Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(18)

Touch her. Take her. Make her yours. The voice of temptation drowned out everything else.

He cupped her breast with his hands, groaning as the round lush flesh poured through his fingers. With only a wet nightraile between them, there was little to impede his exploration. Her br**sts were every bit as incredible as he'd anticipated. High and firm yet soft and round. And generous—mouthwateringly generous—the ni**les as tight and hard as two pink pearls. She moaned, arching her back instinctively into his palm.

Her responsiveness, her unfettered passion, just might be the death of him. What she lacked in experience was more than compensated by instinct and enthusiasm, her movements pure and unconscious. With Jeannie in his bed, he would never need—never want—another.

My wife. God, he couldn't believe his good fortune.

His mouth found the hollow at her throat as his fingers closed around her breast. Scooping the soft flesh in his hand, he weighed its ripe fullness, squeezing gently and sliding the pad of his thumb over her very tight, very small—and, he suspected, very pink—nipple.

She gasped, her body stilled, waiting … nay, begging for his touch.

If he wasn't just as eager as she was, he might be amused. But with Jeannie he felt none of the detached confidence that had characterized his previous sexual encounters. He was just as caught up in the sensory frenzy as she was.

But he was still in control.

He smoothed his thumb over her again and the shudder of surrender that wracked her body nearly undid him. He swelled even harder and had to grit his teeth against the urge to bring her hips to his, position himself between the sweet cleft of her legs, and sink into the warm, wet heat of oblivion.

He rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching it lightly as his mouth and tongue devoured the baby soft skin of her neck. She was so damned sweet, practically melting in his mouth. Her scent, her taste, enveloped him. It was Jeannie. Only Jeannie. She was all that mattered. All that he could think about.

The tie at the neck of her nightraile had come loose, and he kissed a path to the deep cleft between her br**sts, burying his face and inhaling her warm feminine scent.

Her breath hitched in innocent anticipation. He slid his tongue beneath the fabric along the round curve of her breast, slowly licking up to the very tip.

She stilled, the soft rasp of her breath the only sound to break the silence of the night. He almost wished she would stop him. The thread of his control was quickly dissolving into nothing. But she'd given over to him completely, any maidenly shock overpowered by curiosity and an innate sensuality. He would stop, but first he would give her pleasure.

He flicked his tongue over the puckered skin of one delectable nipple before drawing it between his teeth with one tender suck.

The force of her moan hit him deep in his groin.

He sucked harder, swirling his tongue around the rigid peak until she arched, pressing herself deeper into his eager mouth.

Her hips moved insistently against his erection. A throbbing ache crashed over him. Restraint making every inch of his body clench.

He knew what she wanted. His hand slid under the hem of her nightraile, lifting it high upon her thigh.

Her skin was like velvet under his rough fingertips as he slid his hand between her legs. He was going too fast, but he'd outpaced his experience. It wasn't the physical act—he knew well enough what to do—but nothing had prepared him for this kind of urgency, the indescribable need to join not only bodies, but souls.

Like Jeannie, he was acting on instinct, and right now all he could think about was giving her more pleasure than she'd ever imagined.

His finger swept over her.

His c**k jerked, the soft heat, the creamy dampness under his fingertip forced him over the edge. She was so wet.

He'd just reached the limits of his restraint.

She gasped at his intimate touch, her entire body arched, suspended in a moment of shock and anticipation.

He didn't give her any time to think, but sucked her nipple deep into his mouth and slid his finger inside her. Heat and dampness surrounded him.

She cried out when he entered her, unable to hide her pleasure.

God, she was wet and tight and so damned responsive. Did she have any idea how beautiful and irresistible she was with her flushed cheeks, sweetly parted lips swollen from his kiss, and her luminous gaze soft with desire.

He wanted her more than anything he'd ever wanted before, enough so that for the first time in his life he didn't trust himself to stop.

Jeannie knew she should be shocked. And she was, but just not enough to stop him. Not when it felt so incredible.

She had knowledge of what happened between a man and a woman—living in a castle with little privacy provided a basic lesson in the fundamentals—but never had she imagined that a man's touch could rouse such intense sensation, such incomparable pleasure. The grunts and groans she'd heard so often in the middle of the night suddenly made perfect sense.

Nor could she have imagined the connection—the intimacy—forged by a kiss and a caress. She felt bound to him. A part of him. Possessed and possessing at the same time.

When he held her in his arms, kissed her, touched her, she felt as if nothing could ever come between them. She felt safe … secure … loved. He belonged to her and she to him.

She knew what was happening, knew where this was headed. But she didn't care. The lessons of a lifetime of preserving her virtue suddenly felt silly. He would be her husband. Every instinct, every fiber of her being told her that this was right—that nothing that brought such pleasure could be wrong. Any qualms disappeared in the heated excitement of the moment.