Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(54)

His mouth devoured hers with a hunger that could not be denied. As if she were the only one for him and he for her. As if he could claim her forever with the force of this one kiss.

It was a kiss not to persuade, but to compel.

She opened her mouth and he groaned, sliding his hand through her hair, cupping her head to bring her more firmly against him. And then his tongue was inside her, twining, demanding, urging her deeper and deeper. Harder and faster. Until his breath became her own.

The taste of him filled her. The wine. The spice. The heady masculine essence of him permeated her bones.

She melted against him, wanting to get closer, the power of his body a potent aphrodisiac. He was so tall and strong—all thick, heavy muscle and long, powerful limbs. A warrior. A protector. In his arms, she knew that nothing would ever harm her.

She trusted him. Completely.

The fierce pounding of his heart against hers drove her on. The rough stubble of his jaw scratched the tender skin around her mouth, but she didn't care. Her ni**les hardened against his chest. His hand slipped around her bottom, lifting her to him.

She gasped, feeling the thick column wedged against her, and then moaned. Her body clenched hot with desire.

She kissed him with all of the emotion that she could not yet put words to. Kissed him with all she had, wanting it never to stop.

Patrick was mindless with lust, his hunger insatiable. The claret had dulled his reason. All he could think of was touching her, sinking into the heat, and making her his.

It was what she wanted, too. He knew it in the way her body went limp in his arms in sweetest surrender. She dissolved against him, warm and syrupy.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large wooden table, laying her back so that her hips rested just on the edge. His breathing was as heavy as the pounding of his heart as his gaze swept over her flushed cheeks, her pink lips softly parted, her trusting blue eyes hazy with desire. Her skirts were tangled in glorious disarray, revealing part of one slim, shapely leg.

So beautiful. So ripe and ready for his touch. He'd never been more aroused in his life. He wanted to see her naked, splayed out before him. The only thing that prevented him from ripping apart her bodice was the crowd of people in the other room.

The possibility of discovery only heightened the urgency.

Slowly, he edged up her skirts and sucked in his breath. He jerked hard, the sudden pull in his groin almost unbearable.

She was naked from the waist down except for thin ivory stockings that stopped above her knee and pale blue stain slippers on her tiny feet. Her legs were exquisite—delicately shaped with flawless velvety ivory skin that he ached to touch. And between her legs was the sweetest soft pink flesh he'd ever seen. He couldn't wait to taste her. To slide his tongue between her honey folds, to take her shudders of pleasure against his hungry mouth.

His pause had given her time to be embarrassed, and she tried to push down her skirts.

He grabbed her wrist and held her gaze. “No. I want to see you. Don't you know how beautiful you are?”

Her cheeks flushed and he could see her uncertainty, but before she could protest he touched her, sliding his hand between her thighs. “God, your skin is so soft.” He scraped his knuckles back and forth along the tender skin, and she shivered. “Like silk,” he whispered huskily.

She tossed her head back, and the sexy little throaty sound she made told him that she'd forgotten her embarrassment. His fingers swept higher, closer, teasing her until she moaned. Until her body started to quiver. For him.

In their passion, if nothing else, they were equal.

He inhaled deeply, the faint feminine scent of her desire calling to him in the darkest, most primitive way. “Look at me, Lizzie,” he demanded gently. “I want to see your face when I touch you.”

Her eyes widened and her breath came quickly from between her lips in a little gasp, but she didn't look away. Her hips lifted reflexively against his hand.

It was he who closed his eyes with a groan of pleasure when he finally slid his finger inside her. The relief was too intense. She was so slick and soft. So hot. His finger dipped inside her, and she closed around him like a glove. He sank into her again and again as he pressed the heel of his hand against her mound.

The sweet little sounds she made forced his eyes open, and the look of utter rapture on her face nearly undid him. He was hard as a damn rock and ready to explode, throbbing to the point of pain. But he didn't stop.

He was going to make her come.

He watched her breath quicken, watched the confused restlessness cross her face, watched as her back arched and her hips started to press against his hand. He couldn't wait to get inside her. Couldn't wait to meet her passion with his own.

He could feel it come. Feel the pressure build and the need for release drown out everything else. Feel that sudden clench—the little pause at the very peak of pleasure— before she started to break apart.

It was the moment he'd been waiting for. He pressed against her mound a little harder, increasing the friction to make her pleasure more intense, and found the sweet little spot with his finger. Her eyes widened with surprise as the rippling contractions crashed over her. She cried out, and her sexy little sounds of pleasure made him pulse.

Watching her come was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He clenched hard to prevent himself from joining her. Not yet….

He kissed her again, sliding his tongue deep in her mouth with long, demanding strokes as he fumbled with the ties of his breeches—not for the first time cursing the absence of his plaid—and positioned himself between her open legs.