Page 67 of Taming the Scot
Euan was a generous, enthusiastic lover.
He groaned as he kissed a path down her neck to the swell of her breasts peeping from the top of her gown. “I do no’ think I’ll ever get enough of ye.”
“I hope ye do no’,” she said with a moan as he pulled the fabric down with his teeth and captured an exposed nipple with his teeth.
“Never,” he murmured as he suckled at her breast and then kissed his way back to her mouth.
With his lips on hers, he rucked her gown up to her thigh that was curled around him, gripping her bare arse and then shifting his fingers over to slip inside her wet channel.
Bronwen cried out, wanting more, her hips rocking with his movements.
“Ye’re already wet for me,” he groaned.
“I am always,” she said with a gasp as his thumb rubbed against the pearl of her pleasure.
“Dear God, help me,” he growled.
With the flick of his hands, his kilt was flipped, and her skirts were out of the way. The heat of his hard shaft nudged at her opening, and then he was sinking deliciously inside her.
Bronwen hadn’t realized they could make love this way. Euan lifted her with a hand on either side of her arse and sank all the way to the hilt, both of them moaning at the pleasure of it.
She clung to him with her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his hip, feet hooked at his rear, spine flattened to the door as an anchor. He plunged inside her over and over, his mouth claiming hers, muffling their cries of bliss.
They were almost frantic in their need for each other. The banging of the door, she prayed, went unnoticed.
Just when she thought she was going to explode, he pulled out, releasing her and dropping to his knees.
“Euan, what are ye doing? Come back,” she demanded.
“Loving ye.” He lifted her skirts and buried his face between her thighs.
Bronwen grabbed hold of his shoulders as intense pleasure filled her. The wet, velvet heat of his tongue stroked her relentlessly until she couldn’t breathe. Until she couldn’t even stand and leaned over him, panting. This wicked way of loving, she’d accept every time.
And then there it was, the falling, the flying, her world coming apart as rapture filled her.
Before she even had a chance to recover, Euan stood and lifted her again to plunge inside her. He thrust hard, his face buried in her neck, the scent of her musk surrounding them both. Again and again, he thrust, and she held on, riding the waves of her release and wanting him to feel the same climax.
At last, Euan let out a guttural groan as he shuddered between her thighs, finding his rapture. Her name was on his lips, a steady chant, and then he was kissing her slow and languid as the waves ebbed.
They remained motionless as their breaths found a rhythm again, and then he slowly set her down.
“If only all ship voyages could be that pleasurable,” she murmured.
Euan grinned. “Maybe they will be?”
She laughed as she righted her skirts. Feeling the pins fall from her hair, she fixed it into a simple plait. “Well, I thoroughly enjoyed that lesson, husband. I think we should have another.”
“The bed?” he asked, wiggling his brows.
“I was thinking this table.” She sauntered over to the round oak table nailed to the floor and put her behind on it testing its weight. “What do ye think?”
“I think I’ve married the love of my life.” With a wicked grin, he rushed over to her, laid her back on the table and kissed her until she couldn’t see straight.
The next few weeks at Drum, Euan taught Bronwen to ride a horse, which she was a natural at. They went out on pleasure rides and visited the crofters, who fell in love with Bronwen for many of the reasons Euan had—namely, that she was so real and down to earth.
In the evenings after they dined, she would sing for him, and more than once, they ended up making love on the piano, on the floor, really wherever they could find that fit with the moment.
Because she was good with keeping up records and books, Euan showed her how to work the accounts for his tenants, and she took over that aspect of his duties. He was so glad to have married a woman who wanted to be his life partner; not what he thought he’d get, which was a lass who wanted to flit from one party to the next, to buy this gown and that bauble with no real concern for where the coin came from to purchase the items.
