Page 43 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

Her only response was another groan as she bent her knees, drawing them higher, stretching her thighs further open beneath his hand.

Pushing aside his kilt, Maxwell moved over her so that his hips pressed her down and the tip of his shaft moved to her entrance.

She lifted her hips, pushing against him. He grunted, a soft tantalizing sound. “Nae quite yet lass, dinnae be so greedy. I wish tae savor this moment.” He moved a little deeper into her, still withholding himself.

She thrashed her head from side to side. “Dinnae torture me, Maxwell. I want all of ye inside me.” She lifted her hips, pushing fiercely, taking his hardness inside her up to the hilt.

Now it was his turn to groan. He drove into her, the full length of him sliding deep and then withdrawing to thrust into her again and again.

They found a rhythm for their thrusting. She clutched his shoulders, moving her hips to align with each one, meeting him with the same burning need and desire he displayed to her.

Her body rocked back and forth, seized with glorious sensations, each moment and each thrust taking her higher, until she felt as if she would fall apart with the pleasure of it. The world, with all its worries and fears, simply disappeared until she was aware ofnothing other than the powerful body merging with hers, filling her, bending her with delight, so that she cried out again and again, in wordless moments of ecstasy.

Maxwell’s roar, signaling the nearness of his climax, tipped her over the edge of sensation. It came in waves of sheer, crazed pleasure that was unutterably intense, her body clenching around him in lengthy, rapturous spasms as they held each other, delighting in each moment.

It was some time before she regained her footing on earth.

Her passion left her weak, shattered. It was nothing like she’d ever experienced or imagined could have been possible before then. She remained in Maxwell’s encircling arms, her fingers locked in his hair, gazing deep into his eyes in the firelight. What she saw there was the same amazement and wonder that mirrored her own.

It was still dark when she woke, feeling an emptiness beside her where Maxwell had been lying. It was cold and the fire had almost died. A sudden unfamiliar sound made her sit up, her heart hammering.

“Who’s there?”

Maxwell’s voice came through the darkness. “Nay bother, lass. I didnae wish to wake ye. Our fire needs some stoking.” He blewloudly on the remaining embers, bringing the fire back to life. Once the flames leaped up, he loaded the remains of the branch he’d found earlier onto the stone hearth.

“This will stave off the cold and grant us a few hours before we freeze.”

She drew her cloak around her and joined him, luxuriating in the warmth and the moment of intimacy.

He reached for her and pulled her close. “Ye’re cold, lass. Let me warm ye.”

Laughing, she snuggled closer as he scattered kisses over her shoulder and along her neck.

“Methinks ye’d be more comfortable and I could warm ye easier if ye took off this tunic.”

“Mmm. Mayhap ye’re right.” She rolled over lifted her arms for him to pull up the tunic and ease it over her shoulders. She flinched, but he was gentle making sure he did not press on the still-tender wound in her shoulder.

“And ye, MacNeil, would ye be warmerwithoutyer kilt?”

He grinned audaciously at her as he got to his feet. “I dae believe so.” He pulled off his shirt and undid his belt allowing, the length of his kilt to fall to the floor. She delighted in the glorious sight of him, his skin golden in the firelight as he stood naked beforeher, his shaft already standing to attention. He scooped up the plaid and eased himself back into their makeshift bed, pulling the plaid over her cloak for extra warmth.

It took only a few moments before he’d removed her tabard and the blue gown they’d purchased from the peddler, so that she was almost naked beside him save for her petticoat.

“This is so much warmer.”

She laughed as she set about untying the strings of her remaining garment, wriggling beneath him, arching herself so that he could more easily take it off.

She moaned softly as he pressed his lips against her skin. Finding her bare breast, he took the nub into his mouth, caressing it with his greedy tongue. His hand roamed freely over her shoulders, her back, her hips, stroking her smooth nakedness across her belly and down to her thighs, so that she quivered and whimpered with the bliss of his touch

As he lifted his head and locked his gaze with hers, she felt the now-familiar jolt of heat rush through her. His eyes were no longer the color of ice but more the dark blue of the deepest ocean.

“Ah, lass, if Sutherland’s men came storming through the door this moment, I’d scarce notice them. Fer the silk of yer skin and the smooth satin of yer thighs have me drunk wi’ the joy of ye.”

She reached a hand to track the rough stubble on his cheek, to run her finger across his lips, outlining their perfect shape, pushing a tangle of long black hair back from his broad forehead.

Maxwell leaned over her, tracing her throat with kisses. She arched her back, pressing her breasts with their hardened nubs against his chest. His kisses left her shoulders to pay homage to her breasts. He gave each pink nub their due of suckling and caressing, causing wild rivers of heat to flow like fever in her blood as Aileen moaned his name. He circled her navel with his tongue and layered kisses over her belly to her mound.

She gasped as his lips traced over her delicate folds making a path for his fingers to follow. His tongue made lazy circles, seeking out and finding her center, robbing her breath in a voluptuous, molten rush of sensation she was powerless to resist. His clever fingers slipped inside her, in and out, until she was dripping wet.

---