Page 68 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
His hands slid from her waist to her thighs. She parted her legs almost instinctively, as if he had ordered her without saying a word. His palm slipped between her thighs, settling on soft linen.
She let out another sound, one that he felt in his groin, causing him to grind his teeth so he did not break his rhythm. Hisfingers moved slowly, pressing and circling the heat soaking her undergarments.
“Look at me.” His voice was low. Guttural. Rough.
Elinor’s eyes were shut tight, her lips parted as his fingers continued to stroke her through the linen.
“Elinor,” he said, his voice dropping further. Her eyes snapped open. “Look.” His fingers rubbed her, and she exhaled. “At. Me.”
Her hips bucked against his hand, and he dragged the linen aside. Then, he slid two fingers inside her and curled them upward. She gasped, and her walls tightened around him. She was warm and slick, pulsing rhythmically around his fingers.
He pushed deeper into her and felt her hand slam against his wrist. She was holding him there, not pushing him away. He could tell from the look in her eyes.
He curled his fingers again, rubbing that sensitive spot inside her. Her thighs clamped around his arm, her heels digging into the floor.
He wanted her to feel it. Every touch. Every stroke. He wanted to see her react to them all. And he didn’t rush her either.
When her breathing became ragged, he shifted his weight and closed his mouth around her other nipple. She jerked, and her hips moved in rhythm with his hand. A broken moan escapedher lips when he sucked hard enough to leave a mark on her nipple.
His length was fully erect and straining against his trousers, the pressure almost painful. He wanted to be inside her. To feel her squeeze him. He wanted to know what it would feel like, but he didn’t trust himself to stop if he started. So he focused on her instead, listening to every hitch in her breath and tremor in her moans.
He released her nipple and watched her face. She was close, he could tell. He thrust his fingers deeper, and her lips parted on another sharp gasp. Her hips started gyrating, matching the pace and movement of his fingers. She rocked against his hand, and he let her.
Her hand slipped from his hair to the floor, her fingers digging into the stone. Her other hand settled on his bicep, tightening every time he curled his fingers inside her. He kept his rhythm steady, his thumb brushing the sensitive nub at the apex of her sex. Her hips bucked against him harder.
Then, her body tensed and shuddered. Her walls spasmed around his fingers, her heat drenching his skin as she climaxed. He didn’t stop moving his fingers until she went limp on the floor, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat.
He watched her, his eyes darkening with each passing second as her body continued to tremble. She watched him back, her eyes heavy and her lips parted. He slid his palm over her hip, feeling her quiver under his touch.
Then, with his eyes still holding hers, he grabbed the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down. His length sprang free, and a gasp from the sudden cold escaped his lips. He was leaking, the head slick and dark red. He wrapped his hand around his length and started to stroke in long, slow pulls, never taking his eyes off her.
She didn’t move. She just watched, her breathing slowly evening out.
He stroked himself faster, the tension building quickly at the base of his spine. He could still feel her around his fingers. How tight she had been when he curled his fingers upward.
He imagined that tightness around his length. He imagined her nails digging into his back while he thrust into her and let the thought carry him over.
Climax hit him hard, and he spilled on his hands, his stomach, and the floor. A muffled groan escaped his sealed lips as he continued stroking himself, still feeling her eyes on him. When he was spent, he collapsed onto the floor beside her, the cold air kissing his sweat-slick skin.
Something about that moment felt tender. Both of them were lying naked on the floor in the gallery, staring at the glass ceiling through which more sunlight spilled in. Something about it felt unique, unlike anything he had ever experienced with anyone else.
“That was exhilarating,” he breathed, finding his words.
Elinor chuckled beside him. “I didnae ken ye have such skills, Laird MacTraigh.”
Ciaran laughed. “It may surprise ye, M’Lady, that these hands arenae only capable of killing.”
“Ye ken, if ye continue this way, I might decide to give ye an heir, after all,” Elinor muttered.
The smile vanished from his face. “Elinor– ”
“Nay, I am just saying.”
“Ye cannae just say things like that. I told ye, I am very clear on that. I daenae want children.”
“What if in the fu– ”
“There is nay future where I would want a bairn of me own,” he cut in, his voice sharp and firm. “Please, daenae make that joke again.”
