Page 22 of Lyon’s Gift (The Highland Brides #2)
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
" B less you, Cameron,” Alison MacLean said, and bent to kiss the old man upon the cheek. “Thank you again for coming to fetch me when Meghan fell. And bless your true Scots heart for doing this for me now.”
The old man blushed fiercely, his face mottling with color. “’Twas naught,” he replied. “Dinna thank me, lass, as I didna want the bastard mon upon my birth land, anyhow, and I dinna appreciate the way he takes what he wills—arrogant Sassenach.”
“I know,” Alison agreed. “But I could not do this without you, Cameron, so I can thank you if I please.”
The old man nodded. “You were a brave lass,” he said, “going in there like that to help your friend.”
“How could I not,” Alison declared. “Meghan Brodie is my verra best friend. She would have done the same for me.” And Meghan would, she knew. It had twisted Alison’s heart to see her friend lying there in so much pain. If she could have lifted her up and carried her from that wretched place, she would have. As it was, she’d had to tend Meghan and then hurry away lest he recognize her face.
Cameron nodded again in agreement, and Alison went on, “I was so worried. I had to see with my verra own eyes that she was well.” In truth, she’d not thought up her plan until King David had sounded so uncertain of Meghan’s sanity. It had startled her, as Meghan Brodie was the sweetest, smartest person Alison knew. But Alison had taken advantage of David’s uncertainty and had formed this hasty plan. She hadn’t known how well it would go, but it was worth a try. “Anyway, Montgomerie did not recognize me so all is well. But I cannot risk myself again so soon, if I am to go back and trade places with Meghan later. So, then, be sure to give her this,” she instructed, and pressed a small sack into the old man’s hands. “’Tis verra important. And you tell her just what I told you, all right?”
“Aye, lass, I remember it all.”
“Verra good, and this is for you.” She held out a few gold coins.
“For me?” He peered up at her in surprise.
“Aye,” Alison smiled brilliantly. “For you. And thank you again, Cameron of the MacLeans, and go on with ye now. I’ll need you soon enough if my plan is to work. Run now to Meghan and tell her to follow my instructions precisely.”
The old man smiled as he took the coins from her. “Aye, lass. I’ll give her the sack the instant she is alone, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Alison said with feeling, and threw her arms about his neck in appreciation. “You’re a sweet auld mon,” she said and drew away. “Go quickly now,” she urged him.
“No sooner said than done,” he promised, and turned on his heel.
Alison watched him wend his way through the forest until he was gone from her sight, and then she turned and hurried home. There was much to do before her final performance, she knew.
She had colored her face with a thin layer of mud, not enough to make her appear grimy, but enough to dry her skin and give her the appearance of wrinkles, and she had been thankful for the dim light of his chamber that he could not make out her eyes, for though she’d met him only the once, she knew they were revealing, crossing as they did so oft.
She didn’t worry he would suspect her later, because by the time Cameron snuck her in to trade places with Meghan, he would be ready to believe anything. And her hair and eye color were close enough to Meghan’s that, as long as she kept her face concealed, it would give them more than enough time to sneak Meghan out and carry her home. And then Alison would simply slip away herself, remove her wimple and makeup, and leave with none the wiser. Meghan would be home and safe and just in time to see her wedded to Leith.
She smiled at that, certain that Meghan was going to be surprised with the turn of events. Alison could scarcely believe it herself, but Leith Mac Brodie had been so kind to her. And if she’d initially believed his proposal one of mere pity, she no longer thought so. He sent her gifts, one each day, and Alison was beginning to wonder what it was she ever saw in Colin Mac Brodie. A handsome face alone was not nearly enough to recommend a person, she knew, and Colin Mac Brodie had never treated her kindly. How could she have been so blind to Leith? How could she have done to him what Colin had done to her? She’d nearly discarded Leith without a second glance merely because his face was not as comely as Colin’s.
