Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors) Page 13

  “You can thank my grandmother. I have her coloring.” She flattened her palm over his heart, feeling the beat echo through her blood. “I like your chest.” The words were out before she could prevent them. God! He would think her infantile. Yet the truth remained.

  She liked his chest. It was scarred, sprinkled with hair and so enticingly broad.

  The chest of a man. A warrior. But why had she allowed such a thought to spill from her lips?

  Even as she cursed her tongue he laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through her body. His hand left her hair and trailed across her breasts, thumb dragging across her sensitized nipples.

  “And I like your chest.” Before she could draw breath, he stole a fleeting kiss. “Very much.” His words grazed her lips, his hand cupped her breast.

  “So once again,” her voice was breathless in his mouth, “we are even.”

  His tongue stroked the inside of her lip, an intimate caress that sent tremors cascading along her exposed flesh. Involuntarily her fingers clenched over his heart, and his unyielding muscles thrilled her soul.

  “It appears,” his husky words mingled with her breath, “we are in perfect agreement.”

  She slid her hand around his neck, tangled her fingers in his wonderful hair. He deepened their kiss, his tongue invading, exploring. Teasing the roof of her mouth, discovering sensitive nerves she had never imagined existed before.

  He half rolled onto her, pushing her back into the soft furs, his thigh between hers. Lightning spiked low in her womb, pleasurably painful, and warmth flooded her trembling sheath.

  His hand cradled her breast, tweaking her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Pleasure streaked with pain quivered from the tip of her breast to her sensitized core, a fiery internal caress. Her dream-lover had never delighted her so. She arched into his touch, as much as she could, but his body was heavy, pinning her to the furs. She froze, black memories screeching through her mind, but instantly he rose on his elbow, releasing the pressure, and stared intently into her face.

  “Did I hurt you?” His concern was evident and the memories faded back into the pit where nightmares lurked.

  “No.” This was Connor. And she wanted Connor tonight, more than she had ever wanted anything for the last nine years. “You won’t hurt me.” She was no virgin, after all. “Just don’t stop, that’s all I ask.”

  Tenderly he brushed tendrils of hair from her face. “You’re a hard mistress, Aila. But I will do my best to obey your command.”

  A breathless laugh escaped. His mistress. Is that what she would be, after tonight? Even if they only ever had this one night?

  It was a scandalous notion. A princess of Ce contemplating such a thing. But the thought entranced, nevertheless. It would, after all, exist only in her imagination.

  She speared her fingers through his luxuriant hair as he nibbled kisses along the column of her throat. Once again he rolled onto her, his heavy body pinning her into the furs. But this time she savored the sensation of his shoulder against hers, the rigid planes of his chest crushing her breasts. And the way his thigh angled over hers, brushing so close to her damp sex.

  His hand clasped her other shoulder and his teasing lips followed. His roughened jaw scraped the swell of her breast and she stirred restlessly, fingers digging ruthlessly into his scalp.

  He gave a silent laugh and his hot breath caressed her tender flesh. “I’m trying to slow things down. Do you wish me to ravish you like a beast?”

  “No.” She raked her fingernails across the back of his shoulders and he reared above her, his black hair disheveled, his eyes glinting in the flickering glow of the torches. Awareness tingled across her skin as she gazed up at him and slowly she dragged her nails along his straining biceps.

  Such leashed power.

  The knowledge thrilled her. Connor MacKenzie, savage Scot from Dal Riada, was naked in her arms and battling his desire to take her like a primitive barbarian.

  “Then I suggest,” he said between gritted teeth, and she had to stifle the urge to giggle, “that you unhook your claws from my flesh.”

  “Forgive me,” she whispered, but before he could respond she slid her hand between their bodies, delighting in the way his hair tickled her palm. “I’ll use my claws for more pleasurable pursuits.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t—Aila.”

