Page 81 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
There were four adjoining rooms in total: an area where Murdoch’s four-poster bed stood alone, a room for his writing desk and books, a room that seemed to be reserved for lounging, and a stark square of a room that appeared to be a smaller version of his sculpting tower. In it stood previous works of art like animals, warriors in different fighting stances, and a depiction of a selkie—a naked woman holding her sealskin in her hand.
Cecilia eyed the latter. “I hope this isnae a former muse of yers.”
“Nay, it occurred to me one day,” he replied. “The only time I’ve ever sculpted a real woman is when ye arrived. Even then, I couldnae get it right. There’s a lump of clay up in me tower that has been squashed flat at least ten times to prove it.”
Cecilia laughed softly, but her breath caught in her throat as his arms wrapped around her from behind, his lips seeking the curve of her neck, kissing her until her skin tingled with desire.
“I’ll have to help ye practice,” she said, leaning back into him, “until ye get it right. Though I hope ye dinnae plan on showin’ it to anyone. I’m nae sure I’d like everyone seein’ what I look like without me clothes on.”
He growled against her skin. “That’ll be just for me.”
She turned in his arms, running her hands up the hard lines of his chest, unable to stop smiling.
“I can work while ye sleep if ye like,” he suggested, pressing a kiss to her lips.
She smiled against his mouth and pulled back for a moment. “I wasnaeactuallyplannin’ to sleep. I doubt I could even if I tried.” She hesitated. “But thereissomethin’ I would like to do. I think it was number four on yer list, with a variation.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What variation?”
“Can I take off yer mask?” she asked, running her hand through his hair until she found the leather strap that held the mask in place. “I want to see ye, love. All of ye. Nay barriers or distance or doubts.”
His throat bobbed. “Aye, ye can.”
He seemed to hold his breath as she slowly pulled the mask up and off his head, uncertain of what to expect, but certain that she would still love him no matter what he looked like.
Her heart ached as she saw the brand his father had left on him. It was a diagonal scar that ran from the middle of his right cheek, skimming past his right eye and up to the top of his temple.
Wide, with a deep line in the center. It was clear that a smoldering sword had made that mark. The skin was almost shiny and slightly puckered in places, but it did nothing to take away from his handsomeness. Indeed, to her, it was far better than the mask.
“Perfect,” she murmured, touching the scar gently. “Ye’re entirely perfect.”
He shook his head, trailing his hand up the curve of her back until it cradled the nape of her neck. “Nay, love. Ye are.” He frowned a little. “Ye werenae afraid of me in me mask, and ye’re nae afraid now that ye’ve seen me. Ye’re… remarkable, love.”
He kissed her then, with desire, with relief, with gratitude, with love. She melted into him, kissing him back as longing burned within her—smoldering embers that could never be doused.
Their lips moved in a slow ebb and flow, their tongues dancing, holding one another in the warmth of what might soon become their marital bedchamber.
Cecilia kissed his face, pressing her lips carefully to his scars and the smooth side of his cheek. She kissed everything that had been hidden from her before, his vulnerability making her bolder and more confident, letting her lips and touch explore his neck, his throat, his chest, his arms—every inch of exposed skin she could find.
And as they kissed, as he explored her in return, they began to slowly undress one another. She peeled away his léine, untucking it from beneath his belt, and pulled it over his head, relishing the sight of him as his bare torso was revealed to her bit by bit. She kissed him there and moved to undo his belt, his kilt dropping to the floor.
She glanced down shyly, thrilled and astonished in equal measure to see what she had felt on the night they made love in his tower. He was already hard and swollen with desire, and her curious hand reached out to touch him.
“Nae yet,” he growled with a half smile as she stroked her fingertips along his length. “I want ye to have all the pleasure ye can take first.”
To prevent her from continuing, he pulled her dress up and over her head, forcing her to raise her arms. Then, he tossed her dress on the floor and made quick work of her drawers and stays until they were both naked.
Murdoch pulled Cecilia to him, kissing her more fiercely, his hands roaming over the smooth curves and contours of her warm body. She, in turn, savored the hard lines of his muscles and the excitement of being able to touch him as she pleased—more or less.
She caressed the ridges of his abdomen, the broad muscles of his chest, his powerful thighs and arms, the cords of his neck, the swell of his muscular buttocks, and the tight muscles of his back and shoulders.
She yelped in delight as he suddenly hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the room with the largest fireplace—a room designed for comfort and relaxation, appointed with cushioned armchairs, a chaise longue, and a thick rug.
He laid her down on the wide chaise longue, where the heat of the fire kissed her bare skin. She gasped as she felt him brush against the most sensitive part of her, his loins nestled between her thighs, but he did not thrust into her. Not yet.
Instead, he kissed her deeply, sliding his arms beneath her to hold her close. She wrapped her legs around his waist to press him even closer, kissing him with all the love that swelled in her heart, overjoyed that she could see his face and look into his eyes, at last. She had relished every encounter that hadcome before, but there was an intense intimacy to this one that heightened the sensations and the anticipation of what would happen next.
“I love ye,” he murmured, kissing down the column of her throat and her bosom.