“You should be ashamed, Alison,” she berated herself. And she certainly was.
And that brought her to another thought entirely...
Could she have misjudged Piers Montgomerie as well? She knew what she’d spied in his eyes—the way he’d looked upon Meghan as she’d lain so still within his bed. It seemed to Alison that he had gazed upon her with genuine distress. And perhaps it was no more than he should rightly feel, as it was his fault Meghan was injured to begin with.
And yet... Alison could have sworn there was something more in his eyes when he gazed upon Meghan.
And he had purchased the potion at an exorbitant price—one she had set only to make him think her greedy. As far as Alison was concerned, Meghan had a right to choose her own husband. If Lyon Montgomerie wished to woo her once she was home, then that was another thing entirely. Let him court her properly as would any self-respecting man.
And with that decided, she lifted her skirts and ran the rest of the way home, not wanting to be discovered, not even by her father, lest he forbid her to do what she knew she must. For once in her life she was doing something that mattered, and Alison didn’t care what the risks were.
Meghan needed her.
The fact that she could make a difference so exhilarated her that she wanted naught more than to run home and share the news with her father. She wanted to run and tell Leith what she’d done and what she planned, but she didn’t dare, lest the two of them, in their silly male pride, forbid her to help and insist upon saving Meghan themselves. Nay, she wasn’t about to tell them. Male pride had gotten them thus far, and it was time to use their wits, not might.
Foolish men.
With the morning sun upon her face, Meghan lay wholly afraid to open her eyes.
The very thought of what she had done... of what she had allowed... heated her cheeks. And sweet Jesu, it warmed her body as well.
Last night, though she’d been sated and drugged besides, she had lain there, unable to sleep. And even now, this morning, the memory of their wicked embrace made her belly stir with desire she hardly could deny.
But she could scarcely sleep forever, no matter that the drogue kept her weary enough to do so.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes to the bright light of morning.
Lyon Montgomerie’s face was the first thing she saw.
He was kneeling by the bed, watching her. Meghan started, blinking in surprise.
“I mean to steal your heart, Meghan Brodie,” he said, and Meghan’s heart leapt.
She feared, somehow, he already had.
Her heart quickened its beat. “H-have you been watching me all morn?” she asked hesitantly, feeling both flattered and distressed all at once.
She had dreamt of him, his lips upon her flesh, his hand upon her breast. And in her dream... she had awakened to find his head cradled between her thighs... as he had been last eve. In her dream, he’d peered up at her, grinning wickedly, his eyes flashing with an unmistakable gleam as he’d slid his hand along her belly to her naked breast, whispering, “It’s only me.”
Meghan shuddered at the memory.
“Time to get up,” he said, avoiding the question. “I have something to show you.”
Meghan gave him an exasperated glance. “You are a despotic mon,” she said, taking comfort in her pique. “Do you never tire of ordering people about?”
“Never.” He grinned roguishly at her, his look much too boyish to be anything but engaging. It spoiled her ill humor.
Meghan grimaced as she tried to rise. He moved to help her.
“I can do it myself,” she exclaimed. “Stop being so bluidy nice. I dinna wish to like you,” she said honestly. “Don’t you realize?”
He chuckled at that. “And yet you do?”
Meghan gave him a withering glance. “I didna say such a thing.”
“But you are thinking it?”
“Och, but you are arrogant, too.”
Lyon merely shrugged at that.
“Then I shall resolve to be less so,” he vowed, and inhaled a breath at the sight of her.
He could scarcely keep himself from staring.
Damn, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.
He’d fallen asleep with his body hard as stone, and nevertheless with a smile upon his face. And this morning he’d felt himself scarcely able to leave her, though he’d had matters to attend to. He’d left her only long enough to see them well in hand, and then had rushed back to her side.
What the devil was wrong with him?
He felt as reckless as the boy he’d once been, eagerly chasing every skirt that passed him by, starved for the sight of creamy flesh and greedy for the female scent.
