Page 18

brAN PUSHED HIMSELF to his feet, surprised to find his limbs shaking. His prick ached, and his bollocks throbbed cruelly, but he didn’t care.

Pleasuring Makenna so intimately had been the most exciting experience of his life, as had watching her unravel. She’d enjoyed everything he’d done to her—had directed him where needed—and had been desperate for his touch by the end.

Over the years, he’d heard other men talk about bedding women, but most of the time, it was just boasting and lewd gestures.

He’d never learned anything useful. But Makenna had shown him what she wanted, and how she liked to be touched.

Her confidence impressed him. He’d never experienced anything so intoxicating.

Still breathing hard, his wife lay there, spread out on the bed, her face flushed, her soft pale skin gleaming with sweat. And the sight of her made his already racing heart start to kick like a wild pony against his ribs.

He wanted to fall upon her, to sink his rod to the hilt in that delicious wetness and ride her like a savage. But he wouldn’t. She was a virgin, and he wouldn’t use her so roughly. Instead, he climbed on the bed and stretched out next to her.

After a while, she rolled to face him. Her eyes were wide and full of wonder. “I liked that,” she admitted, and her husky voice went straight to his groin. His shaft was rigid and throbbing against his belly, leaking from the tip.

“So did I,” he replied, wishing his voice didn’t sound quite so strained.

“I can pleasure ye too,” she replied, rising onto her knees. Her gaze was upon his prick now. “If ye like?”

“Aye,” he ground out. God’s blood, he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Please.”

Her full lips quirked. “So polite, Bran Mackinnon.” Her small hand reached out and wrapped around the root of his straining member. “Let’s see if I can make ye forget yer manners.”

Heat ignited at the base of his spine at these words, and his rod jerked in her grip. Her voice was deliciously throaty, and she couldn’t help but challenge him. Even now. “I don’t know how long I’ll last,” he managed, each word ripping from his chest. “I—”

She lowered her head to his groin then, her mouth swallowing the crown of his shaft, and he lost the ability to speak.

Her hot mouth and eager hands, one stroking his bollocks now while the other worked his rod, utterly undid him .

He had no idea how she knew how to pleasure him so well, and he didn’t care either. Her eagerness inflamed him.

How quickly things had changed. Just three days earlier, he couldn’t stand the woman, and now, all he could think about was losing himself inside her.

He tangled his hands in her thick hair then, slowing her a little and pushing her head down to take more of him.

His lower belly clenched as she groaned low in her throat.

As he’d warned, he was too excited to last long though—and a short while later, he arched up off the bed, his head falling back.

“Christ’s blood! Makenna!” Pleasure shot up his spine as he spilled deep inside her mouth.

She drank him down, her throat bobbing. And when she finally sat back on her heels, face flushed, eyes gleaming, Bran had never seen anything so beautiful. Of course, he’d noted her strong, lush body before tonight. Clothed, she was striking. Naked, she was a goddess.

Their gazes met then and held for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. How could he articulate what he’d just experienced? He was still reeling from it.

“Come here,” he rasped eventually, catching her hand and drawing her down next to him.

She came, her body warm and soft against his, nestling her face in the hollow of his shoulder. And as they lay there, listening to the crackle of the fire, Bran trailed his fingertips down the curve of her spine.

Makenna closed her eyes, giving herself up to the gentle rhythm of Bran’s fingers up and down her back.

She liked how that felt, how his body molded against hers.

They hadn’t spoken of what they’d just done to each other, almost as if they were both wary of breaking the enchantment that had woven around them. Uniting them.

She’d never imagined doing something like that to a man, but she’d enjoyed it—especially when Bran forgot himself, arching up to meet her mouth and calling out her name. She’d felt powerful. Sensual. And as they lay there, her core throbbed gently, greedy for more of him.

Earlier, she’d been nervous and embarrassed about lying with him for the first time. But now, the anxiety had fled. She didn’t care if it hurt; she wanted him inside her.

It wasn’t long before his shaft grew hard once more, straining eagerly against his belly.

But Bran ignored it at first. Instead, he rolled to her, his mouth finding Makenna’s.

They kissed for a long while—deep, sensual kisses that made her gasp and sigh—and then he moved down to her aching breasts, sucking each one until she trembled underneath him.

Only then did he move farther down her body.

Spreading her legs wide, he pushed them up so that her pelvis tilted toward him, exposing her to his hungry gaze. “I don’t want to hurt ye,” he said, the roughness of his voice making lust slam into her with dizzying intensity.

“Ye won’t,” she panted. “Just don’t hurry.”

His lips tilted into a smile that made her heart stutter. He then stroked the tip of his rod over her sex, making her shiver. Nestling it at her entrance, he worked his way inside her with delicious slowness.

Halfway in, Makenna started to sweat.

Despite that she was ready for him, she was so tight. It was uncomfortable, almost painful .

