Page 45 of The Beast's Bride
Mortification flooded through Rhona. He had spread her thighs wide, exposing her to him. There was nowhere to hide. No one had ever looked upon her there. She watched him gaze down at her, saw the flush that suddenly stained his cheekbones. His chest was now rising and falling fast; she felt the tremble in his body.
Looming over her, Taran placed the head of his shaft against the entrance to her womb and began to gently rub himself against her. Rhona gasped at the sensation, at the slick heat of their flesh meeting.
A throb began deep in her belly.
He continued to move against her, shifting his hips in slow, sinuous circles.
Groaning, Rhona threw back her head against the coverlet and rode the waves of pleasure. Unbidden, her thighs parted wider, and she hooked one leg around his hips, drawing him against her. She was no longer afraid. She now ached to have him inside her. She didn’t care if it hurt; she felt as if she could die from wanting.
“Rhona,” he gasped her name. “I want to take this slow … I don’t want to hurt ye.”
She whimpered in response and met his gaze. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, before she started begging.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Taran breathed a curse. Reaching down, he grasped her hips, lifting her up to meet him. And then, slowly, he slid into her.
It didn’t hurt at first, just a full sensation as she stretched to accommodate him. But then, a sharp, stinging pain caught her by surprise. Rhona gasped, her body growing taut. Her eyes widened, and she grasped hold of Taran’s wrists, stilling him.
He gazed down at her. “That’s it, lass,” he murmured. “The worst is over … it shouldn’t hurt anymore.”
And with that he lowered himself further. Rhona felt the full length of him penetrate her. A wonderful aching sensation filled her womb.
“Oh,” she gasped, releasing his wrists.
“That’s right,” he rasped. There was an edge to his voice, as if he was barely clinging onto control. “Give yerself to it.”
Rhona obeyed him. She closed her eyes and let her head roll back once more. Caitrin hadn’t told her that it could feel like this, no one had.
However, her eyes snapped open, her head lifting, when Taran started to move inside her. Pleasure coiled deep within her womb, tightening, building. The intensity of it frightened her. “Taran,” she gasped. “I can’t …”
Taran murmured her name, hushing her. He took hold of her left knee, for her right leg was still wrapped around his hips, and lifted it high. He then drove into her. He took her in slow thrusts, his gaze never leaving hers.
Rhona heard a woman’s cry echo through the chamber—it must have been her own, although she had never before made such a sound. It was a wild, keening cry. Her body trembled, need thrumming through her. And yet there was more, so much more, she could sense it as the aching pleasure deep within coiled tighter still.
She was reaching toward it, brushing the edge of it, when Taran’s body arched above her.
She stared up at him, fascinated, watching him go rigid. The sinews on his neck stood out as he threw his head back and choked back a cry. Even now, even at this moment, the man still fought for control.
Then she felt the heat of him release inside her, and Taran’s body shuddered.
Rhona awoke slowly, blinking in the warmth of the sun that filtered in through the open window.
She had slept deeply, her limbs loose and rested. However, her mouth and throat felt parched, and her head ached.
Too much wine.
Stifling a groan, Rhona pushed herself up onto one elbow. Her gaze settled upon the naked man who lay sprawled upon the bed next to her. For a moment she just let her eyes feast upon him.
How had she ever thought Taran MacKinnon ugly?
His face, relaxed in sleep, was much softer than when he was awake. Even the scars seemed less evident. His mouth, which often appeared a hard slash, was sensual this morning, his usually furrowed brow smooth. She realized then how much of the cares of the world he carried with him.
Her gaze slid down to his body, and memories of the night before flooded back. Heat crept up Rhona’s neck as she remembered what they’d done, how she’d arched under him and cried out. He’d taken her once more before exhaustion pulled them both down into its clutches. That coupling had been even better than the first. He’d brought her to the brink, and then taken her over the edge with him.
Rhona’s cheeks flushed hot as she recalled how she’d gasped his name, had pleaded with him for more. She ran a hand over her face, stifling a groan of mortification. How would she ever look him in the eye again?
Taran stirred, his eyes flickering open. “Morning,” he rasped. “Lord … my mouth feels like a piece of leather.”
“Too much wine will do that to ye,” she replied huskily. “I’ll get us some water.” Rhona slid off the bed, pulled on a robe, and padded over to the sideboard, where a ewer of water and two cups sat. Filling them, she returned to the bed.
