Page 17

DON’T PANIC. brEATHE.

Makenna MacGregor was a brave woman. No shrinking violet. She’d faced men in combat—and had killed. But the thought of disrobing before her husband, lying upon the bed with him, and rutting with him, made her heart race like a bolting hind.

The unknown loomed before her, but she forced herself to stand up and face it. Face him.

Likewise, Mackinnon rose from his chair and stepped toward Makenna. He towered over her, and his nearness made her pulse flutter.

Dragging in another deep breath, she closed her eyes.

“I shall be gentle.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she raised her chin to meet her husband’s smoky gaze.

She nodded, relief suffusing her. He was paying attention—and had marked her anxiety .

Wiping her damp palms upon the skirt of her surcote, she wet her suddenly parched lips with the tip of her tongue. That was a mistake, for his gaze slid down to her mouth.

Suddenly, she remembered the sensual kiss he’d given her after the wedding ceremony. At the time, she’d wanted to lash out at him for taking liberties. Even so, the feel of his mouth on hers had been a brand and had sent her senses reeling.

“Ye might as well kiss me again then … Bran,” she murmured, her voice wobbling slightly. It was time for her to stop thinking of him as ‘Mackinnon’ now though. He was her husband, and they were about to be intimate. She couldn’t keep treating him like a stranger.

“Very well,” he replied. And with that, he stepped closer and lifted a hand. His fingers brushed her jaw before he took hold of her chin. An instant later, he leaned in, brushing her lips with his.

It wasn’t like the kiss after the wedding ceremony. No, this was softer, almost as if he was making sure he was welcome. This time, there was no audience. Nothing to prove. He wasn’t trying to even the score. Now there was just the two of them locked in an intimate moment.

And she answered by brushing her mouth against his in return. The scent of him—oak, leather, and male—filled her nostrils then, and when his mouth found hers once more, she closed her eyes.

His tongue traced the seam between her closed lips, and with a sigh, she opened for him.

He kissed her deliberately, thoroughly, with a tenderness she hadn’t expected—and after a moment or two, she responded by stroking her tongue against his. Bran made a sound low in his throat. His hand slid along her jaw to her neck, before he cradled her nape as he deepened the kiss.

And Makenna couldn’t help it. She melted into him.

Her hand rose then, her palm resting on his chest. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of his lèine. Unbidden, her fingers curled, digging in as their tongues tangled, as they tasted each other deeply.

And she liked how he tasted. She liked the rasp of his chin against her softer skin, the swell of his lower lip, and the sensual curve of the upper one. And when he caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle nip, Makenna’s belly clenched, neediness sweeping over her.

Neediness?

Oh, aye, just one kiss had her dissolving in his arms like spring snow. She couldn’t believe the mouth that she’d bloodied two days earlier made her ache so. But it did. Fortunately, to her relief, his split lip was healing well; although she was still careful with it as their embrace continued.

When they eventually drew apart from the long, languorous kiss, they were both out of breath.

“Turn around,” Bran ordered huskily. “I shall unlace yer surcote.”

Wordlessly, meekly, she obeyed. There was nothing submissive about Makenna usually, but tonight, she didn’t feel herself.

Not at all. Standing in the midst of her bedchamber, she closed her eyes once more, waiting as he undid the back of her surcote.

Usually, Fiona would help her undress. It felt scandalous that a man should do so.

But it is his right .

Her pulse fluttered as the realization fully sank in. She was Lady Mackinnon now. A clan-chief’s wife.

He removed her surcote, and Makenna was about to turn to face him once more when he stepped in close—so close she could feel the heat of his body burning into her—and swept the curtain of hair aside. His lips skimmed her shoulder, above the neckline of the edge of her kirtle, and up to her neck.

His hands then slid around to her front, where they began to unlace her kirtle.

Makenna couldn’t concentrate on how he was undressing her though. Instead, she shivered as his lips traveled up the side of her neck. His tongue then explored the shell of her ear, and her legs started to tremble.

She hadn’t expected to feel such a sensation. The neediness in her belly had spread, and the tender flesh between her thighs had started to ache. Her pulse galloped now. She felt strangely breathless and leaned into him as he continued to disrobe her.

Finally, she wore nothing but a filmy ankle-length lèine.

