Page 67 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
“Please…” she moaned. “Yes… oh… yes… please…”
At last, he relented. His tongue found that intensity once more, while his fingers continued sliding in and out of her slick heat.
Within a matter of seconds, she soared over the precipice of pleasure, the power of it, when it came, like greeting the slam of a tidal wave with open arms. It rocked her, shook her, made her scream his name onto the wind and down the valley, where the stream must have carried it to the sea.
It wasn’t just pleasure; it was an awakening. And she knew that she wouldn’t be the same woman who had arrived at that magical place when she left it again.
But even the most potent sensations couldn’t last forever, and as the minutes passed, the rush of it slowly began to recede.
Able to draw a full breath again, she sagged against the railing of the bridge, worried she might collapse altogether. She needn’t have, as Hunter eased her leg off his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her weight as he brought her down to the wooden planks.
There, he lay down beside her and pulled her into his side. The bridge was just wide enough for them both.
“Don’t you dare say you are sending me back to Horndean now,” she murmured laughingly.
He held her tighter. “I wouldnae. ”
Recovering from her ecstasy, waiting until her breathing had returned to normal and her heart had stopped racing, Grace rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.
“Is there nothing I can do for you?” she asked a little shyly, which seemed absurd, considering what she’d just experienced.
He made a noise that might have been a chuckle. “Nay, lass, except lie here with me for a while.”
“But—”
“If we start that, I willnae stop,” he interrupted. “And I want ye to be me wife first.”
She smiled secretly, rather liking that sentiment. “So, to answer a question that has been on my mind, would you say that my virtue is still intact?”
“Aye, I havenae touched it.”
“That is… good to know.”
She settled into the comfort of having him beside her, imagining what it would be like to sleep next to him. Indeed, if given the chance, she likely would have fallen asleep right there, her body more relaxed than it had ever been.
But, at length, she felt the urge to talk again.
“Tell me,” she whispered, content in his arms, not cold at all thanks to the heat of his body. “What are those strange blossoms?”
He stroked her hair and glanced at the trees. “I shouldnae tell ye. It might shock yer feeble English sensibilities, like the haggis did.”
“Feeble!” She smacked him playfully on the chest. “I shall have you know that there is nothing feeble about me.”
He pressed a smile to her hair. “Aye, I’m learnin’ that.” He paused. “They’re prayers to the old gods, though I wager there are some for the Lord, too. Ye put wee gifts in, make yer prayer, and then ye close the pouch and tie it to the tree. That one on the left is for things ye’re prayin’ for, for yerself. That one on the right is for things ye’re prayin’ for, for someone else.”
“Do you have a spare handkerchief?” Grace asked, for she had a prayer of her own that she wanted to leave in divine hands.
“I dinnae.”
She sat up, teasing out one of her petticoats. “In that case, I shall need your dagger.”
“Did I nae satisfy ye enough? Do ye mean to kill me now?” he said, smirking.
“Don’t distract me with your… seductions. This is important.” She flashed him a playfully stern look. “And if you don’t hand it over, I shall have to go searching for it.”
Before she could make good on her threat, he drew his dagger from his boot and carefully grabbed her petticoat, marking out where to cut with the sharp tip.
Slicing cleanly through the fabric, he raised his gaze to her. “I dinnae want ye injurin’ yerself before the weddin’. Do ye nae ken about the Scottish superstition that if ye spill blood before yer weddin’, ye’ll never feel pleasure again?”
