Page 76 of My Scot, My Surrender
“As you belong to me,” she breathed, her voice partially muffled by the sheets.
“Yes.” It was the only word he said before she felt the hot surfaces of his palms run the length of her back to the indent of her waist, to her buttocks, kneading gently there before resuming their slow return journey. “God, woman, you are exquisitely formed.” His voice sounded thick, as though he were having difficulty breathing.
Her voice pulled low with what remained of her concern. “Even with my scars?”
“Especially them. My brave Highland lass.” His fingers traced the filigree of welts that curved around her ribs down to the rise of her buttocks, making her shiver. She’d never known that the bloody things were so sensitive, but when Brandt’s mouth replaced his fingers, she almost fell apart in his hands. She made to turn so that she could pleasure him as well, but he held her firmly in place. “No, I want you to enjoy it.”
Her wicked lover proceeded to do as he’d promised—exploring every single inch of undiscovered territory with his hands and lips, mapping each and every contour of her. By the time he turned her over, Sorcha was a whimpering mess of aroused frustration. Her entire body tingled and ached with need.
“Brandt, please,” she begged, and he acquiesced, settling himself between her parted legs. His face was strained, too, as if his explorations had cost him more than he’d expected. She’d hoped to entice him with a little more grace, but she wanted him with a desire that could not be contained. She clutched wildly at his shoulders. When he positioned himself at the apex of her thighs, Sorcha almost wept aloud at the head of his erection nudging the swollen, wet folds of her entrance. “Mogràidh,” she gasped.
Brandt’s forearms were corded with muscle as he held himself above her, his hips making small tantalizing circles against her, pressing in more deeply each time. Sorcha tilted her hips upward in a desperate attempt to take in more of him, but Brandt’s control was absolute.
“Sorcha,” he commanded hoarsely. “Look at me.”
She did, and when her eyes connected with his, he pushed into her. She gasped and dug her fingers into the unyielding muscles of his back. They were hard like the rest of him. Like the rock-hard length anchoring her body to his. Sorcha had taken him into her mouth. She knew his size, but still, nothing had prepared her for the breath-stealing thickness of him as he filled her. Completely. Fully.
Struggling to accommodate him, she shifted, feeling her passage adjusting to his girth, and gasped as white-hot sensations streaked through her core.
“Are you in any pain?” he whispered, his voice wrenched tight. “I can stop.”
Sorcha blinked, her useless brain catching up to the question. It didn’t hurt…not like a blade strike or a tumble off a horse. It felt uncomfortable, more like an odd pressure than any real pain. She shook her head and shifted again, rocking her pelvis into his. More pleasure spiked through her. That felt better, she decided. She wanted more of that. “No, it doesn’t hurt, and no…I don’t want you to stop. What comes next?”
He chuckled. “My sweet lass, everything comes next.”
And then Brandt started to move, retreating almost all the way. Her eyes widened as he slid out of her. The sense of loss was tangible, until he moved forward to fill her again, and ripples of pleasure at the lubricious friction began to gather and build. He watched her carefully, and when he slid his hands down between their bodies to caress the sensitive bud of flesh nestled in her curls, she moaned her approval.
No longer passive, Sorcha felt her body begin to respond to her husband’s long, penetrating strokes and his nimble fingers. Again and again he withdrew and filled her, his pace quickening and her own desire mounting. His back felt slick underneath her palms as she arched upward to meet every thrust. Sorcha could see his passion building, too, in the tight clench of his jaw and the dilation of his beautiful eyes, and she was so busy studying him that her release took her by surprise.
Mind-numbing, overwhelming surprise.
“Oh,” she cried, her legs tightening around his hips as pulse after pulse of pleasure swept through her. Giving in to the drugging bliss that saturated her senses, her inner muscles clenched around him, holding him tight in the warm clasp of her spasming flesh.
“Oh God, Sorcha, you feel so good. I can’t…” He was hanging on to his control by a thread.
“Let go, Brandt,” she said, touching his cheek. “I won’t break.”
His voice was a growl. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll never hurt me.”
Desperately, Brandt pounded into her, intensifying the waves of pleasure cresting within her, until his entire body seized. With a harsh cry, Brandt joined her in bliss, groaning his own release. Neither of them moved for several minutes, their breathing harsh in the silence. He rolled them onto their sides, his body still intimately joined to hers, and cradled her close.
She smiled shyly. “So that’s consummation.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not what I expected,” she blurted out with a blush.
Brandt’s brows drew together slightly as he lifted a damp curl out of her face. “Was it not pleasing?”
“You most certainly pleased me, husband.” Sorcha drew a breath, feeling her cheeks heat more, and decided to blurt it out. “It’s just that, well, I saw a stallion and a mare…er…consummating at Maclaren once, and well, I guess I expected when you turned me onto my stomach that it would be so…” she trailed off miserably, her face on fire. “Don’t you dare laugh,” she warned, seeing her husband’s twitching lips and the humor twinkling in his eyes.
He bit his lips. “I’m not laughing, I swear.”
“You must think me a goose.”
“I think you’re adorable.”
