Page 63 of Sweet Home Highlander
“You’ve tormented me long enough, my laird,” she said, loving the heavy press of his naked body as he came on top of her. He braced himself with his elbows and looked into her eyes, his own stormy with desire.
“I’ve only begun, my lady,” he replied, and without hesitation, aligned himself at her opening, and pushed forward.
“Oh.” Aisla gasped at the sensation of fullness, accompanied by the smallest twinge of pain.
“Ye’re so tight, love,” he groaned, pausing and lifting his head to look down at her. “I’m sorry, lass, did I hurt ye? I should have been more careful.”
She shook her head and rotated her hips flush against his, moaning at the burst of pleasure between her thighs. “Don’t you dare stop,” she said, and when she arched herself against him once more, Niall shifted to meet it with a shallow thrust of his own.
This time, the sound coming out of her was a sob of undiluted pleasure. How could she have forgotten how this felt? She’d thought she’d remembered. In Paris, she’d played out their lovemaking in her memories at night while in bed, her fingers bringing her to her own release. But no memory, no matter how detailed or strong, could hold a candle to the percussion of bliss and rapture rushing through her right then.
He seated himself fully and covered her cries with his mouth. Angling his hips, Niall retreated in a slow slide and rocked forward, filling her again. His tongue mimicked the motion, licking deeper. Again and again, he thrusted, his tongue tangling with hers in a lewd dance. She felt the carpet beneath her disappearing with every pound of his hips and every hard rasp of his chest against her breasts. He filled her everywhere, and their energetic coupling was more euphoric than Aisla could ever remember feeling. She feltalive.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything more than meet his hips, and grip his back and shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as a storm cloud of sensations built and crested within her. Finally, the storm broke, and a jagged burst of lightning lit through Aisla. It illuminated her world, blinding her as it scorched through her body. As if sparked by the current surging through her inner muscles, Niall broke their airless kiss. He threw his head back and groaned, piercing her once, twice, and a third time before lodging himself deep, shuddering with his own release. He held himself there, his breathing ragged, as the licks of lightning ebbed, leaving in their wake a numbed warmth.
Niall collapsed onto his side, pulling her with him, cradling her in a tangle of their arms and legs. He kissed her forehead, and she felt a tremble on his lips.
“I bloody missed ye,” he breathed, and though Aisla wanted to agree and say the same thing, she couldn’t speak. Not because she was breathless, even though she was a bit. There was an aching ball in the middle of her throat. She’d missed him, too, yes.
Even worse, she stilllovedhim.
And that could only mean disaster. She’d promised Julien she’d leave Scotland, her hands untied, but now, she’d set them—and her heart—in knots.
Chapter Sixteen
After a night of passionate lovemaking, Aisla had crept back to her chamber just before dawn. Niall had still been asleep, and she’d stared down at him, her trembling heart in her throat. A lock of hair curled over his temple, his wide mouth parted in sleep. She’d wanted nothing more than to remain and wake in the clasp of his embrace, but it was too dangerous to give him more of her heart than she already had.
Oh God, what had she done?
She’d been the one to invite him to stay. She’d told him she needed him, made what she wanted explicitly clear. She’d been vulnerable and foolish. And lonely. He had, too. But Niall didn’t love her. What had happened between them was a product of history and lust, and misplaced emotion after Fiona’s traumatic birthing.
Comfort. That was all it had been.
I bloody missed ye.
His whispered confession had nearly undone her. She’d missed him, too, fiercely. Her body had welcomed his with the happy anticipation of coming home after a long absence. And shehadcome home.
And what of your promise to Julien?
Aisla groaned, sponging herself quickly with the cold water on the nightstand. She bit her tongue as the icy liquid touched her heated skin, but didn’t want to wake Pauline who slept in the small antechamber. Once dressed in a clean night rail and wrapper, she watched the sun rise on the eastern edge of the loch, heralding the birth of a new day, and felt nothing but despair.
Everything would change.
Itcouldn’tchange.
Her heart could not survive what it had endured in the past. Going back to what she’d left meant that every scrap of herself she’d fought for would be lost. She’d taken her tattered marriage and the loss of her child, and made herself into something strong. Into something unbreakable. But with one look, onetouch, Niall had threatened her foundations.
The knowledge that she still loved him cut deeply. She had thought she’d put him behind her, but all the last night had proven was how weak she still was around him.Forhim. She’d fallen in love with him almost at once when they were fifteen, attracted to his handsome looks and adventurous spirit. And she’d grown to love him over a sweet, prolonged courtship until they eloped at eighteen. He was her first love, and he’d always be special to her, she supposed.
Love wasn’t always enough; she’d learned that lesson the hard way.
He is a different man now, a voice in her head argued.
Aye, he was. He’d changed.
And so had she. Aisla liked who she had become in Paris. She enjoyed her independence and her newfound sense of self-worth. Here in Scotland, she felt lost and judged, whereas in Paris she’d felt none of that. Though, in all honesty, it was different at Tarbendale than it had been at Maclaren. But deep down, she still felt that sense of being suffocated as if she were being wrapped up in someone else’s identity. It frightened her.
No, she would have to leave. She’d also made a promise to her best friend, a man who had been there for her when she’d had no one. Aisla drew a deep breath, watching as the sun’s rays danced over the surface of the loch in touches of brilliant gold. She would help him find a wife, but she would not marry Julien. She couldn’t. Even if he wanted a marriage of convenience and friendship, he still deserved a wife whose heart didn’t belong to another man. And up until last night, she had thought her heart was her own. Now, she knew it would never be so.
