Page 69 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Do it,” she said, emphasizing her demand with a raise of her hips. “Please.” Whatever discomfort came, she wanted it over with and the pleasure to return.

He pulled away from his kiss, staring down at her. “Are ye certain?”

“Yes, Malcolm. I want you now.”

With his eyes locked on hers, he gripped his shaft in his hand, guiding it to the right place, and then he slowly started to push into her. At first, there was an uncomfortable pressure, but the more she stared into his eyes, the more that pressure felt like a delicious awakening. She shifted her hips at the weight of him buried deep inside her, the thickness. The incredible way his body felt on hers.

“Did I hurt ye?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It was not as bad as I thought it would be.”

Relief flooded his features, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank God.”

She wasn’t sure what came next, if they lay there like this, bonded. But the more she shifted, the better it felt, and Malcolm was groaning with each little movement. And then he was kissing her neck, withdrawing slowly away and thrusting back inside.

He kissed her, stroking his tongue against hers, nibbling at her lips, and then tugging at her earlobe with his teeth, kissing the length of her neck. All the while, his body shifted into a rhythm that had her gasping with pleasure and not feeling as though she ever got enough air.

He swirled his tongue over one nipple, then the other, back and forth. His mouth and hands were everywhere. And Olivia didn’t want to be left out. She tasted the salt on his skin as he moved over her, inside her. Touched the muscles that rippled as he made love to her. With every thrust, she was stunned by the pleasure rippling from between her thighs and outward.

Wrapped around her husband, Olivia let herself be swept away in everything that was Malcolm. Her husband, the man she loved, worshiped her body, and she, in turn, worshiped him. Every touch, rhythm, kiss heightened her pleasure. Their moans mingled with their gasps, and they swallowed them whole with one kiss after another.

Just as she’d felt the pleasure mounting when his face had been buried between her thighs, she felt it now too.

She clung to him, raising her hips to meet his thrusts. The speed of Malcolm’s drive increased, and he buried his face against her neck, his breath on her skin coming faster and faster, sending her pleasure higher and higher, until there was no higher place than the shattering climax that consumed her. Her cry of pleasure echoed his as her body tightened, and Malcolm shuddered over her.

“Olivia, my Olivia.”

Though their spent, slick bodies had ceased their exertions, his forehead against hers, their breaths coming in quick pants. Malcolm kissed her tenderly on the lips. Then he eased his body away from hers. He climbed from the bed, and she watched him wet a cloth in the washbasin and bring it back to the bed.

Slowly, gently, he cleaned between her thighs.

When he was finished, he laid on the bed beside her, tucking her into his warmth. “I used to hate boars,” he murmured against her as he pulled the coverlet over them. “But I’m becoming quite fond of them now.”

Olivia laughed. “I do hope this doesn’t mean you plan to keep one for a pet.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I have no’ decided.”

She made a mocking groaning sound and then wrapped her arms around him. “When can we do this again?”

“Ye’re no’ too sore?” he asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

She grabbed his hand, placed it between her thighs and pretended to think in earnest. His fingers stroked delicately over the folds, and that feeling…it ignited at once.

“I’m not sore at all,” she declared, and it was true. All she felt was pleasure.

“Give me one minute,” he said. “To catch my breath.”

EPILOGUE

Eight years later

Scottish Highlands

Olivia waited impatiently in the garden.

She’d worn a track in the gravel and then toed it back into place, the tip of her satin slipper scuffed because of it. Ruined. But she was nervous, and when she was nervous, she was sometimes destructive. A trait Malcolm laughed at her quite often about.

The garden had been her first choice. Because if she’d waited in the courtyard in front of their grand castle, she’d have jerked her head at every blowing leaf or bird that flew past like a distracted hound. So, instead, she’d relegated herself to the back garden where she normally found peace.

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