Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(75)

She cried out, her eyes shutting as he sucked on that point. There was no way to control anything. No, at that moment, there was only reaction, impulsive response to the need he was building beneath his tongue. He had slid his hands under her skirt to hold her hips, sending a strange feeling of intensity through her, as though she enjoyed knowing he was holding her in place for his pleasure.

He kept her on the edge, easing off when she thought she was going to peak. Over and over again, until she was certain her sanity was about to burst instead.

“Rolfe…”

He lifted his head, satisfaction on his face as he looked up her spread body. “Do ye want me?”

“Yes.”

He rose, pushing back onto his haunches. He reached down and gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. The moonlight cast him in silver and shadow as his member stuck up, hard and promising.

“Ye want yer husband?”

She realized he was going to extract his punishment from her. He’d left the hunger blazing inside her as retribution for rejecting him. But he needed her as much as she did him. She curled up, surprising him as she kept going until she had her thighs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his shoulders.

His member was between them. Trapped against her wet folds. She squeezed her thighs tightly and gently rocked her hips so she was stroking his length with her slit.

“Christ…” he ground out, locking his hands around her hips.

“Do you want me to be your wife?” she whispered back to him. It was an agony of sorts, moving against his member. It felt delicious and yet increased her craving to have him inside her. She gripped his hair, pulling his head away from where it was buried against her shoulder so their eyes might meet. “As I am?”

“Katherine…”

His tone was strained as he fought the same battle against the tide of need for each other. It pulled them into its grip, refusing to allow either of them to maintain their personal identities. They both resisted, needing each other, craving it, and still too stubborn to submit.

He lifted her, his member straightening so he could plunge her down onto it. Their cries mixed together as they became one. It wasn’t gentle; they strained against each other, riding hard, forcing each other up to a crest that, when it peaked, ripped them both in two. Pleasure cracked through her like a whip, and she felt it tear a cry from his lips as his seed began to flood her. At the last moment, he clamped her down onto him, so he was as deep as he might go, and pumped his offering inside her.

He was shaking when he eased her off his lap where she crumpled, completely spent. He curled around her, the night cooling her as she struggled to breathe. Somehow, the sight of the moon and the stars fit the moment.

They were wild.

And she had no defense left against admitting how much she needed him.

Wanton…

Yes…

And more.

She was craven. Feeling as though her very soul cried out for his touch.

Whatever she was, there wasn’t any strength left in her to debate the rightness of her feelings. Sleep tugged her away, and she felt his breath on her head as he smoothed the hair from her face.

*

“Do nae ask, Katherine.”

Marcus spoke before she got the chance. He turned to face her, looking older than she recalled.

“I know what ye seek, and I must tell ye no.”

She shook her head in shock. “You deny me a place? Now?”

Marcus drew in a stiff breath. “I trained ye, lass.”

She nodded. “Something I am grateful for, and it has surely served its purpose.”

“That might be debated and justly so, for if I had no’ allowed ye into the training yard, ye’d no’ have fallen into Tyree Gordon’s hands to begin with.”

She wanted to argue, but this was Marcus. Between master and student, there was no room for dishonesty. “That is true. Yet there is no turning back time.”

“No,” he agreed. “Ye are a woman now, one who is wed by her own choice.”

“I did not know his father forbade the match.”

Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s a difficulty, to be sure.”

“I should think so.”

“Still…” He took a moment to weigh his words before speaking.

Her shoulders tightened because she knew the expression on his face. It was the same one that she’d witnessed before he pronounced judgment. This was the MacPherson war chief, about to make a decision.

There would be no arguing with it once it was cast.

“I do nae accept cowards in me yard.”

She stiffened.

“So, ye will no’ run away from yer new father-in-law. William McTavish is an arrogant goat, one I expect ye to face with yer back straight. Ye have naught to be ashamed of.”

“He will not change his thinking about English blood.”

She knew better than to argue, and yet she couldn’t seem to hold the words in. It felt like the ground was crumbling around where she stood, getting closer and closer to her feet. If Marcus denied her a hand to cling to, she’d fall into an unknown abyss.

“Ye are no’ running away from William.” Marcus sent her a stern look. “I was guilty once of thinking women are more suited to being taken away from their homes. Helen taught me the error of me ways. It is a difficult thing, leaving yer home to wed, yet I expect ye to do so with courage.”