Page 64 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
“Aye, that’s it,” he murmured, stepping away from her for a moment. “Aye.”
He came back to her, tearing at the laces of her stays and throwing them on top of her dress. She longed to turn around and undress him, but when she tried, he pressed against her, holding her hands against the side table.
“Use yer other senses,” he told her, kissing her neck. “Imagine it as it happens.”
She did as he asked, surprised to feel a delicious shiver running through her as she heard him unbuckling his belt. Her breathingbecame ragged as she listened to the faint thud of his kilt hitting the floor, her body thrumming with anticipation as the soft rustle of his léine drifted to her ears.
His powerful arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against him, letting her feel the muscles and strength and heat of him.
Nevertheless, she moved a hand behind her, running her fingertips up the side of his muscular thigh. She had never felt something like it, hardly able to imagine how big and powerful it looked. She felt smoother lines here and there—scars. They must have been scars.
She could not resist moving her hand further back and squeezing his firm backside.
“I didnae say ye could touch me,” he said in a silky voice as his hand slid up her stomach, toward her breasts.
“Is that how ye mean to pretend that ours is still a white marriage?” she asked slyly. “If I dinnae touchye,it doesnae count?”
He nipped her earlobe. “It counts, but I dinnae care anymore.”
To prove his point, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and took a half-step back. He ran his hand down the length of her spine, urging her to bend at the waist, and rested his other hand on her hip.
Cecilia moaned as she felt his member sliding between her thighs, just like it had in the gardens. Wet with anticipation and pleasure, her nerves were so sensitive as his thick, hot flesh brushed against her bud.
“Oh… Oh, Murdoch…” she gasped, clawing at the side table.
“It might hurt,” he told her gruffly, “but nae for long.”
She nodded, ready to experience what she had heard so much about from the village girls. They had mentioned that it hurt briefly, but she was not afraid of a little pain if it meant a whole new world of pleasure.
He continued to push his length back and forth, teasing her swollen bud and keeping her guessing.
But as he drew back and made a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, she braced for what she had hoped for. Her breath hitched as she felt him nudge her entrance, his girth and heat knocking the air out of her lungs. Perhaps it was better that she could not look, or else she might have lost her nerve at his intimidating size.
A moment later, he eased himself inside her. He took his time, pushing slowly, while everything around her seemed to stand still as the new sensation overwhelmed her. There was a mild sting in the beginning, but as he slid deeper inside her, she forgot the pain, every nerve and limb and vein awakening to pleasures unknown.
She gasped, finally catching her breath in a series of shallow pants, relaxing into the glorious, inexplicable feeling of fullness. It was beyond anything she could have imagined, his girth sending fresh sparks of bliss to her belly and down her trembling legs.
He stilled for a moment, allowing her to relax into the sensation even more.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Cecilia shook her head. “Nay… Nay, it doesnae. Please, dinnae stop.”
“I dinnae intend to.”
She thought she heard a smile in his voice as he slowly pulled back, the slippery friction like striking a flint, igniting the tinderbox of her bliss.
This was worth waitin’ for…
She cried out as he slid back inside her, praying that he never decided to send her away again. If she could not have this with him, then she would surely take leave of her senses.
Murdoch had never known anything like it. He had never known pleasure so powerful or intoxicating to the point wherehe worried he might lose control altogether, making it a shorter experience than he would have liked.
But he was not a man of discipline for nothing, his body obeying his wishes as he plunged into the welcoming heat of her, thrusting in measured strokes while she moaned his name and gripped the table as if it were the only thing preventing her from flying away.
As if I dinnae want ye, lass. The greater trouble is nae bein’ able to get enough of ye.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up, his hand kneading the soft flesh of her breast while his other hand slipped between her thighs.