Only he no longer wanted the rest.
He wanted this one.
He couldn’t stop smiling.
“I have told you, Lyon Montgomerie, I dinna want you to be so accommodating. Move out of my way,” she demanded, ripping the tattered bedsheets off and sliding her legs over the side of the bed.
Lyon sucked in a breath as her movement placed him kneeling before her once more.
She seemed to realize this belatedly and her brows lifted in surprise. Her gaze flew to his and her cheeks pinkened.
He merely smiled at her, wholly satisfied with her reaction. He wanted her to remember, wanted her never to forget. He wanted her to be his, body and soul; he knew very well that her heart would come if he mastered her body. He understood women only too well, and knew how to please them. He damned well wasn’t going to waste his God-given talents when he wanted this more than he wanted to breathe.
He lifted a brow. “Are you asking for more?”
“Och!” She gasped in outrage. “You are a wicked rotten knave. I’ve changed my mind. I do know you well enough to make such a judgment. You are wicked!”
“Aye,” he murmured, and he bent to plant a swift, but chaste kiss upon the bridge of her nose.
Her hand flew to her face at once, her fingers touching her nose where he had kissed her. “Why did you do that?” she asked, seeming confused by the innocence of the gesture.
“Because you are adorable,” he answered simply. “Come, let us go.” He rose, drawing her up with him by her good arm, though gently, lest he hurt her. “There is something I wish to show you this morn, and I hope it pleases you.”
He insisted she close her eyes as he led her along behind him, taking her to some unknown place.
Meghan had no choice but to follow, as her curiosity was too great to deny.
When he bade her open her eyes at last, they were in the meadow, with no one else in sight. The bright sunlight, after being secluded so long within his chamber, made her squint. She had difficulty focusing enough to see anything at all, and then, she only saw Lyon standing there before her, gazing at her expectantly, as though he were awaiting her response.
Her brow furrowed. “I thought you wished to show me something. I see naught.”
He was grinning at her.
She tilted a glance at him. “Why are you looking at me so?”
He lifted his brows, and his eyes shone with a boyish gleam that snuck its way into her heart. “Because,” he said playfully, “’tis not oft one beholds both the sun and the moon together, Meghan Brodie.”
Meghan tried not to roll her eyes at his exalted praise, and was thankful for his shameless cajolery as it helped her to keep him at bay. Accustomed as she was to men’s empty flattery, it no longer stirred her heart to hear it.
Except when Lyon Montgomerie spoke it, it seemed.
Her heart quickened.
“You are both the fiery brilliance of sunlight, Meghan, and the bewitching serenity of moonlight.” His ardent tone managed to seep into the cracks of the wall surrounding her heart—despite that Meghan sat behind it, casting mortar at every fracture.
“And you, I fear, have missed your calling, Lyon Montgomerie. You should have been a troubadour begging entrance at every manor.” She eyed him sharply. “You are a shameless flatterer. And I have told you I am unmoved by pretty words, and still you persist—why?” she demanded.
He stood there, looking entirely too beauteous for Meghan’s peace of mind—his smile too radiant, and his words entirely too blithe—and she wanted to loathe him for making her yearn for more.
“Because you’ve turned me into a besotted lad,” he answered unrelentingly, “who would do anything for merely the favor of a smile from his darling.”
Meghan frowned at him. “I am not your darling, lest you forget.”
She eyed him circumspectly. He wore a deep-blue tunic that brought out the vivid color of his eyes, with a strip of green and blue plaid about his waist and black braies that hugged his long lean legs. He stood tall before her, with his long hair stirring like silk in the breeze. It shimmered like spun gold beneath the mid-morning sun.
She could scarcely forget the way it had felt clutched between her trembling fingers, the way it had gleamed last eve by candlelight as he’d played her body so masterfully.
Och, but if ever a man could be called beautiful, Lyon Montgomerie was fiercely so.