Bran took hold of her shoulder then and gently turned her to face him again. Eyes flickering open, she obeyed. And when their gazes met once more, she marked the flush upon his cheekbones and the way his eyes had darkened.

He looked hungry .

They hadn’t even done anything truly intimate yet, but she could feel an odd quickening inside her. A wildness that scared her a little.

His gaze raked down her, taking in the lines of her body, which were clear through her thin linen tunic. The lèine left little to the imagination. Like all the women in her family, she had full breasts. Her nipples—small and hard—were clearly visible, thrusting perkily toward him.

Bran brushed the back of his hand across one of them, and pleasure darted straight through her core.

Biting down on her lower lip, she watched as he stroked his thumbs over both nipples, teasing them both into even harder peaks.

She swallowed a groan. Her belly churned now. The throbbing between her thighs intensified, and she stifled the urge to squirm. These new sensations made her feel oddly restless.

“Ye can touch me too … if ye wish?” he said, his voice strained now.

Aye, of course she could. She knew that.

Pulse skittering, she reached out and tentatively untucked his lèine from his braies.

Her fingers slid underneath, her breath catching as she explored the warm, smooth skin of his flat belly.

Her hands slid upward, over the hard ridges of muscle to the sculpted planes of his chest.

And all the while, Bran watched her, his gaze hooded now.

Her fingertips found his nipples then, and she brushed her thumbs over them, as he’d done with her, thrilling as they grew hard under her touch.

His sharp intake of breath told her that he was as sensitive as she was.

He made a sound in the back of his throat before stepping back from her and pulling off his lèine and clan sash.

Firelight flickered across the lean, strong lines of his finely muscled torso and arms.

Makenna studied him, her breathing coming shallow and fast .

She’d always thought she was attracted to men who were big and brawny—but Bran’s body was simply beautiful. Lean with a leashed strength that made her wonder what it would be like to be under him.

She’d soon find out. Her pulse went wild then.

Holding his eye boldly now, she reached down and took hold of the hem of her lèine, pulling it upward and wriggling out of the garment before her courage failed her.

There, she stood—naked—before him.

Bran didn’t avert his gaze either. Instead, he looked his fill, his gaze traveling over her swollen breasts, over the curve of her belly, dip of her waist, and flare of her hips, to her thighs.

Makenna had a strong body, muscled from hours spent training with the rest of the Guard, but she had a woman’s softness too.

And when she marked the way her husband’s pupils grew large, she knew he liked what he saw.

He then heeled off his boots, unlaced his braies, and pushed them down.

Makenna couldn’t help it. She had to look.

His rod was as beautiful as the rest of him, long and shaped like a thick arrow shaft. It was also as stiff as one.

Her mouth went dry, her blood roaring in her ears. He was going to put that inside her.

Bran stepped into her once more, his hands all over her as his mouth found hers this time. His kiss was demanding, and she answered him with a voraciousness of her own. How exciting it was for them to be standing here together naked, so aroused by each other.

And he did arouse her. Her skin was flushed and exquisitely sensitive, her breathing rapid. The wild churning in her belly was impossible to ignore. All the same, she was nervous about what they were about to do. She imagined it would hurt the first time.

However, his kiss chased her fears away, and when he moved closer still and brought their bodies flush, it was difficult to hold any thoughts in her head.

Shyly, she stroked her hands up his chest once more, before linking her arms around his neck.

She then wriggled herself against him, desperate to get closer.

Bran groaned against her mouth. His hands swept down the arch of her back and cupped her backside. Then, one hand caught hold of her thigh, and he hauled her up against him so that their most intimate places were pressing together.

And there, he ground himself against her.

Clinging to him, even as their kisses grew hungrier and deeper now, Makenna found herself mimicking his action. She ached for friction.

The feel of him, bone-hard and hot, rubbing against the slippery, throbbing flesh between her thighs was quickly turning her witless.

“Are ye ready, Makenna?” he asked then, his voice husky.

“Aye,” she gasped back.

A moment later, he picked her up, allowing her to wrap both legs around his hips, as they continued to kiss. He then carried her over to the bed and laid her down upon the coverlet. As he did so, she felt the tremor of tension in his body.

