Page 32 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
He’d been her dream lover for nearly a year, living in her dreams each night. Now he was here and real.
The timid girl she’d always been whispered to take care, use caution. The woman she wanted to be stepped forward, eager and needy.
He stripped his clothes off in seconds. What a pity not to have more light so she could see him. Her fingers would be her eyes. Slowly, tenderly, gently, she would smooth her hands over him, learning him.
Should she feel sinful at this moment? Or guilty, if nothing else? Instead, she wanted to smile, or shout with joy, or lift her eyes to a storm-filled sky and say, “Thank you, God, for this moment.” For him. For being alive. For being a woman he desired.
He picked up her hand, extending kisses along the back of it to her wrist, traveling slowly up to the crook of her elbow, then to her shoulder.
She smiled until he traced a path to her collarbone. Her smile faded when he placed a hand on either side of her breasts, plumping them together so he could kiss both at the same time.
He dropped his head, mouthing a nipple.
When he drew the tip into his mouth, she gasped aloud, prompting him to do it again.
She leaned forward, kissed his shoulder, tasting his skin. He smelled of Macrath, soap and something else, a scent reminding her of clean linen and spices. Something his housekeeper used to store with his clothes?
When he tumbled her back on the bed, she was startled. In the next moment all she could think was how he made her feel. Her skin was too tight, her body too hot.
She’d thought this seduction would be quick and easy. Instead it was dangerous, pulling her down into the darkness and the deep.
He brushed her lips with the tips of his fingers, then kissed her mouth lightly. With his next kiss the world vanished. Nothing mattered but the touch of his hands on her skin, his lips as he coaxed her mouth open. She inhaled his breath, gave him hers, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her excitement mounting.
His fingers danced across her skin, in hidden folds, coaxing even more heat from her. When his finger entered her, she shivered.
She grabbed at his shoulders, turning toward him, urging him in a way that was foreign and new. She wanted the completeness, the feeling of being joined to him. She wanted to feel him inside her, her legs wrapped around his, her lips pressed against his throat.
As he poised above her, she had a moment to be alarmed. Then he slipped inside, filling and claiming her in that instant.
She’d remember this night for the rest of her life.
Macrath raised himself over her, gently pulled out, and surged into her again. Surprise had her gasping and grabbing his arms so tightly she gouged him with her nails.
Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
All she could do was wrap her arms around his neck and breathe against his skin.
He was too slow, too measured, too careful of her. She beat a tattoo on his shoulders with the heels of her hands. A moment later she was gripping his buttocks, pulling him to her.
If this was seduction, the word was not expansive enough. It couldn’t fully describe this battle of passion. He lunged; she submitted. He withdrew; she chased after him.
She never imagined the dreams she had of him were pale substitutions for what he made her feel now.
This was bliss stretched into a net, catching all the stars, and pouring them into her body. This was a thrumming awareness of every part of her, skin and muscle, blood and bone.
He chuckled as her fingernails dug into his backside to pull him closer. Her legs widened, her hips arched. She wanted to be savage and unrestrained, and so she was, nipping at his bottom lip, fingers curved and raking his back. He grabbed handfuls of her hair, held her still as he trailed kisses along her throat.
She moaned, and he murmured against her skin. Words that were cautionary or calming, she wasn’t sure which. They had no effect on the rise of excitement, the flames licking at her from the inside out. Only he could ease this trembling ache, this need consuming her.
She might have screamed. She thought she did. She’d no choice. How could anyone live with such joy? It must be manifested in some way, expressed, and forever remembered.
He awakened Virginia at dawn with a kiss. With her eyes still closed, she smiled.
The seabirds cried outside his window, a call to be about the day. For now he was content to remain where he was, in his bed with Virginia.
With one finger, he traced a path from her ear, down her jaw to her chin, marveling at the softness of her skin.
She wrinkled her nose with her eyes still closed.