And yet there was naught about him that made one doubt his masculinity. He was as hard and as beauteous as the hills that surrounded them.
And it didn’t help much to see that he seemed at ease here upon the land she loved so passionately. It was as though he’d been carved from the very stone, in fact, as those ancient cairns that bedecked this soil of her birth.
Despite her claims to the contrary, he was stealing her heart—curse his rotten soul.
His pretty words confused her—made her sigh for more.
But how?
When she knew better.
Was she so feckless that she would abandon her convictions so easily?
Were all her principles naught more than chatter?
Her condemnation for those who would not search beyond a face nothing more than hypocrisy?
Meghan only knew that his words of adulation made her heart beat faster and her knees melt like wax beneath a flame.
And och! She was as guilty as any man with covetous eyes, for she stood wholly entranced by the mere sight of him. When she looked into his gleaming sapphire eyes... her breath caught at what she saw there within their beautiful depths. And when she lowered her gaze to his mouth, which smiled at her with such sensual promise, she wanted to open her arms and beg him come to her once more.
As he had last night.
It seemed she was naught but a bloody impostor, and she didn’t know herself anymore.
Her cheeks heated at the turn of her thoughts, and she averted her gaze.
He reached out suddenly, drawing her chin up with a finger. “Meghan, lass,” he whispered, much more soberly now, “why does it bother you so that I think you bonnie?”
Ashamed of herself, Meghan withdrew her face from his touch.
He stood there gazing at her, and she felt utterly exposed beneath his scrutiny.
“Can it be that you do not see what I see?” he asked softly.
She lifted her gaze to his. “I know what you see,” she assured him. “And I cannot—I am not—” She couldn’t find the words to make him understand.
“Yours is the most lovely face I have ever set eyes upon.”
He didn’t understand.
Couldn’t possibly.
She wanted to be more than a face and body, didn’t he see? She wanted to be a heart and a soul and a brain, as well.
Leith had always appreciated her mind, respecting and needing her counsel, but out of fear that she would leave them perhaps, he had made her ashamed of the face she saw in the looking glass. To please him, as a wee lass she’d worn rags and never a ribbon in her hair. Her brother Colin boasted of her beauty, but never cared to know her deeper thoughts. And though she was closest to him of all, she didn’t recall ever once, not once, having had a meaningful conversation with him about such things as life and death and God. It was a pitiful state of affairs when she could say such a thing. And while Gavin was concerned enough with her spiritual pursuits, he discarded her philosophies entirely, and Meghan was only too aware of how he viewed those women who succumbed to their vanities.
Meghan yearned for someone to accept her as she was—all of her, not simply in parts.
She was terrified that behind the shell of her face and body was a woman who just could not be what everyone believed her to be. She was afraid that if they looked deep enough they would not like what they saw. She had listened to suitors enough to know that they did not see her as she was, only how they wanted her to be. They looked upon her face and made her a graven image, sang odes to her beauty and threw petals at her feet... as though she were some pagan virgin being led to her sacrificial altar. They set her upon a sacred pedestal and refused to let her down, even when she screamed and begged and yelled.
“Meghan,” he whispered, and lifted her face once more. “Look at me. ”
Meghan did and swallowed at the intimacy with which he gazed at her.
“I do not care if I feel a fool for speaking my heart,” he said.
Heart? Meghan thought. Hah! Like every other man, he spoke with the fickle fire of his loins. Heart, indeed!
“I have never,” he swore, “wanted anything as much as I do you.”
“Me?” she asked, tilting her head in challenge. “Or is it my body you crave, Lyon Montgomerie?”
He lifted a brow. “I’ll not lie to you,” he answered, and slid his hand along her cheek, cupping it gently.
Meghan shuddered in response. And like a wanton she responded by tilting into his caress. Och, but she couldn’t help herself. He slid his hands beneath her hair, then to her nape, curling his fingers about her neck.
