Page 20 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

He wished again that he had two good arms, so that he could rise up over her. Instead, he lay on his back and pulled her atop him, until she was straddling his thighs. Reaching out, she cradled his erection between her hands, and once again, he thought he might find his release with her fingers.

“You’re so large,” she said softly.

“Words to please any man.” She smoothed her fingers down his length. “If you continue doing that with your hands I will be beyond words and anything else.”

“Has it been very long for you?”

Once again, she startled him with her directness.

“Suffice it to say it’s been a long time.” He would not regale her with his exploits, or quote the exact number of weeks and months. No one else belonged here but the two of them. And yet he heard himself ask the question. “And you?”

“A long time,” she replied, smiling softly.

Leaning forward, she placed her hands on either side of his shoulders, her breasts brushing against his chest. He reached up with his good hand, stroked her breast softly, trapping a pert nipple between his fingers.

She kissed him then, trailing a path with her luscious mouth around his face, as if she connected his scars in a sweet and sensuous blessing. Returning to his mouth, she kissed him deeply, making him wonder why he’d never remembered that a kiss could be so powerfully seductive.

Slowly, in a movement that was excruciatingly delicate and almost heavenly, she encircled his erection and slid her hands slowly up and then down, repeating the gentle massage until his hips began to arch up to meet her hands without his conscious volition.

She was like a snake charmer in an Indian market, and he was a King Cobra responding to her summons.

He should tell her not to touch him, but he was too immersed in the feeling to protest it.

“You’re very skilled,” he said, his guttural voice not sounding like his own.

“Do you like what I’m doing?” she asked softly.

“I like it too much.”

She was relentless in her ministrations.

Finally, he grabbed both of her hands with one of his, jerking her close to him, swallowing her protest in a fierce kiss.

He pulled her up until his erection was at the juncture of her legs.

He wanted in, now, without finesse or words or teasing or pleading.

He wanted her now in a way that was barely human.

He slid into her, experiencing a sensation so perfect that he closed his eyes in an effort to prolong it. Thank God she was ready for him. Thank God he was alive to feel what he did at this moment, the pure rapture of sex.

He was acutely aware of every sensation, the heat of her, the dampness that welcomed him, her sigh as he arched beneath her.

He measured the moments in heartbeats, then breaths, prolonging the sensations as he surged deeper.

He heard her moan and clenched his teeth, praying to think of anything but what he was feeling, something to make the moments last.

Suddenly, his body erupted, split apart, and scattered.

The bliss he experienced in that moment was so perfect and pure that he wanted to cease breathing and thereby preserve the sensation for infinity.

Then he was simply adrift in silence, several seconds strung together on a del icate filament and punctuated only by the sounds of his rasping breath and his slowing heartbeat.

His lids felt heavy, his eyelashes weighing a hundred times what they should. Nevertheless, he blinked open his eyes and surveyed Mary. She lay propped up on one arm, her fingers threading through his hair, a proud, benevolent, almost Madonna-like smile playing over her mouth.

It was obvious she’d not yet experienced any pleasure.

He ran his hand down her body, saw her eyes darken and her expression change as he cupped one buttock, and moved slightly within her.

“You can’t think I was finished that soon, Mary?”

He reached down until he came to the joining of their bodies, feeling the soft hairs meshed together. Her soft folds were slightly swollen, and he gently inserted his thumb, finding the one spot that would bring her the most pleasure.

He brushed a soft kiss on her sweet pink mouth and smiled as she deepened it. “Perhaps I’ll show you what I was taught in India.”

She undulated against him, her nipples gently abrading his chest.

“Sit up,” he said, breathing the instruction against her cheek. She shook her head again, stubborn Mary, but placated him with a kiss.

“Sit up,” he repeated. “I want to kiss your breasts.”

This time she did, placing both hands flat on her thighs.

Her breasts were beautiful, not so large that they were pendulous, but perfectly shaped. Their nipples were long and tightly erect. He smiled, wondering if she were sensitive there.

She leaned on her left forearm, placing her right hand beneath her right breast and offering it to him as if it were an apple, he thought, licking the tip. Perhaps the sages had it wrong. There was no apple in the Garden of Eden, only the bounteous fruit of Eve’s body.

His tongue encircled her nipple before his mouth gripped it firmly.

He pulled on it gently, watching as she closed her eyes, the delicate lashes fanning against her cheek like the soft brush of butterfly wings.

His thumb continued to gently stroke her most private core, back and forth and then in a circular motion.

If he had no other incentive to gain the use of his hand, this was it. Touching Mary, stroking her with his fingers and his thumbs, probing the delicate, private places.

Heal me . It was a command he almost uttered aloud, but he was not so lost in passion that his senses had gone begging.

Suddenly, she leaned back, crossing her hands over her chest and holding herself so still that he knew every sensation was trapped where his thumb now pressed. Her lids clenched shut and she took a deep breath, exhaling it on a long, drawn-out sigh.

Her hands clutched her upper arms tightly, making him wonder if she would bruise herself.

But her utter stillness fascinated him even as he felt the moisture dampen his fingers.

Her head arched backward, and she bit her lip.

Other than that, she made no movement, but he felt her shudder around him, gripping him with tiny internal muscles.

He reached up and extended his hand around to her back, pulling her to him.

He welcomed her with a kiss, an openmouthed exploration of tongues, teeth, and breath even as he arched his hips and surged within her.

Long moments later he heard her soft exclamation and smiled against her lips.

His second explosion was less forceful than the first but no less sweet.

It might have been possible to believe, in that instant, that this was why he had been saved, for the sheer joy of living, encapsulated in this experience. He hooked his arm around her shoulders and held her close, unwilling to let her move.

He kissed her again, murmuring something in the aftermath, words that he would be hard-pressed to recount five minutes later. A grunt or a murmur, some sound to express to Mary his gracious and unending thanks.

She nuzzled close to him, and he moved, pulling her next to him so that their faces lay only an inch apart. They shared each other’s breaths, an act as intimate as their joining a few moments earlier.

“I should leave,” she murmured softly.

“No.” He was indescribably weary, the weeks of fitful nights having taken their toll. Now he wanted to rest, to sleep the sleep of the sated, and know that when he woke, she would be there, guardian of his rest.

“If you’re here, I won’t dream,” he said.

Her hand rested on the side of his face, a gentle benediction, a cool touch. How could she be so cool when he was still so heated?

“Did I please you?” A question he’d not asked since his first time with a woman.

She nodded, but he wanted her assent in a word, something that he could hear and acknowledge.

“Did I please you?” he asked again.

“Yes.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, whispering softly. “Oh, yes.”

Just that, no embellishment or ardor, only the simple assent he’d requested. He found himself wanting to ask her for more, but discovered that even that thought was abruptly buried beneath a sudden and overwhelming fatigue.

“Stay with me,” he said. He would explain to the others, Hamish thought, as sleep drifted over him.