Page 95 of Sweet Home Highlander
“No,” she gasped, pulling back slightly out of reach of that persuasive tongue. “That thing that Pauline mentioned earlier before she left,” she said, unable to string two coherent thoughts together while his mouth was on her. “Well, you’re going to be a father, my laird.”
At her blurted revelation, Niall froze, his eyes going wide with delight, and then he kissed her so sweetly, so tenderly, that she couldn’t think. So she was taken completely by surprise when he lifted her and spun her around until she was quite giddy. Then he held her against him and sank to his knees, his head resting against her flat stomach.
“I love ye, Aisla,” he said looking up at her and then grazing a kiss on her belly. Her legs trembled beneath her night rail.
He glanced up at her, his brow creasing slightly. “How do ye feel? Are ye well?”
“I’m perfectly fine. As is the babe.”
“Perhaps we should wait to…ye ken…”
Aisla laughed and tugged on his shoulders. “Niall Maclaren, if ye leave me in such an unfulfilled state, I will never forgive ye.”
“Yer brogue is back.”
“Aye.” She grinned. “Now pay heed,leannan.”
With a teasing smile, he rose to take her lips again, his tongue luring her to madness as she lost her senses in a sea of pleasure. Every part of her was alive and yearning for him, and when he lifted her into his strong arms and bore her to the bed, she laughed in delight. He set her down and then stepped back, watching her. God, he was so handsome. So big and masculine, and she wanted him with a force she couldn’t quantify. He drew a shuddering breath, an odd look coming into his eyes. For a moment, Aisla frowned. Was he going to stop? She fought back the sudden knot in the pit of her stomach.
“Might I remind you, sir, that you’ve already said yes.”
“Aye. I am yers. I just wanted to take a moment to make sure ye were real. That I wasnae dreaming.”
“Do you dream of me often?”
His laugh was a half groan. “Ye’ve tormented me for weeks, lass. Every time I close my eyes, ye’re there, lush and beautiful. A figment of my fevered imagination.”
She rose to her knees on the bed, her heart kicking against her rib cage. “Did your dream Aisla do this?”
Slowly, she pulled on the ties to her night rail, letting the bodice drop to the tops of her nipples. She heard his indrawn breath, and let her eyes wander down his brawny body, lingering at the telltale tent in the folds of his kilt, before pulling the nightgown up and over her shoulders so that she was completely nude. She let him look his fill.
“Christ, lass,” he breathed. “Ye’re a goddess.”
“I’m yours.” She licked her lips and sat back on her folded legs. “Now undress for me.”
He complied, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shedding it. His fingers fumbled on his shirt buttons as a popping sound ensued in his frustration, and he whisked it over his head, leaving him bare above the waist. Aisla held her breath at the magnificent expanse of his chest. She couldn’t get enough of him…not of his tight muscles, the light mat of red gold hair, or the densely compacted build of him that tapered to the waistband of his kilt. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as she clenched her thighs together. Good Lord, but he made her body feel utterly frenzied. She was on the verge of coming apart just from watching him disrobe.
Divesting himself of his kilt, stockings, and shoes, he joined her on the bed, his long, lean body covering hers. Aisla wrapped herself around him, feeling the hair on his chest brushing her sensitive nipples and arching backward. She tangled her legs in between his, the hard length of his arousal finding glorious purchase in the notch between her thighs. Niall kissed her again, wrapping his arms about her until no space remained between them. She loved the feel of his skin plastering hers and the intense heat from his body leaching into her. God, she wanted him.
“Now, Niall, please.”
He lifted his hips and positioned himself between hers, but he didn’t enter her. Instead, he moved back and forth, rubbing himself into her slick channel. All the while, his mouth plundered hers, his tongue mimicking his shallow, teasing strokes. Aisla moaned her frustration, her hips driving toward his. He was going to make her crazy! Her legs hooked around his calves and with a firm buck of her hips, she had turned them to the side in a rolling motion, and then she straddled him.
He watched her, his mouth wet and swollen, eyes dancing. “What are ye doing, my lady?”
“Taking charge,” she said and aligned herself above him.
“Is that so?” he teased, his eyes narrowing as she circled her hips in a slow spiral. “Do ye plan to do that often?”
“As long as I am mistress here, aye.”
He filled his wandering hand with her breast, squeezing gently. “My mistress, my wife, my everything.”
At his tender words, Aisla lowered herself onto his shaft, gasping as she took him to the hilt. She rolled her hips, the spectacular friction making her body tighten and convulse with pleasure. Niall held her waist, his fingers gripping hard and kneading her skin as she pulsed above him, losing herself in the rhythmic sensation of their bodies joining, parting, and then hurtling together again. He drew her down to him for a wild, passionate kiss, even as he thrust up into her. Her body started to shudder, and she could feel him tensing beneath her, too, attempting to restrain his pace so that he might extend her pleasure and find his. Aisla cried out as he pushed them both onto the cusp of bliss, and then tumbled over. She collapsed against him, her head on his chest, his frantic heartbeat matching hers as it slowed.
“I love ye,” he whispered against her damp hair. “Ye ken that?”
“Aye, but it cannot possibly be as much as I love you.”
