Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(74)

“We’ll be talking more…once we make it to a chamber with a solid door.”

“And why is that?” She really should have left well enough alone, but Rolfe always had unleashed a daring inside her.

Now it was flaring up, gaining strength as her heart started to pound and she caught the scent of his skin. Passion was heating her; the chill of the night was perfect coupled with the heat warming her. Their clothing was suddenly so unnecessary.

And she truly wanted to rip his open.

She wasn’t alone in the grip of that need. It flashed through his eyes a moment before he was leaning over. He put his shoulder right against her belly and pushed toward her, taking her off her feet with a little whoosh of air.

He carried her as though she weighed nothing, taking her farther into the forest until the sounds from the camp were faint.

“Now, we are going to come to an agreement.” He let her down, but didn’t allow her to step away from him.

“You think a tumble is all that is needed to sway my mind about the rest of my life?”

He cupped the sides of her face. “I think it’s a fine place to start.”

Her body agreed with him, feeling as if it were glowing when he sealed her mouth beneath his again. It was a hungry kiss this time, drawing her to him with just how much he craved her. She couldn’t seem to deny it, not when he needed her.

Her thoughts became muddled as his tongue swept across her lower lip. She let out a little sound more breathless and feminine than she’d thought she might ever produce. He answered it with a male sound of approval.

“I like that,” he whispered against her ear, his fingers threaded through her hair as he kissed the side of her neck. “Knowing that I make ye cry out with passion. I enjoy it, lass…”

He turned her around, putting his chest to her back. “I intended to wait…until we were home…to save yer blushing to know every man behind us knows what we’ve gone off to do.”

She shuddered. It wasn’t shock. No, it was anticipation. Blunt. Hard. And it hit her like a solid blow. Her passage had never felt so empty, so much in need of being filled. Rolfe was tugging on the lace that held her bodice closed, freeing her breasts. Her chemise was a thin barrier, yet one that irritated her because she wanted to be bare.

Like some pagan rite.

He found the thin tie that held the neckline closed and gave it a tug. The knot popped, allowing him to reach in and cup her breast.

“But seeing the moonlight on these… Well, now I do nae much care if ye spend all of tomorrow with rosy cheeks.” He was whispering in her ear as he teased her breast, cupping it, stroking it, and teasing the nipple until it rose into a hard point beneath his touch.

“Perhaps I should confess that I will enjoy knowing yer blushing confirms to every man here that ye belong to me.”

“I do not.” She stepped forward but only heard him chuckle behind her.

Rolfe made good use of the moment, unbuckling his kilt and flinging it across the ground while she turned to face him for her argument.

“Ye do.” He scooped her off her feet and lowered her onto the wool. It was still warm from his body, and he was hotter still as he came down with her, reaching back into her open bodice to lift her breast into the open. “And I am going to enjoy proving it to ye.”

She ended up flat on her back. Rolfe controlled her expertly, coming down beside her, one of his thighs trapping her legs as he leaned over her and captured her nipple between his lips.

“Oh…”

She meant to say something, but Rolfe sucked on her nipple and the thought refused to form into anything solid. Instead, she was arching back, astonished by how good it felt to have his lips wrapped around her flesh. Never once had she realized how sensitive it might be.

She needed to be closer to him. Reaching for his shoulders, she pulled him toward her. He seemed just as impatient to be in contact with her flesh. There was the cooling touch of the night air against her legs as he tugged her skirt up and she knew the joy of feeling him stroking her upper thigh.

Gooseflesh rippled across her skin in response as he stroked her again, this time moving closer to her mons.

“What have ye done?”

He’d lifted his head as he teased the recently bared folds of her sex. It was still as smooth as a newborn’s.

“French maids,” she rasped out. “Morton sent a couple of them to…ah…help me prepare for my wedding night.”

“Ye were already wed to me.”

He’d meant it as a warning, but he was still teasing her cleft, clearly distracted by the lack of curls to guard it. Rolfe was twisting and shifting until he was hovering over her sex and pressing her thighs wide.

“You turn me into a wanton…” The words crossed her lips in a husky tone that earned her an arrogant look from Rolfe. He was teasing her slit with his thumb, his eyes narrowing as he caught the first drops of welcome from her passage.

“And I will gladly feed yer cravings, lass, for it is the only way to satisfy me own.”

His words held as much impact as the first touch of his mouth against her sex. She writhed, unable to remain still. The pleasure was white-hot, feeling like it was twisting up into her belly as he licked her slit from top to bottom, along both sides, and then he spread her folds, baring her clitoris so that he could treat it to the same attention.