  Her name emerged as an agonized groan as her searching fingers found their target. For an eternal moment she forgot how to breathe as his cock jerked against her palm. So hard. So hot. Tentatively she moved her hand, feeling his length, and he angled forward to accommodate her exploration.

  “Pleasurable?” The word was a gasp as his heavy balls filled her hand. Stunned by her discovery, even though she was no stranger to a man’s body, her fingers twitched uncertainly around their prize.

  “On the edge of agony.” Without moving the lower half of his body, he crushed her breasts beneath his weight. “I fear my self-control is sadly lacking this night, my lady.”

  Her fingers closed around his tight sac. She had him in the palm of her hand. The knowledge thrilled and an exhilarating sense of power thundered through her. Restlessly she stirred beneath him and once again her other hand tangled in his hair.

  His body tensed, muscles straining and roughly he kneed her thighs apart. She lost her grip as he moved over her, spreading her further, his gaze intent.

  “Connor.” His name was a whisper and she didn’t know what she wanted to ask him. To make haste? Or to wait until the last thread of anxiety in her soul had diminished?

  “My Aila.” The words were a caress, as erotic as the way he speared his fingers through her hair, as the way he looked at her with such infinite desire. “For all time.”

  She slid her arm around him, held him close, delighting in the feel of his warm flesh, hard muscles and the restrained strength that flexed beneath her questing fingers.

  For all time. Did he know how seductive she found that promise? A promise made in the heat of night, the throes of passion. A promise that meant nothing, yet she would hold the words close in her heart—for all time.

  He bowed his head and his lips seared her in a trail of scorching kisses across her breasts. And then his mouth closed over her nipple and she gasped in shock. Raising her head, she watched him, his dark head nestled against her as he teased her throbbing nipple with his tongue and teeth and lips.

  Such sweet ecstasy. His hand traced the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, sending tingles skittering over her skin. He slipped between her thighs and the breath caught in her throat as he explored the tender flesh of her belly. Lower.

  And then he looked up at her, to watch her reaction to his touch. But as his searching finger trailed over her sensitive clitoris, the strength rushed from her and she fell back on the bed, her breath erratic.

  His face pressed against her stomach, his mouth moved against her burning skin. She caught a strangled curse but then he rose over her, hair tumbling over his shoulders, eyes wild with passion.

  “I need to be inside you.” It was a demand and a request. The head of his cock nudged her wet pussy, but he didn’t penetrate. Just continued to rub his shaft along her cleft, up and down, caressing her clitoris and teasing her quivering sex.

  “Yes.” It was permission, an entreaty. She had never been touched this way before. Lust and need collided and she hooked her ankles around the small of his back.

  Forearms on either side of her shoulders, he cradled her head. And then he thrust with a suddenness that burned her sensitized channel and seared the breath from her lungs. Shock speared through her heart, and her muscles tensed as she dug her nails into his back, her mind a vortex of black.

  His agonized groan dragged her back to the moment, to the realization she was with Connor. That he was inside her, that everything was all right. “You weren’t ready.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “I’m sorry. I wanted to prove to you that I’m no savage Scot, but my actio
ns betray me.”

  Although his cock stretched her beyond anything she had been subjected to before, she gave a breathless laugh. “You are a savage Scot,” she managed to say over the violent hammering of her heart. “And I am more than ready.”

  His uneven breath fanned her face. “I wanted to make this first time last. But, God. You’re so tight around me. I can scarcely see straight, never mind think.”

  She knew he didn’t mean to arouse by his words. But renewed desire rippled through her core, soothing the raw ache of his swift intrusion. Instinctively she tightened her thighs around him and raked her fingers through his hair.

  “Now,” she whispered, “is not the time to think.”

  Now was a time to feel. And she could feel his arms embrace her. Feel his hard body above her. And, most glorious of all, she could feel his cock inside her, pushing to her limits. Filling the void she had nurtured for too many empty years.

