Page 25

25: MAKE ME YERS AGAIN

BONNIE’S ADMISSION MADE Iver’s breathing catch.

He’d meant it when he’d told her he didn’t want to rush her.

He’d seen how on edge she was when she entered their bedchamber.

Despite the intimacy they’d already shared, this was different.

Tonight, there were no masks, no swirling crowd and music.

On the eve of the masquerade ball, they’d both drunk enough wine to rob them of inhibition, and standing there in the moonlight, a kind of madness had caught them up.

But things had changed now.

This was no romantic dream.

He’d discovered who she really was, and then they’d gotten married.

They’d spend the remainder of their lives together.

And she was right: the path ahead of them wouldn’t be easy.

Lennox had been in a sour mood ever since the wedding, and Campbell had been disrespectful—while Sutherland had slighted Bonnie outrageously.

Of course, his insults had been a deliberate provocation.

The man wanted to get even with Iver after the incident at the masquerade ball.

Instead, Iver had humiliated him.

Today’s unpleasantness was a warning about what lay ahead.

Kerr and Brodie weren’t likely to be any more impressed by his behavior than Lennox, and his mother would flay him with her tongue for his reckless decision.

Yet there would be wide-reaching repercussions too.

He’d just tossed a stone into the still waters of a loch, and the ripples would reach the Mackay clan-chief and chieftains.

Several chieftains from allied clans would think he’d lost his mind.

Others, like Campbell, would be vexed that he’d refused to wed their daughters while taking a chambermaid as his wife.

But Iver was ready to confront them all.

For Bonnie.

And the way she was looking at him now, those sea-green eyes limpid in the ruddy glow of the firelight, made his pulse take off.

Sitting there on the edge of the bed, her small, curvaceous form swathed in a linen drying cloth, her wet hair tumbling in dark-red curls down her back, she was breathtaking.

Still not quite believing he’d heard right, Iver wet his lips.

“Are ye sure?”

Her gaze never wavered.

“Aye … I wish to be close to ye.”

Holding her gaze, Iver nodded.

He then rose to his feet, water cascading off him, and stepped from the tub, retrieving the large drying cloth he’d hung over the back of the chair next to him.

Bonnie didn’t look away.

Her cheeks flushed, and when her gaze left his and traveled down over his naked torso, to his groin, and her full lips parted, the sensuality of her reaction made hunger spike through him.

He glanced down, to find his rod standing to full attention.

He’d been at half-mast already while they’d been talking—for her nearness was heady.

But now, the boldness of her gaze inflamed him further.

Excitement tightened his gut, and his chest started to rise and fall sharply.

“Do ye like what ye see, lass?” he asked huskily.

“Aye,” she breathed.

“Very much.”

“Come here then.”

Bonnie’s gaze returned to his.

And then, wordlessly, she rose from the bed and let the drying cloth fall.

The linen rippled to the floor, revealing her to him.

And Iver devoured the sight of her.

That night on the wall, he’d only seen her naked breasts—and not much else.

Of course, while she’d been bathing, he’d admired her creamy shoulders and the swell of her deep cleavage, although the rest of her had been submerged under the water.

But he was unprepared for just how comely she was.

She was small, at just over five feet tall, and yet her body was strong—all delicious curves.

Her waist was narrow, accentuating the fullness of her hips and breasts.

And as if feeling the weight of his stare, her rose-colored nipples pebbled.

Like him, she was breathing fast, which only made her lush breasts even more enticing.

“Bonnie,” he murmured, holding out a hand.

A moment later, her fingers curled around his, and he drew her into the cage of his arms.

His mouth found hers, and he kissed her hungrily.

He’d been wanting to do this all day—to mate his mouth with hers, to taste the woman he’d married.

Their kiss after the ceremony had been deliberately chaste, for his brother and Stirling’s seneschal were looking on.

But Iver didn’t hold back now.

Tunneling his fingers through her wet hair with one hand, he cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss further.

A soft groan escaped Bonnie, and her small hands fluttered up, splaying across his naked chest. A moment later, they started to roam, exploring his chest and shoulders.

The smell of her—lavender and the sweet, musky scent of woman—enveloped him, and Iver dragged it into his lungs.

His heart was galloping now, and when he pulled her closer still, so that their damp bodies pressed flush, need crashed into him with dizzying intensity.

Still cupping the back of her head with his hand, holding her fast as he ravaged her mouth, he allowed his free hand to slide down the indentation of her spine.

Her back curved as she pressed herself hard against him, and when his hand closed around the plump swell of her backside, she groaned again.

Tearing his mouth from hers, the blood roaring in his ears, Iver guided her over to the chair that sat between the bathtub and the hearth, and gently pushed her down onto it.

And then he fell to his knees on the sheepskin before her, moving between her thighs and scooping her breasts up in his hands.

Iver lifted them to his mouth, devouring each swollen tip.

He sucked gently at first, slowly working himself up into a frenzy.

Bonnie writhed on the chair, hands clenched around the edge of the seat.

She was making soft mewing sounds, yet her gaze was trained on him.

Her focus made his already throbbing groin tighten further.

The effect this woman had on him was dizzying.

Leaving her breasts, he kissed his way down between them to her quivering belly and the soft russet hair below it.

