Page 21 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Virgin (Auctioned Highland Brides #3)

His length was fully erect and straining against his trousers, the pressure almost painful.

He wanted to be inside her. To feel her squeeze him.

He wanted to know what it would feel like, but he didn’t trust himself to stop if he started.

So he focused on her instead, listening to every hitch in her breath and tremor in her moans.

He released her nipple and watched her face. She was close, he could tell. He thrust his fingers deeper, and her lips parted on another sharp gasp. Her hips started gyrating, matching the pace and movement of his fingers. She rocked against his hand, and he let her.

Her hand slipped from his hair to the floor, her fingers digging into the stone. Her other hand settled on his bicep, tightening every time he curled his fingers inside her. He kept his rhythm steady, his thumb brushing the sensitive nub at the apex of her sex. Her hips bucked against him harder.

Then, her body tensed and shuddered. Her walls spasmed around his fingers, her heat drenching his skin as she climaxed. He didn’t stop moving his fingers until she went limp on the floor, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat.

He watched her, his eyes darkening with each passing second as her body continued to tremble. She watched him back, her eyes heavy and her lips parted. He slid his palm over her hip, feeling her quiver under his touch.

Then, with his eyes still holding hers, he grabbed the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down.

His length sprang free, and a gasp from the sudden cold escaped his lips.

He was leaking, the head slick and dark red.

He wrapped his hand around his length and started to stroke in long, slow pulls, never taking his eyes off her.

She didn’t move. She just watched, her breathing slowly evening out.

He stroked himself faster, the tension building quickly at the base of his spine. He could still feel her around his fingers. How tight she had been when he curled his fingers upward.

He imagined that tightness around his length. He imagined her nails digging into his back while he thrust into her and let the thought carry him over.

Climax hit him hard, and he spilled on his hands, his stomach, and the floor. A muffled groan escaped his sealed lips as he continued stroking himself, still feeling her eyes on him. When he was spent, he collapsed onto the floor beside her, the cold air kissing his sweat-slick skin.

Something about that moment felt tender. Both of them were lying naked on the floor in the gallery, staring at the glass ceiling through which more sunlight spilled in. Something about it felt unique, unlike anything he had ever experienced with anyone else.

“That was exhilarating,” he breathed, finding his words.

Elinor chuckled beside him. “I didnae ken ye have such skills, Laird MacTraigh.”

Ciaran laughed. “It may surprise ye, M’Lady, that these hands arenae only capable of killing.”

“Ye ken, if ye continue this way, I might decide to give ye an heir, after all,” Elinor muttered.

The smile vanished from his face. “Elinor– ”

“Nay, I am just saying.”

“Ye cannae just say things like that. I told ye, I am very clear on that. I daenae want children.”

“What if in the fu– ”

“There is nay future where I would want a bairn of me own,” he cut in, his voice sharp and firm. “Please, daenae make that joke again.”

Elinor nodded, feeling her hair tickle her cheek. “Well, I might nae give ye an heir anyway if ye keep behaving like this.”

“Like what?” He frowned.

“Well, for me to conceive, I must invite ye to me bed first. And I daenae think I can do that if ye’re being so mean about it.”

Ciaran narrowed his eyes, letting her words sink in. “What?”

“Aye,” she said. “For ye to have an heir, I have to invite ye to me bed first, nae the other way around.”

He remained silent for a long moment, but then he furrowed his brow. “That makes nay sense. A fertility ritual?”

“Aye.”

“That sounds made up.”

A heavier silence fell over the gallery before Elinor broke it with a quiet chuckle. “Aye, it does, does it nae?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, it worked on Murdock. ‘Tis how I managed to remain a virgin all these years.”

Ciaran laughed.

It suddenly dawned on him what Anna meant earlier about her. Elinor was a mischievous hellion, and he was beginning to see that.

No. No, he could not dampen that. He had just inadvertently tried to.

Suddenly, a wave of possessiveness washed over him. As if the notion of any other man even dreaming of getting close to her would set him off.

Then, his mind wandered to the prospect of having children.

He did not want any. The thought of a man like him becoming a father tore him into pieces inside.

He could not do that to an innocent child.

And so he vowed right there and then, with his back still on the floor, to never touch Elinor like that again.

He wouldn’t be able to control himself the next time, he was sure of it.

“Did he really believe in the fertility ritual?” he asked, the thought still bothering him.

Einor opened her mouth to speak, but a series of hurried knocks on the door cut her off.

“Elinor? Are ye still in here?”

Ciaran turned his head to her, only to see utter panic on her face.

Dear Lord.