The scent of rose enveloped them, but Makenna barely noticed. She was too busy staring up at her husband.

His gaze devoured her. In the past, she’d disliked it when men gave her a carnal look. Now though, it made her blood catch fire .

Bran favored her with a nervous smile, her breathing catching at the vulnerability he’d just revealed. This wasn’t just lust between them, but discovery. However, when he lowered himself to his knees before the bed, took hold of her ankles, and drew her close, she started to tremble.

“I just want to see ye,” he murmured. And then, before she could reply, he pushed her legs wide apart and stared between her spread thighs. A moment later, a ragged sound escaped him, and he breathed an oath.

Watching his face, and the flush that had now risen upon his high cheekbones, Makenna thought she might burst into flames. This was too intimate. She wasn’t ready for it. Raising a hand, she placed it over her face to hide her embarrassment.

“Makenna.” His voice was low and rough. “All is well?”

“Aye,” she lied, even as her voice came out in a mortified squeak.

“Look at me.”

Swallowing, she pulled her hand away from her eyes and forced herself to look at where he knelt between her spread thighs.

His gaze was surprisingly steady. In contrast though, her face burned like the sun.

“I want ye to watch this,” he went on, that nervous, shy smile returning. “To make sure I’m doing it right.”

She started to sweat at these words, even as her belly clenched.

She didn’t trust herself to answer him either—not without humiliating herself—and so she gave a jerky nod. She then raised herself up onto her elbows, her gaze lowering to where his hands parted her most intimate place .

“How do ye wish to be touched?” he asked, the catch to his voice betraying his excitement, his nerves.

Heat flushed over her once more. She couldn’t believe that he was asking such a question—yet she knew just how to answer. “Stroke with yer fingertip … above my … entrance,” she whispered. “Circle.”

He nodded. A moment later, his finger slid against her, and she gasped at just how sensitive she was down there. And when he began to touch her as asked, stroking and circling, a delicious wave of pleasure rippled through her loins.

She couldn’t help it; she whimpered.

Bran’s gaze rose to find hers once more, even as he continued to touch her. “Is that good?” His voice was strangled, sweat gleaming on his brow.

“Aye,” she ground out. It was hard to respond though, not when wild excitement pooled and coiled in her lower belly. “Very.”

He then lowered his gaze, fixing his attention upon her sex once more. “What next?” He sounded out of breath, as if he’d been running.

“Slide a finger inside me.”

Heavens, she was sweating now too, caught halfway between mortification and excitement.

And when he obeyed, Makenna choked out a curse, a shiver rippling through her. He worked her gently with that finger before adding a second without needing to be asked.

“Can I taste ye?”

Makenna gasped at his question, heat flooding through her loins. “Oh … aye. ”

Murmuring another oath, he sank his fingers deep inside her before leaning in and covering the flesh above them with his mouth. His tongue started to gently flick, and she cried out.

She couldn’t help it. This felt too good. And then, her embarrassment dissolved, her restraint falling away. Finally, she let herself give in. Lifting her hips off the mattress, she pushed against his mouth and fingers, urging him to continue. “Higher,” she panted. “And bend yer fingers a little.”

And he did as bid—gaining confidence now as he slid his fingers in and out and curled them up each time they sank in her. Meanwhile, his mouth devoured the pearl of flesh he’d found.

Makenna watched him, excitement clenching in her gut. Sweat slicked both their bodies. She couldn’t believe Bran wanted to do such things to her. But he did, and as the moments slid by, she was gradually losing control. Her body trembled now, her loins throbbing. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “Bran!”

“Aye?” he growled against her.

“I can hardly bear it!”

“Do ye want me to stop?”

“No!” Her cry echoed through the bedchamber.

He laughed, his breath feathering against her quim. “Well … in that case.” He redoubled his efforts then, sucking the aching bud nestled between her thighs as he thrust his fingers into her now. Like her, he’d left nervousness and embarrassment behind and let himself revel in this.

That did it. Pleasure broke, taking her over the edge in a giddy rush.

She shuddered, letting out a squeal that would have embarrassed her in other circumstances.

However, right now, she was too busy writhing against him as he continued to eagerly work her, drawing out the rippling, pulsing waves of ecstasy until she collapsed onto the bed, panting.