Page 23 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T he day had taken on a dreamlike quality, and Lachlan found himself reluctant to break the spell that had settled between him and his wife.

"We should head back soon, wife," he murmured against her hair, his voice still rough with sleep and satisfaction.

"Hmmm… please, just a little longer," she whispered, making no move to leave the warmth of his embrace.

His arm tightened around her. A man had every right to enjoy his wife's company, especially when that wife had proven to be far more passionate than either of them had expected.

"There's more I could show ye, ye ken," he'd told her, his voice low with the promise of pleasures yet unexplored. "So much more."

She'd looked up at him with those dark eyes wide with curiosity and want. "I want all of it," she'd whispered, and the breathless need in her voice had nearly broken his resolve. "But I ken once I give meself completely..."

"Shh," he'd silenced her with gentle fingers against her lips, though every fiber of his being wanted to claim her fully. "When ye're ready. When ye're certain. Until then, let me give ye what pleasure I can."

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

She felt the shift in his body, the gentle tightening of his arms around her, the press of his lips against her shoulder. Then lower. A slow trail of kisses down her spine, over the dip of her waist, as though he were memorizing every inch of her with his mouth.

Her breath caught when he nudged her thighs apart again.

“Lachlan…” she whispered, unsure if her body could take more

“Hush, sweet,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Let me show ye what it means to be worshipped.”

And he did.

His mouth found her again, soft and aching, still slick with the last remnants of her release. He didn’t hesitate. He dove in as if she were a feast laid out just for him, his tongue stroking through her folds, unhurried and sure.

Erica gasped, one hand fisting in the grass beneath them.

The first wave had left her trembling, but this… this was something else. Her nerves were already raw, and every pass of his tongue made her twitch, made her thighs clench around his shoulders. He growled against her, the sound vibrating straight into her core.

His hands pinned her hips down gently when she began to squirm.

“Lachlan,” she moaned again, barely coherent. “I… I cannae…”

He didn’t stop.

She sobbed his name as her body clenched, legs quivering, heat spilling over her like fire.

Only when she went limp did he finally ease back, pressing soft kisses to her trembling thighs, her belly, the curve of her hip.

She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. But she reached for him—still on her side—pulling him up beside her with what little strength she had.

His face was flushed, his hair wild, his lips damp from her. He looked at her like she was something both sacred and feral.

She ran her fingers over his jaw, then down his chest, following the fine trail of dark hair to where his desire for her strained thick and full between his thighs.

“Ye’ve touched every part of me,” she whispered. “Let me… let me touch ye now.”

He hesitated, just a beat. Then gave her the smallest nod.

Erica sat up, still flushed, still breathless. But she wasn’t shy. Not anymore.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her lips. Then lower—to his ribs, to his navel. When her hand wrapped around him, he let out a sharp breath, his hips twitching.

He was so hard. Hot. Heavy in her hand. She watched his jaw tighten as she began to move, slow and curious, stroking from base to tip just as he’d shown her.

“Ye’re beautiful,” she murmured, amazed by the way he twitched under her touch, the way a soft groan escaped him when she squeezed lightly at the base.

She bent her head and brushed her lips across the tip, tasting the bead of salt there. Lachlan’s hand fisted in the blanket beneath them, but he said nothing. She could hear his breath catch, feel the tension radiating off his body.

Encouraged, she opened her mouth and took him in.

He was too thick to take fully, but she did what she could—slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue while her hand kept the rhythm at the base. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked gently, and was rewarded with a low, strangled sound from above.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “Sweet gods, Erica…”

She couldn’t help but smile around him, her confidence blooming. She loved the way his thighs flexed, the way his breath stuttered every time she twisted her wrist or dragged her tongue just so. He was shaking now, his hips twitching, fighting not to move.

She felt powerful. Desired. Bold.

“Lass… I’m close…” he rasped, but she didn’t stop. She wanted to see him undone.

She bobbed her head slowly, sucking, letting her hand match the motion. When she flicked her tongue beneath the crown and swallowed around him, he gave a deep, guttural moan. His whole body tensed, and with one sharp gasp, he spilled into her mouth.

She took it all, swallowing as best she could, her eyes fluttering closed at the heat and salt of him. His fingers tangled in her hair, not to guide her, but to hold on.

When he was spent, she pulled back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

Lachlan opened his eyes slowly, face flushed, chest rising and falling.

“Ye’re dangerous, woman,” he said, voice like gravel. “And I’ll thank the saints every day for it.”

She laughed—a breathless, wicked little sound—and curled beside him again.

“I wanted to make ye feel what ye made me feel,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his chest.

He didn’t answer right away, but the way he wrapped his arms around her said everything.

The fire still glowed behind them, but the real heat lay in the quiet space between their hearts—bare, spent, and holding nothing back.

It was torment and paradise combined; this dance they were learning together. She'd begun to trust him with her body's responses, had started to believe that pleasure didn't have to come with pain or fear.

For the first time since inheriting his title, Lachlan found himself reluctant to move. The clan could wait another hour. His duties could wait.

Right now, the most important thing in his world was the woman in his arms, and the growing certainty that what had started as a necessity was becoming something far more dangerous.

Something that felt remarkably like bliss.