For an instant, they merely stood staring at each other, while her heart beat a warning in her ears.
Deny him now, this instant, she told herself, before you no longer can. Deep in her heart, she knew he would not force her. Last night was evidence enough if she doubted her instinct. He had pleasured her, and then had lifted her up into his arms and laid her within his bed, never appeasing his own body.
Walk away, Meghan Brodie .
Walk away now.
“I want... more than anything... to make love to you, Meghan Brodie,” he whispered, and Meghan was lost in that instant. Her heart leapt as he drew her closer. Faltering in her step, she went to him, and he wrapped his arms about her, gently, so as not to injure her arm, and Meghan was at once defenseless within his embrace.
His arms were too warm... his hands too reassuring... the beat of his heart much too close...
His hand slid upward along her back, gently, though she could feel his hunger in the trembling of his fingers as it joined the other hand at her nape. And then sliding them both at once to cup her face within his two hands, he lowered his face to hers.
Her breath left her. Her heart jolted. It occurred to her in the instant before his lips touched her mouth that he hadn’t kissed her at all last eve.
Not upon her lips.
Nay, but his mouth had found more intimate places to caress.
The very thought of it... the very memory of where his lips and tongue had been, made her knees buckle beneath her. He caught her, and she cried out softly, not for the pain in the arm cradled between them, but because in that instant... his lips met her own, and it was the sweetest, most wicked sensation she had ever known .
Meghan moaned softly. So warm... and smooth... his lips moved over her mouth, molding with her own, like warm wet silk—hard yet gentle, too. Meghan thought she would die with the thrill of it. His lips were moist and sweet, but insistent, and his tongue slipped out to trace the seam of her lips, sending quiver after delicious quiver down her spine.
Meghan slid her arm about his neck, but she wasn’t certain whether her reaction was meant to support herself, or to clutch him to her lest he leave her wanting. Parting her lips as he coaxed her to, she moaned again as his tongue slid within her mouth, drinking of her will as surely as though it were a goblet tilted to his lips.
Closing her eyes, she savored the moment... never wanting him to stop.
“I want you,” he murmured. “I need you, Meghan.”
Meghan sighed softly in reply.
“I want to be inside you,” he said feverishly. “Do you understand?” And a quiver shuddered through her at his words.
Emboldened by her own desire, Meghan slid from his embrace to the dewy grass, dragging him by the hand down with her. He followed her, the look in his eyes both hungry and fierce, and like a wanton she lay back upon the grass in blatant invitation. She didn’t care if she was brazen... she wanted more of what he’d given her last night.
Aye, she wanted more.
He moved over her, gently covering her, taking care with her arm. And then he kissed her once more, and it was slow and tender, his lips coaxing her own to part. And once again he slid within, tasting the very depths of her mouth.
Sweet Mary... never had she imagined...
Meghan could no longer think.
He severed the kiss suddenly, startling her with the abrupt departure, and lifted himself to look down into her face, leaving her to stare up at him in a haze of dreamy, bewildered pleasure.
“I want to see you,” he murmured. “All of you, Meghan.”
In that instant, she forgot to breathe. Her heart hammered against her breast, and she swallowed convulsively. No man had ever seen her unclothed. No man. Not even last evening had he laid eyes upon her, for he’d extinguished the light beforehand. Meghan was suddenly both frightened and exhilarated by the thought of baring herself to his scrutiny... beneath the bright-blue heavens, no less.
If she allowed him to undress her, she knew... there would be no turning back.
If she let him look upon her... and then she looked into his eyes... and spied that same adoration there... she could not deny him.. .
He hadn’t meant to do this so soon.
Hadn’t meant to ask.
And then before he could stop himself the words were out of his mouth—and God help him, he was not saint enough to rescind them when she so eagerly drew him down into her arms.
And yet... he suddenly needed to know that she wanted this as much as he did.
“Meghan?” he whispered, and watched her face intently.