  Slowly he withdrew, until only the tip of his shaft remained embedded within her. For one long moment, she saw eternity in his eyes and then he sank into her, so deep she stifled a gasp. His mouth claimed hers, claimed her gasp, her breath, her very soul. His tongue invaded, withdrew, invaded again and her rigid muscles relaxed.

  His thrusts became less gentle, more frenzied. The friction sizzled along her nerve endings, an exhilarating ride, and she slid her tongue into his mouth, connecting them ever more intimately.

  He shifted his angle and as he pulled back the length of his cock dragged against her swollen clitoris. Lightning speared, shattered, and she reared against him, as her choked cries spilled into his willing mouth.

  He rammed into her, hard and fast, and without conscious thought she matched his rhythm. Every stroke caressed her core, stoking the inferno, sending spirals of molten need spinning through her pussy.

  Nothing existed but this man, this moment, and as her vision faded, she convulsed around his thrusting cock. Again and again. Hugging him within her, squeezing his shaft. Indescribable pleasure cascaded through her sheath and tremors claimed her weakened limbs.

  Dazed, she stared up into Connor’s face. He was looking at her as though she were a wondrous fantasy and even as the absurd thought whispered through her mind, a tortured grin twisted his mouth.

  “You came for me.” He sounded on the verge of insanity. “Never felt like that before.” And then he gritted his teeth and hammered into her with such force she couldn’t breathe. But it didn’t matter because, as she clung on to him as if her life depended on it, he violently pumped his hot seed deep into her waiting womb.

  Chapter Fifteen

  For a few exquisite seconds Connor crushed her beneath his weight. His hard, battle-toned body melded with hers, still joined, and although her exhausted limbs wanted to slide onto the bed, she tightened her grip around him.

  Hers. Physically perhaps for only tonight. But in her heart for all time.

  He stirred, raising his head from her shoulder and stared at her intently, as if memorizing her face. His tangled hair fell over his shoulders and she longed to drag her fingers through its untamed beauty.

  Languidly she drifted her fingers up his back. She saw the glazed aftereffects of passion fade from his eyes to be replaced with something akin to horror.

  “Aila.” It was a strangled groan and her fingers froze. Why did he look at her as though he regretted making love? Did he regret it? But how could he? “Aila, I’m sorry.”

  Ice invaded where just a moment ago heated contentment had bathed her soul. And when he gently withdrew from her, she didn’t try to prevent him.

  As he left her body exposed to the night she shivered, and this time through shame, not desire. Did he expect her to get up instantly, get dressed? Leave?

  She had never intended to stay all night. That was impossible for many reasons. But not once had she imagined he would expect her to leave the moment he had gained satisfaction.

  It made no difference what he expected. She was incapable of moving. She was incapable of even speaking. All she could manage was to stare at him and God help her, she knew the pain in her heart was plain in her eyes.

  A tortured expression flickered over his face and a possible reason surfaced. Did he imagine she would demand more from him because of this one shared encounter?

  Was that his concern? That she would demand marriage?

  Perhaps she should reassure him. But how could she when reassurance was the one thing she needed above all else in this moment?

  As the jagged thoughts tumbled through her mind, he tenderly wrapped a fur around her chilled body. An odd gesture if he truly wanted her out of his sight as quickly as possible. She huddled into the furs and willed the prickling behind her eyes to remain out of sight. She was a princess of Ce and even if Connor had broken her heart, he would never see her tears.

  “Aila.” His whisper tore at her as his fingers brushed tangled tendrils of hair from her cheek. He was lying on his side looking down at her. “I’ve no right to beg for your forgiveness, yet I must. Please believe me when I say I did not mean to come inside you.”

  The chill that had claimed her body vanished as her blood heated at his words. She knew her face was flaming, knew he couldn’t fail to notice since his fingers traced the curve of her cheek.

  But what did he mean?

  “I’m sorry.” The words sounded as though he ripped them from the deepest pit of hell. Anguish carved his features and yet still he touched her. She couldn’t fathom what had changed his mood so radically.

