Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(69)

He couldn't wait another minute. He needed to be inside her.

He unfastened his breeches, and his c**k sprang free. Big and hard and thick with blood. A pearly drop glistened on the tip.

Her eyes widened.

Before she could think about it, he moved over her, rubbing his sensitive head in her damp heat. The groan that went through him shook his entire body. He gritted his teeth against the urge to plunge deep inside. To relieve the unbearable pressure. She was so wet that it was killing him to go slow. He'd been waiting too long for this.

“Please,” she whispered, looking into his eyes, as if reading his mind. “I need you now.”

The heartfelt desire humbled him as nothing before. He could feel something grip him. An emotion so unfamiliar, he didn't know what to call it. But he knew that the need he had for this woman had nothing to do with lust. She was hope to a dying man.

He looped his arms under her legs and positioned himself at her entry. Slowly, he began to push inside.

He groaned, the pleasure too intense. The tight clench of her body fisted around him like a velvet glove. “God, you feel incredible.” So amazingly tight. The urge to thrust, to sink into her full hilt, teased the edges of his consciousness.

But he needed to have care for her innocence. Except that nothing about her responses to him felt innocent. Inexperienced, yes, but not innocent. No maidenly shock. No fear. No pain.

She lifted her hips, urging him deeper, and his entire body clenched with restraint. He was too big and she was too small. But nothing in her expression suggested that he was hurting her. Her eyes were half-lidded, hazy with passion.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

Her eyes flickered open, meeting his gaze. He detected a flash of anxiety before she shook her head. “You won't hurt me, Patrick.”

There was something in her voice … He eased into her inch by inch, until he reached the point of no return. Holding her gaze, he thrust, and her body welcomed him without resistance.

Her cry was one of satisfaction, not of pain.

He paused, feeling a moment of surprise, but when she circled her hips he was sucked into a vortex of pleasure so intense that nothing else mattered.

Lizzie was weak with pleasure, her body tingling from the force of the release that he'd teased from her with his skilled fingers—and his mouth. She'd never realized her br**sts were so sensitive, but when he'd clasped his lips around her nipple, shards of white hot pleasure had shot through her in a hail of flickering light.

But it was nothing to the sensation of him pushing inside her.

She had to admit that she'd experienced a fleeting moment of doubt when he'd opened his breeches. He was a big man. Thick and long, the heavy round head stood a few inches past his belly button. He was at least twice as big as John—and that had hurt initially.

John. She should tell him….

But the moment she felt him rub against her sensitive flesh, all other thoughts were gone. She wanted to take him into her body. To love him. To give him pleasure and find it in return.

Her body dampened, beckoning him in the most intimate way. The concentration of sensation started all over again as his plump head caressed her, teased her, roused her passion to a frenzied storm.

Until her body was wet and hot with need.

And when she didn't think she could take another minute of his exquisite torture, he entered her, penetrating inch by incredible inch. Stretching her. Filling her.

And with one last plunge, completing her.

Her body sighed, taking him in as if she'd been waiting for this her whole life.

Perhaps she had.

God, she could feel him. Her body tingled around the rock-hard column that pulsed with life inside her. She was a puddle of sensation, ready to be swept away in a maelstrom of passion and desire.

Then suddenly he stopped.

He knew.

It had always been her intention to tell him, but there hadn't been time. A flash of panic penetrated the haze. What if he didn't want her? Their eyes met, and she saw the flicker of surprise. The silent question. But not blame. Not anger.

Relief crashed over her in a warm, shimmering wave of acceptance. The last barrier between them was gone, and Lizzie gave herself over to the power of their lovemaking.

She circled her hips and he started to pump. Slowly at first. Long, languid strokes, sliding in and out with deliberate purpose. Her body clutching around him the entire way—trying to hold on.

He kissed her again. Her mouth. Her br**sts. He took one nipple in his mouth, dragging it between his teeth. She moaned at the sensation of his silky lips closing over her. Laving her with the heat of his mouth and tongue as his arousal stirred her to a wicked frenzy. To a peak such as she'd never known.

She clutched him as if she would never let go, running her hands over his heated skin, over the slabs of tightly defined muscles in his arms and chest, feeling them taut and straining under her fingertips, loving the feel of his hard, powerful body on top of her … inside her.

Propped up over her, he was magnificent, his shoulders impossibly wide and powerful. Tight bands of muscle lined his stomach with every thrust. Just looking at him made her feel weak all over. His dark, silky hair slid forward across his handsome face, tight with the effort to control.

But she didn't want control. She wanted to see the depths of his need for her, the depths of his very soul. She wanted all of him.

“Harder,” she urged him on. “Don't hold back.”