He then spread her legs wider still and lowered himself so he was sitting on the sheepskin—kissing his way up the smooth skin of her thigh to her sex.

And when he tasted her there, she shuddered delightfully against him.

Sliding his hands under her buttocks, Iver pulled her hips up to meet his questing mouth.

He devoured her like he had her mouth and her breasts, while Bonnie bucked and twisted in his grip.

She was making choked, breathy sounds—and Iver stopped pleasuring her a moment to glance up at her face.

Her cheeks were flushed, sweat beading across her brow.

She was also biting down on her bottom lip, to prevent herself from crying out.

“It’s all right, lass,” he murmured, letting his breath feather across the sensitive flesh between her thighs.

“Ye can make a noise … the walls are thick … and no one will care.”

Indeed, this was a busy travelers’ inn on a main highway heading into the Highlands.

The proprietor and his family likely heard all kinds of noises coming from the chambers.

Her eyes flickered open, glazed with a need that made his stomach clench.

Christ’s blood, she was beautiful.

Slowly, she released her plump lower lip from her top teeth, staring down at him as he started to caress her between her thighs with his fingertips, as he had that eve under the silver glow of the moon.

Her eyes snapped wide, and she started to tremble.

“That’s right,” he crooned, continuing to stroke her.

“Now, let me hear how much ye like this.”

Bonnie let out a soft whimper, rolling her hips against him.

“Aye, that’s a start,” he murmured.

“But I think ye can do better.”

He slid a finger deep inside her then, curling it upward.

Bonnie gasped.

Iver lowered his head once more, continuing to slide his finger in and out, while his mouth found her.

“Iver!” she gasped.

He didn’t reply—he was too busy flicking his tongue over her sensitive flesh.

Moments later, Bonnie bucked against him, her high, keening crying echoing through the chamber.

He held her fast, pleasuring her as her groans, cries, and pleas tumbled forth.

Only when he’d reduced his wife to a panting, whimpering wreck, did he finally release her.

He pulled back then and rose to his feet, drawing her with him.

A moment later, Iver settled himself onto the chair and pulled Bonnie astride him.

Breathing hard, as she recovered her breath, she reached between them, her small hand wrapping around his engorged shaft.

Iver glanced down to see that it was leaking from the tip.

Bonnie’s lips parted as she stared down at him.

And then she slid her fingers up his length, her palm gliding across the slick head of his rod.

A groan rumbled up from Iver’s chest, and he leaned back against the chair, letting his head fall back as she stroked him with both hands now.

His bollocks tightened, excitement quickening in his gut.

If she continued touching him like this, he’d spill all over himself.

Taking hold of her hips, his fingers digging in, he lifted her up and over him, letting her guide his rod into position.

And then, he settled her down upon him.

He’d wanted to inch into Bonnie slowly, yet the feel of her tight heat enveloping him was too much.

Greedily, he pushed down on her hips, driving her upon his shaft.

Bonnie cried out. Her back arched, and her thighs widened further still to accommodate him.

An instant later, their bodies were flush, and Iver was buried to the hilt deep inside her.

Bonnie stilled then, her breathing fast and shallow now.

“Bonnie,” he rasped.

“Are ye all right?”

She nodded.

However, her body had gone as taut as a drawn longbow.

“It’s just … a lot,” she whispered.

Reaching between them, Iver found the spot that made her unravel against his mouth earlier.

Gently, he rubbed it with the pad of his thumb.

And as he did so, Bonnie let out a long, shuddering sigh and relaxed against him.

“Sorry, lass,” he murmured, continuing to stroke her.

“I got overeager.” He brushed aside the curtain of damp hair that cascaded over her shoulder then, his gaze alighting on the fading bruise he knew he’d find there.

His fingertips traced the mark, his chest tightening.

“As I did that night on the wall.”

“Don’t apologize,” she gasped, rolling her hips against him as he rubbed harder, her body quivering now.

“I liked it. Ye made me … yers.” Her gaze speared his then, her eyes glistening with pleasure.

“Make me yers again, husband.”

His breathing hitched.

He leaned toward her then, as she bent her head to him, and their mouths collided.

And as their tongues entwined, he grabbed hold of her hips once more and started to slide her, slowly, up and down the length of his rod.

And it was almost too much for him.

She was so hot, so wet, so tight he couldn’t think straight.

Their kisses grew frenzied, while he continued to move her in lazy, languorous strokes, down to the root of his shaft and then up to the tip, till she almost slipped free of him.

And all it took was a few strokes to turn Bonnie into quicksilver in his arms.

She writhed on his rod, sweat gleaming over her pale curves as she cried out against his mouth.

He knew this position would be intense for her, and it was.

Iver felt the flutter of muscles inside her against his shaft and sensed she was close.

Bonnie tore her lips from his then, arching back as she peaked, a cry ripping from her throat.

Her core clamped against his length, wet heat flooding around him.

Iver lost control.

He rolled forward off the chair, bringing her with him.

An instant later, Bonnie was on her back on the sheepskin, her legs pinned wide, while he plowed her in frenzied thrusts.

Iver was dimly aware then of his own hoarse cries filling the room—and of someone banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up—and then his release barreled into him, and he was lost.