Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(52)
He drew in his breath, his eyes devouring every curve and contour of her shape revealed plainly under the gossamer ivory silk of her nightraile. The raw desire in his gaze threatened to overwhelm her, but she stood firm beneath its withering heat. Never had a man looked at her so, with possession, lust, and something far more dangerous and enticing.
His finger traced the sharp point of her nipple until it strained taut against the thin fabric. Heat flooded between her legs at his touch.
“God, you are beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. He pinched her lightly between his thumb and forefinger, and something leapt inside her.
She remembered his mouth on her and knew that he remembered it, too. She wanted to close her eyes and succumb to the burgeoning sensations firing through her body.
His thumb moved over her nipple in a soft caress, rubbing the silky fabric over the sensitive peak with wicked friction until she felt herself sway—her legs like jelly.
She thought he was going to kiss her, but he surprised her by lifting her effortlessly in his arms as if she weighed no more than a child and carrying her to the bed. Gently, he lowered her and she sank into the soft feather mattress.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing the bed to dip, and quickly removed his boots. After pulling the shirt from his breeches, he yanked it over his head in one smooth motion, then tossed it to the chair where he’d laid his doublet.
Caitrina sucked in her breath, mesmerized by the sight before her. He was beautiful. The hard lines of his chest and arms looked as if they’d been chiseled from granite. She could see the outline of every tightly formed muscle beneath his golden skin—its smooth surface marred only by the occasional jagged scar that marked him as a warrior.
His arms were like rocks, his shoulders wide, his chest a steely shield. Thin bands of muscle rippled across his stomach. He stood, loosening the ties of his breeches until they hung low on his hips. She could see the thick length of his manhood straining against the waist, his desire for her undeniable.
He must have noticed her study, but he misunderstood her shocked reaction. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he promised soothingly.
She shook her head. “You don’t frighten me.”
He chuckled at that and sat back down on the edge of the bed beside her. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that, you’ll ruin my reputation.”
Caitrina couldn’t believe it: He was jesting with her. It was so sweet and unexpected. She returned his smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her eyes slid over him again, her body softening with awareness. He was so close. She could just reach out and touch him. “It’s just that I couldn’t help but admire . . . you are beautiful,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could take them back.
He frowned, obviously not knowing what to make of her pronouncement. “I’m a warrior. Warriors are not beautiful.”
He was wrong. There was undeniable beauty in the strength and power of his body. Slowly, she reached out to touch him, feeling him flinch as she spread her palms over the hard span of his chest. She could see the pulse at his neck begin to tick and knew her touch had pleased him. His skin was warm to the touch and surprisingly smooth over the steely hard muscles. Holding his gaze, she moved her hands to his shoulders, sliding them down over the bulging muscles of his arms, which flexed instinctively under her fingertips. Magnificent. “You are to me,” she said softly.
Something flickered in his eyes, and he lowered his head to hers, covering her mouth with his in a tender kiss that spoke far louder than words. With his lips he touched her soul, claiming a part of her that had never been exposed.
He dragged his mouth over hers, teasing her with the quick flick of his tongue—slow and languid, as if he had all the time in the world. He kissed her jaw, sliding his mouth to the sensitive recesses of her neck and blowing across the damp skin until she shivered with desire. The scrape of his chin blazed a fiery path along her sensitive flesh.
He drove her mad with longing, drawing out the kiss until her nails dug into his shoulders from gripping him so tightly.
He was still leaning over her—their bodies not yet touching. She strained with need, wanting to feel the weight of his chest on top of her, her br**sts crushed against the hard-muscled wall that she’d just admired with her hands.
He kissed her mouth again, this time harder. She opened against him, forcing him to deepen the kiss when she met his tongue with her own.
She moaned, unable to contain the burst of pleasure as their kiss grew wilder. Hotter.
He tasted like sin, dark and spicy with a hint of wine. Sweet intoxication. She could kiss him like this forever, where there was nothing between them but the hunger of their mouths and tongues.
But something was happening to her body. The restlessness that she remembered from before. Every inch of her skin was aflame, her ni**les ached, the sensitive place between her legs pulsed.
When he finally covered her breast with his hand, she jumped. He plied the nipple with his fingers until she arched against him, silently begging.
He undid the ties at her neck, then opened her nightraile to reveal her br**sts. She was beyond embarrassment, her desire masking everything but the pleasure and anticipation coursing through her body. Scooping the pale flesh in his hand, he lifted the pink tip to his mouth and sucked.
A needle of pleasure shot through her. His warm, wet mouth on her sensitive flesh sent wicked sensations shuddering through her. The passion he’d carefully wrought within her came perilously close to bursting.