Her beautiful green eyes were undeniably glazed with passion, but he wished to hear from her own two lips that she wanted him to make her his own.
Never in his life had this simple act of sharing bodies been such a momentous decision.
He brushed his knuckles along her jaw and his heart jolted when she leaned so sweetly into his touch once more, closing her eyes.
“Tell me what you wish,” he demanded softly. “Tell me what you want from me.”
“More,” she whispered, and that was all Lyon needed to hear. He shuddered with pleasure over the single word, and bent to kiss her mouth once more before sliding down to kiss her belly. And then down further... wanting more than anything to taste her once more.
But first things first...
For the moment, he passed over the treasure that awaited him, and removed her slippers, set them aside. And then he drew up her skirts slowly and kissed a thigh, then the other. He wanted everything off her body this instant, and were she not injured, he thought he might have rent the clothes from her flesh, so desperate was he to see her in full.
He drew the dress up, raising her bare bottom to lift it past her hips, and the feel of her soft flesh within his palm sent fire once more through his loins. Drawing her up by her good arm, he raised the gown, kirtle and undergown both, untangling her sleeve first from her injured arm before lifting it up and over her head. He tossed the dress aside, his heart hammering against his ribs.
At then at last she was revealed to him fully, and he found himself dumb with awe. He sucked in a breath for she was lovelier than he could ever have imagined.
For the longest instant, Lyon could merely stare at the creamy flesh he’d uncovered. Her legs were as long and lean as he’d known they would be. A vision of her walking with the baby lamb in the forest, her luscious hair wild and free, her skirts clinging to her long limbs came to him, and he blinked, overwhelmed.
And her breasts... Christ... he craved the feel of her hardened nipples against his tongue... her soft round flesh against his palm... exquisite.
“Meghan,” he whispered, “you cannot be real.”
Meghan’s heart quickened at his words .
She lay before him, wholly revealed to his eyes, and the expression upon his face warmed her as the sun never could.
Jesu, but she loved the way he looked at her.
She thrilled at the hunger so evident within his gleaming blue eyes.
And she didn’t care just now what it revealed of herself; she wanted only for him to adore her body the way he had last night.
She wanted his lips upon her own... his hands upon her, caressing...
He lowered his head once more, all the while watching her with wicked eyes that glittered as with fever, and Meghan lay frozen in anticipation.
What wicked place would his mouth seek now?
What unspeakable things would he do to her?
And then she knew...
His lips brushed softly against her breasts, the touch delicate and even reverent, and she gasped at the feeling of his tongue caressing her there. She whimpered, closing her eyes, arching for him, and he rewarded her by taking her full into his mouth, suckling like a babe at his mother’s breast. The sensation made her quiver with delight, and she discovered some heretofore unknown connection between this place... and that other... some sweet thread of pleasure that seemed to uncoil as he suckled... until the thread was a taut ache in her belly... and her hunger undeniable.
She wanted to be his... wanted him to have her... wanted him to do anything to her... anything ... wanted to please him, as well...
“Lyon,” she whimpered, reaching out and lacing her fingers into his hair.
Dear God, she couldn’t speak... couldn’t think for the things his mouth was doing to her... he moved down her belly, kissing her as he went... and Meghan wanted to say that it wasn’t enough. Somewhere deep within her there was another ache that his mouth couldn’t appease... that his lips and tongue were only heightening. She wanted to tell him but she didn’t know how. Didn’t know what she wanted... what she needed.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want, Meghan.”
He stopped long enough for Meghan to gather her senses. She peered up at him, panting softly.
“I want to please you,” he said.
“I—I want to see you, too,” she confessed, greedy for the sight of him as well. “Show me,” she commanded him.
