She’d been so lonely, conjuring him a thousand times. Not a night passed that she didn’t hold him in her mind, in that agonizing space before slumber came.
She knew he’d bed her, and that she’d allow him. That’s what all this had been leading to, branding her with more bittersweet memories.
At the first touch of his lips, she quivered, weak with longing. He was gentle, murmuring her name between kisses that covered her cheeks, her lids, her brow. She could no more deny his mouth than her need to breathe.
When their tongues met, she gave an unbridled moan. He was pulling her into him, wrappingher in his strength, making her feel as if she were sinking beneath the waters of Loch Dunrannoch. The surface was above, but she’d no will to save herself.
His hands, hot as irons in the fire, grasped her bottom.
How had that happened? They’d been in her hair; now they were beneath the bunched fabric of her nightgown.
Breaking off the kiss, he dragged the garment briskly over her head, flinging it away. Finlay’s gaze raked her body, from the fullness of her breasts to the nip of her waist and the generous flair of her hips, then lower, to the soft curls of her mound.
The look in his eyes was entirely lustful, raw, animalistic, and Margaret’s own carnality flared in response. She wanted him to drink her in, to see exactly what he’d been missing. Shamelessly, she cupped her breast, letting her thumb play with the nipple. The other hand she dipped betwixt her legs.
Finlay’s jaw slackened. As if in a trance, he pulled off his shirt, revealing strong shoulders and a finely muscled abdomen. The blanket which had been draped abouthis waist slipped, giving her a sinfully seductive glimpse of the base of his shaft.
It was Margaret’s turn to be transfixed.
She’d seen that part of him before, as they’d been free with each other in the weeks prior to the wedding, but it seemed an age past. The first time, she’d thought it impossible he’d fit where he told her it must go. Only later had she come to love that his girth stretched her so.
She wanted to hold his thickness now, and taste him, knowing he’d soon be thrusting inside, taking away her ability to do aught but surrender.
His eyes were lit. “You want it.”
’Twas no question, but a growl.
When he cast away his covering he was aroused, jutting straight, the head smooth and glistening.
As wet as I am.
She still had her finger inside, and she could feel her body making ready for him.
As if in imitation of her, he took himself inhand, stroking the whole of the velvet length, then slow fisting at the root, before pulsing the tip, jerking faster.
“You want this, wife.” Pushing his pelvis forward, he parted his thighs, displaying the twin sacs beneath his sex organ, showing her more of what she’d be getting.
Arrogant bastard!
’Tis no wonder I hate him!
And yet she wanted him.
Thick and hard and thrusting inside her.
Needed him so badly she could have wept.
A heavy yearning, sweet and painful.
She was only a few days past her monthly flow, making the mating safe. She might indulge, if she so wished, without fear of pregnancy.
“Hold me.” His voice was low, hungry.
She hesitated, not wanting to give in so easily, but her need was greater than her dignity.
Finlay’s groan was immediate, his head falling back as she took over what he’d begun. But she wanted more than that. If shewas going to do this, she wanted him to beg, to feel her power over him.
Keeping hold, she dipped her head. Advancing and retreating, she brushed her lips over his slickness, teasing, before forming a tight ring. With the flat of her tongue, she laved him, drawing up and down, taking him further each time, into the warmth of her mouth.
