move.

He just held her there, breathing hard against her neck, his length sliding through her folds with slow, torturous control.

“I could take ye right now,” he growled in her ear. “Ye’re open for me, burnin’ for it… and I’m so damned close I can barely think straight.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her hips shifted of their own accord, chasing the friction.

But still, he held back.

“That’s what ye’re missin’, Gabriella,” he said, sliding his length between her folds once more, the pressure deliciously unbearable. “That’s what ye’ll get… when ye ask me for it.”

He lowered them both onto the bed, never breaking eye contact.

“I want to see yer face when ye fall apart.”

His hand slid down her body again—over her breasts, her stomach, between her thighs. And then he was touching her again, his fingers dipping in, then circling, coaxing. She arched against him, her moans growing louder.

Her body was on fire. Her thoughts scattered. Her heart drummed out a rhythm she couldn’t control.

“Ye like that?” he purred, watching her with dark eyes. “Ye want more?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

His thumb teased her just right, his fingers plunging deep, faster now. Every movement, every thrust, was calculated. Controlled.

This man knew her body already. He was claiming it with every curl of his fingers.

“Hector, I-I…”

“Say it.”

Her eyes opened, glassy with need.

“Say what ye want, Gabriella. Say it, or I’ll stop.”

She whimpered, tried to move her hips faster. He stilled.

“I told ye, lass. This is on yer terms. I’ll give ye everythin’. But ye have to ask for it.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Not from pain, but from the painful need that sat like a knot low in her belly. She was so close.

Still, her pride locked her jaw.

He waited. Watching her. His fingers still deep inside her, but unmoving.

“Please,” she breathed. “Please dinnae stop—”

“Nae enough,” he murmured, withdrawing his touch completely.

She gasped as the emptiness hit her. Her whole body ached from the loss.

“Nay, Hector—”

He sat back on his heels, his chest rising, his manhood still hard, glistening in the firelight, his jaw clenched tight as he stared down at her.

“Ye think I dinnae want to bury meself in ye right now?” he said through gritted teeth. “Ye think this is easy, walkin’ away when every inch of me is cryin’ to take ye?”

She reached for him. He caught her wrist mid-air.

His voice dropped, softer now, almost broken. “If I take ye now, Gabriella… it willnae be because ye were desperate to have me inside ye. It’ll be because ye’re ready for me to own ye. Because ye gave me yerself, with yer voice, yer body, and yer beggin’. And until then…”

He kissed her wrist, then climbed off the bed.

She lay there trembling. Body flushed. Breasts rising and falling. Legs still parted, sex throbbing with the absence of his touch.

He picked up his plaid, slung it over one shoulder, and gave her one last look.

“I’ll go for a walk. Cool off before I do somethin’ we’ll both regret.”

The door closed behind him.

She didn’t move for a long time. Just lay there in the silence, her skin still tingling, her heart a confused mess of longing, shame… and something deeper.

Love.

It hit her like a boulder.

She was falling for him. Not just for his body, but for the way he held back. For the man who could have taken her but instead chose to wait.

She curled up into the sheets, pulling them around her like armor.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as the thought echoed over and over in her mind.

Ye’re fallin’ for him, Gabriella. And when he makes ye beg… it willnae be just yer body that breaks. It’ll be everythin’.