  His words suggested he regretted their liaison. His touch suggested anything but.

  “Why?” It hurt to speak. Her throat was raw from tears unshed. And yet she had to know. She deserved that at least. “I’m not sorry for what we did.”

  He frowned in clear confusion. And then, as if a torch had suddenly ignited inside his brain, comprehension appeared to dawn.

  “Aila, no.” He bent, brushed a featherlight kiss across her lips. “I’ll cherish this night forever.” His eyes darkened, as if demons plagued his soul. “I lost control.” He made it sound a shocking admission, as though he never lost control even in the throes of passion.

  But wasn’t that the purpose of passion? To abandon all control in the glorious heat of completion?

  She wondered how best to reassure him. “So did I. I believe in that, also, we are equal.”

  Had she imagined the way his fingers shook as he played with her hair?

  “I didn’t mean to spill my seed inside you.” If it wasn’t such an outrageous notion, she would imagine he sounded shamed. “I didn’t mean to risk your—” He swallowed, clearly unable to continue, but he didn’t need to because suddenly she understood.

  He had been thinking of her reputation should she conceive his child. Warmth flooded her heart and spilled into her veins, obliterating the torturous scald of humiliation.

  She pushed the furs aside so she could cradle his jaw between her hands. She longed to tell him her reputation meant nothing to her if by losing that she gained his child.

  But of course, she could say no such thing. Couldn’t tell him that if she became pregnant, she would quietly be wedded to a man who would accept another’s child in return for the royal status she brought.

  Because she wouldn’t conceive. Not tonight, not ever.

  Yet she would give anything for such a miracle to occur.

  For a moment, as she gazed into Connor’s troubled eyes, as his fingers gently caressed her face, the image of Bride fluttered through her mind.

  Bride. Goddess of fertility. Of the spring and new life. And before she could stop herself the deep longing spilled from the secret places in her heart. Bride turned and looked at her.

  Smiled the unmistakable smile of victory. As though she imagined Aila had once more embraced the goddess of her youth.

  With a shiver, Aila blinked the image away. Bride belonged to her old life. She would never again worship the pagan ways.

  “Aila.” Connor’s w
hisper was tortured and she realized he might take her shiver as a personal reaction against his confession.

  She pulled his head closer until their lips all but touched. “I won’t conceive this night.” How she longed for it be otherwise. “There’s no need to concern yourself with such matters. Trust me on this.”

  Wariness carved his features. “I would never knowingly cause you pain. Yet I behaved like a raw boy with you tonight.”

  “A boy? I beg to differ. In my arms you were all man, Connor. My man.” As a disbelieving grin tugged his lips, she wriggled beneath the furs until they slipped from her body. “I might even say you were my very own savage Scot this night.”

  “A savage, am I?” The last vestige of worry vanished from his eyes. “And do you intend to tame me, my noble Pictish lady?”

  Suddenly daring, although it also seemed the most natural thing in the world, she flattened her hands against his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. He lay there, deceptively submissive, as she straddled his hips and offered him a triumphant smile.

  “I don’t think I want to tame you.” Her hands were still flattened against his shoulders, bracing her weight as she hung over him. “Your savage ways excite me.”

  “You compliment and insult me in the same breath.” His hands cradled her hips, warm and comforting and desire curled through her wet sheath. “A remarkable achievement.”

  Experimentally she lowered herself onto him. His cock, gratifyingly erect already, jerked as she slid her damp sex along his rigid length.

  “Tonight has been remarkable altogether.” She flashed him a smile, loving how her long-unused methods of seduction affected him. He had a sardonic grin on his face, yet tension clearly etched around his eyes and mouth. It obviously took great willpower for him to remain motionless and compliant beneath her teasing touch.

  Slowly she slid back up his glorious erection, every inch of him gliding against her swollen clitoris. She’d intended to play with him for some time, but now all she could think was how he felt when he entered her body.