Bran was patient though. He experimented—slowly circling his hips, withdrawing, and then pressing deeper. The discomfort eased as he did so. Heat kindled deep in her womb as he finally sank home, bringing their bodies flush.

His sharply indrawn breath excited her, as did the look of wonder on his face. Although she didn’t have time to linger upon it, for he rolled his hips once more. It didn’t seem as though he needed any more instruction from her. The man had most definitely found his stride.

Pleasure rippled through her, followed by a hot rush of wetness. Makenna gasped, bucking against him. Bran growled something under his breath and pulled out of her, almost to the tip, before sinking deep once more. Meanwhile, his hands gripped her thighs, keeping her spread open for him.

He rode her like that, in slow, deep thrusts, and before long, sweat gleamed on both their bodies.

Makenna trembled now, tension coiling tight deep inside her womb. She’d thought the pleasure he’d given her earlier couldn’t be bettered, but this … this was … she didn’t have the words.

She was aware then of a woman’s shrill cries filling the bedchamber and vaguely recognized them as her own. She couldn’t bring herself to care. The ecstasy that thundered through her was too great to be borne silently. She couldn’t keep quiet. It was so good—and it just went on and on.

Bran’s groans joined her squeals then, and he went rigid, his head throwing back as he plunged one last time inside her.

She watched, fascinated, as his eyelids flickered and pure pleasure rippled across his face .

Makenna fell asleep immediately after their coupling.

A boneless, exhausted slumber that dragged her into its delicious embrace.

She awoke to find the first rays of dawn peeking around the edge of the sacking.

The fire had died, although a blanket covered her and Bran—he must have awoken during the night and retrieved it.

They lay together, limbs tangled.

Bran was snoring softly, and Makenna carefully pushed herself up onto an elbow so she could see his face.

Asleep, he looked younger. His skin was even paler than hers, with more freckles scattering the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His beautiful lips were slightly parted.

Makenna gazed upon him with fascination.

The man might have been a virgin before last night, but he certainly hadn’t come across as awkward. And he’d taken instruction eagerly, without questioning her.

They hadn’t conversed since their long and sweaty tumble, and warmth rolled over Makenna. What if things were awkward now? What if the magic of the night before had fled now that the sun was rising? What if, when they conversed again, they vexed each other as they once had?

She didn’t have time to dwell on her worries though, for at that moment, he stirred, his eyes slowly opening. Their gazes met and held.

“Did ye sleep well?” he murmured.

“Aye,” she whispered. “Very well.”

His mouth quirked, and he lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair off her face. “Ye look bonnie in the morning light,” he murmured. “Yer hair wild … yer eyes soft. ”

Makenna’s heart did a little skip. She raised her hand, pushing her hair back. Indeed, it was a tangle—a reminder of their passion. She cleared her throat then, suddenly embarrassed. “Well … at least our wedding night is over with.”

His gaze shadowed at her words, and she immediately kicked herself. Why had she said that?

“I didn’t bruise ye … did I?” he asked after a pause. A groove etched itself between his eyebrows, one she itched to reach out and smooth away. Clenching her hand, she prevented herself. “I meant to go slower but forgot myself in the end.”

“Ye didn’t hurt me,” she assured him, even as her cheeks warmed. Indeed, after the initial discomfort, there hadn’t been any pain. Just gut-twisting, soul-pounding pleasure.

His gaze met hers then, his expression solemn now. “It’s not right … the way all of this was done.” He paused then. “If I were a farmer and ye a local lass, we’d have had the chance to get to know each other … for me to woo ye before we tumbled.”

She snorted. “Instead, I tried to kill ye … and then we fought.”

He huffed a laugh. “I suppose love play takes many forms.”

Makenna stilled. Love play. They both knew that wasn’t what had happened on the days leading up to their wedding. Could one lusty night wash all the resentment away?

Their gazes met again, and then Bran lifted his hand once more. This time, he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “I’ll not pretend things between us will be easy,” he said softly. “But I’m willing to try … if ye are?”

There it was—another challenge issued. Already, he’d learned that Makenna could never resist a gauntlet thrown down before her. A pause followed before she lowered her gaze. “Once ye discover more about me … ye might wish ye hadn’t.”

It was his turn to snort. “Before our wedding, I thought ye were a blade-tongued hellcat … but last night, I learned there’s more to ye.”

Her chin kicked up. A blade-tongued hellcat? “And I thought ye were a haughty lairdling with a pike stuck up yer arse.”

His eyes snapped wide at her response. And then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. He then propped himself up on an elbow and grinned at her. “Ye know … I think we might be well-matched.”

“Aye?” His mirth both affronted and flustered her. She’d just insulted him, but he didn’t appear to mind.

“Aye.” His grin faded now, his smoky eyes growing limpid.

He then drew back the blanket covering them, his gaze dragging down the exposed length of her body.

Her skin tingled under the weight of his stare, her breathing suddenly shallow.

He cupped her face with his hand, his attention shifting to her mouth.

“Now … let’s put that sharp tongue of yers to better use. ”