The next morning, golden sunlight streamed through their chamber windows as Lachlan prepared for the day's duties.

"Ye're perfect," Erica murmured from the bed, watching as Lachlan pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric settling across his broad shoulders.

"Nay, lass," he said, turning to catch her admiring gaze. "Ye're the one who's perfect."

She blushed prettily at his words, pulling the sheet higher around herself. "I'm serious. Look at ye—like some Highland god come to life."

"Flatterer," he accused, but his eyes were warm as he adjusted his belt and reached for his sword.

"It's nae flattery if it's true."

Already mentally preparing for the day's meetings, he leaned down to press a quick farewell kiss to her lips. But her arms came up around his neck, pulling him back down onto the bed.

"One more," she whispered against his mouth, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He couldn't resist her. Not when she lay naked like this. His mouth claimed hers with thoroughness that left them both breathless, then he trailed kisses down her throat, across the silk of her chemise to the valley between her breasts, then lower to press his lips to her belly.

"Lachlan," she gasped, half-laughing, half-breathless.

But he continued his playful assault, moving down to capture one of her feet, pressing kisses to her ankle before tickling the sensitive arch with his fingers.

"I've never seen cleaner feet in me life," he declared with mock solemnity, which sent her into peals of laughter.

"Stop!" she giggled, trying to pull her foot away. "That tickles!"

He grinned, pressing one last kiss to her toes before releasing her. "I'll be back soon, wife."

"Ye better be," she called after him, her voice still bright with laughter.

Lachlan was still smiling as he opened the chamber door and stepped into the corridor—only to find himself face to face with Duncan.

His cousin stood frozen in the hallway, one hand raised to the door, staring at him with unconcealed shock. Duncan's mouth had actually fallen open slightly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

Lachlan didn't break stride, continuing down the corridor toward the stairs. "Duncan. Ye're back."

"I..." Duncan scrambled to follow, his boots loud on the stone floor. "Aye, the negotiations concluded faster than expected."

Duncan kept glancing back at the closed chamber door, then at Lachlan, as if trying to reconcile what he'd just witnessed with his image of his usually stern cousin.

"Good," Lachlan said, descending the stairs with his usual measured pace. "I trust they went well?"

"They did, but..." Duncan seemed to struggle with words. "Were ye just... laughin’?"

"Was I?" Lachlan's tone gave nothing away, though inwardly he was amused by his cousin's obvious bewilderment.

"Aye, ye were. And there was... gigglin’. From yer chambers."

"Me wife finds me amusin’, apparently."

Duncan froze before hurrying to catch up with Lachlan’s long strides. He stared at him as they reached the great hall, clearly trying to process this information. "Yer wife?"

"Aye. I look forward to havin’ a meal with ye again," Lachlan said, settling into his chair at the high table. "I'll introduce ye to her at supper."

"I..." Duncan scrambled to follow, his boots loud on the stone floor. "When did this happen?"

“When what happened?”

"Yer marriage! I left barely a fortnight ago and ye showed nay signs of courtin' anyone." Duncan's voice rose with bewilderment. "Who is she? Where did she come from?"

Lachlan descended the stairs with measured steps. "Apparently, I was betrothed when I was younger. While ye were gone, events precipitated a swift marriage and we both decided to honor our parents' wishes."

Duncan's steps faltered. "Betrothed?" He caught up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Ye would never honor any wish yer parents had. What's really goin' on here?"

The questioning of his motives brought out something dangerous in Lachlan's expression. When he turned to face his cousin at the bottom of the stairs, there was nothing left of the contented husband and everything of the Highland laird who'd earned his position through blood.

"Ye dare to question me motives in gettin' wed?" His voice was deadly quiet, the kind of tone that had made grown warriors step back in fear. "Ye forget yerself, cousin."

Duncan paled but held his ground. "I just meant?—"

"Now prepare yerself to be courteous to me wife, Lady Kinnaird, at supper tonight." Lachlan's eyes were ice-cold as he stared down his cousin.

From the corner of his eye, Lachlan caught the slight tightening around Duncan's mouth, the barely perceptible clench of his jaw as he processed the warning.

But when Duncan spoke, his voice was carefully controlled, diplomatic. "Of course, cousin. Forgive me—the journey was long, and I misspoke." He managed what might have passed for a smile. "Congratulations on yer marriage. I'm sure Lady Kinnaird is... everythin’ ye could have hoped for."

"She is," Lachlan replied curtly, not bothering to soften the hard edge in his voice.

Duncan nodded, then took a step back. "If ye'll excuse me, I find meself rather tired from the road. Perhaps I should rest a bit before the evenin’ meal? I'd hate to make a poor impression on yer new wife."

"Aye," Lachlan said, though his eyes never left Duncan's face. "Rest well."

He watched his cousin retreat up the stairs, noting the stiffness in Duncan's shoulders, the way his hands had clenched briefly at his sides before he'd forced them to relax.

Whatever game Duncan thought he was playing, Lachlan had made his position clear.

Lady Kinnaird was under his protection now, and anyone—blood relation or not—who thought to challenge that would find themselves facing the full wrath of a Highland laird who had already proven he wasn't afraid to spill family blood when necessary.