His blue eyes glimmered with a fierce satisfaction, and a knowing smile curved his lips. Meghan held her breath as he began to untie the plaid at his waist—a plaid he wore because he obviously wanted to be one of them. He slid it off and cast it aside. And then as she watched, breathless with anticipation, he drew off his tunic and cast it aside as well. He stood, then, and removed his boots, and began to unlace his braies. Though modesty would have had her turn away, Meghan refused. She stared, eyes wide with expectation over what would be revealed to her. She lifted her gaze to spy the look of relish in his eyes, and her body quivered in response.
He wanted her to see him.
Wicked man.
Wicked as she.
He stood there a moment; their gazes locked, entwined like lovers, and Meghan gulped in a breath as he drew the braies down at long last and shrugged them off. He cast them, too, aside.
Jesu, but he was beautiful.
He stood before her in all his glory, unashamed.
And then he fell to his knees. And Meghan forgot to breathe as he reached out and took her legs into his hands, positioning her so that he was settled between her thighs once more.
“In the East,” he began, his voice husky and low, “a maiden’s defloration is done in the presence of both mothers of the wedding couple, with loving care and a gentle finger. Are you a virgin, Meghan?”
Meghan drew in a breath at his bold question. She was and yet why was she not offended by his asking? The look in his eyes held no condemnation, no expectation, but she was suddenly afraid to answer. He must have been with many women—was she doing something wrong?
“It matters not,” he swore, seeming to read her thoughts. “I only wish to make this pleasurable for you. I do not wish to cause you pain, Meghan, and there is a way to lessen it.”
She nodded almost imperceptibly.
“A virgin?” he asked once more.
Again Meghan nodded, words failing her, her throat too tight to let sound pass.
Her disclosure seemed to please him, because he smiled down at her. “Will you trust me?” he asked, and Meghan nodded once more.
His smile deepened.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded, “and feel, Meghan. Only feel. Can you do that for me?”
“Aye,” Meghan answered and did as he bade her. She closed her eyes and felt him lift her knees and part her legs to his scrutiny. Her body shivered, suddenly aware of every sensation... the gentle breeze upon her flesh... the heat of the sun bearing down upon her like a lover’s body... the moist bed of grass she lay upon.
And then once again his lips were there... upon her... and she moaned in delight.
God have mercy upon her wicked soul, but she loved him... loved his mouth... loved the way he adored her.
He suckled her and lapped her gently, and then she felt the pressure of his finger, sliding in as he kissed and reassured her. He pushed within suddenly, and Meghan felt only the slightest pain as he severed her maidenhead. She heard him groan, the sound an echo of her own desire, and then he withdrew his finger, and she felt him cover her, felt his hands prepare her, and then once more the pressure.
Only this was not his finger.
He entered her with a single thrust and Meghan gasped at the feel of it—pleasure and pain together, though the pleasure far outweighed the pain. He waited an instant, seeming to know that she needed him to, and then he began to move within her, stroking her in the most delightful way, and Meghan was lost in a whirlwind of sensation.
“Oh, God,” she cried.
He slid a hand beneath her waist, lifting her, and continued to move within her, filling her and withdrawing, and Meghan thought she would die from so much exquisite pleasure. He was slow and purposeful, and seemed to know exactly what to do... how to move. Warmth flooded her, and something new kindled within her belly. She focused upon it, feeling it as it grew, following it with all of her heart and her soul. She lifted to each thrust, tilting her hips greedily to take him fully. And then, without warning, something exploded within her, and her body shuddered with sensation unlike any she’d ever known.
She cried out in exultation.
Lyon heard her, felt her convulse about him, and it was what he’d waited for, what he’d craved. He held her hips within his hands and released himself from his careful restraint. His own body convulsed as he thrust a final time, spilling himself for the first time in so damned long. He cast his head back and cried out.
God help him, it felt so right.
So good.
And in that instant of completion, Lyon suddenly found what he’d been looking for all his life.
And it was a feeling unlike any he’d ever imagined.
Soul-deep contentment.
Damned if he hadn’t found it in the arms of a woman, after all.
And her name was Meghan Brodie.