Page 103 of What a Scot Wants
What felt wonderful was her sweet arse pressed against his cock. Wonderful and equally excruciating. With strength he did not know he possessed, Ronan managed to scrub most of her and most of himself before the water started cooling. He cleared his throat, intending to reach for the toweling, before her fingers crept up his thigh, stalling him.
Imogen turned in his arms, kneeling between his spread knees and watching him. Her damp hair curled into her face, eyes like glittering emeralds. God, he could get lost in them forever. Not to mention the rest of her. She was perfection.
She held his gaze for a protracted moment. “Love me, Ronan,” she whispered.
“I do.”
Her breath rushed out on a sigh. “Marry me.”
Ronan yanked her onto his chest, clasping her possessively to him. “As if I could ever let ye go. Dunnae ye ken? Ye’remine, lass.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
He grinned at her. “Now forgiveness, my devious little future duchess, that needs to be earned, and Highland punishments need to be meted out.”
She swallowed, a pink tongue coasting over her bottom lip. “Highland punishments?”
“Aye. As duke, it’s my duty to see that justice is served.”
“And how will you punish me, Your Grace?” she asked contritely.
With a smirk, Ronan swatted her on her bare, damp rump, and her eyes widened. He felt his cock surge between their bodies, and he gave her another light spank. This time, she gasped and clutched at his shoulders, her pupils dilating, taking the green of her irises nearly to black as desire roared to life in them. The third spank had her writhing against him.
“Ronan…”
He shifted up, moving to rise and bear them both to the bed, but Imogen had other ideas.
“No, stay here.” She pushed to her knees on either side of his hips and hovered over him. When she eased down, taking his swollen shaft into the warm clasp of her body, neither of them were capable of speech. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth parting on a moan as she worked her slick passage down his length. And when he was finally anchored deep inside of her, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
Those brilliant eyes of hers opened and found him. “I love you, Ronan.”
Christ, this was what it felt like to love. Tobeloved.
“I love ye,mo gràidh.”
Ronan clutched her hips as she moved, setting the pace. He reached for her breasts, as perfect as the rest of her was, and rose to take a peaked nipple into his mouth. He’d never get enough of her. Imogen’s release came upon her quickly, and he followed her over the precipice as her body clenched and rippled around his.
There was nothing more beautiful, more pleasurable than watching Imogen in this moment. Watching her come apart and together again. So devastatingly beautiful, she took his breath away. As lost in him as he was in her.
His fearless warrior. His woman. His bride.His.
Epilogue
Six months later
Imogen stood at the window overlooking the privy garden at Holyrood Palace and scowled at the dark, flat sheet of rain clouds. They were coming in fast. And the timing could not be worse.
“They say rain on your wedding day is good luck,” Aisla said, joining her at the tall pane of glass, one of several in the luxurious state apartment inside the palace. “It’s a symbol of fertility and cleansing.”
“That’s absurd,” Imogen replied. “Whoever said that was only trying to make a bride feel better about looking like a drowned rat on the most important day of her life.”
Aisla laughed and put her arm around her. “Nonsense. You’ll look radiant no matter the weather. And besides, the rain seems to be holding. Not a drop yet!”
Niall’s wife gave her a reassuring squeeze and hustled away, toward a small pedestal, where Rory was currently being draped in a dress of pale, peach-colored lawn for the occasion.
Imogen’s wedding day.
A weightless sensation lifted her spirits at the thought, and even the slate-colored skies appeared to brighten. Curiously, they were the same color as Ronan’s eyes when he was caught in an impassioned trance, like he had been two evenings before, when she’d straddled him in his bed, riding him to complete euphoria. She shook her head at the wicked and somewhat fanciful thought.
