Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(54)

She considered for a moment, and the naughty smile that played upon her lips sent a chill of foreboding straight through him. The feeling, so foreign, could only be described as alarm. He, a man who’d made hardened warriors turn and run on the battlefield, was scared of a wee lass.

What in Hades had he done?

She looked at his mouth, unconsciously sliding her tongue along her lower lip. Heat rushed over him. “You mean if I kiss you . . .” She lowered her mouth to his until only a hairbreadth separated them. The succulent honey of her breath made his mouth water. “You will not kiss me back?”

His body went rigid as she placed a tender kiss on his mouth. He had to grip the bedcoverings to fight the hard swell that rose inside him, demanding a response. He wanted to kiss her hard, to have his tongue deep in her mouth as he devoured her senseless.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he said tightly.

He felt her relax, her body eased against him, melting. It was pure torture.

She kissed him again, sliding her tongue between the crease of his mouth. His chest pounded, his c**k jerking hard against her. Where in the hell had she learned to do that?

If it was instinct, as he suspected, he was in trouble—deep trouble.

But he didn’t have time to contemplate the future because she kissed him again. Pressing her soft lips to his and sliding her tongue in his mouth in a slow, tender sigh.

Her soft hand held his cheek as she stroked him with her tongue as he’d so foolishly taught her. It was all he could do not to flip her over on her back and kiss her as deeply as she was begging for.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

He groaned with relief, circling his tongue against hers, sparring, delving, tasting her every bit as deeply as she had him. She was so sweet and hot, he couldn’t get enough.

Blood was pounding through his body. His erection was so hard, he knew she must feel him. As if reading his thoughts, she moved her hips over him, wedging him firmly between her legs.

He couldn’t breathe.

Unaware of what she was doing to him, she broke the kiss and trailed her lips along his jaw and neck, singeing a path of fire on his skin. Her hands fanned over his chest and arms, exploring every ridge and bulge of muscle with almost childish delight, as if she were a bairn opening a gift at Yule.

His heart pounded, his c**k pounded, every instinct clamored to touch her, but he held still under her innocent scrutiny.

He counted to ten in his head, doing anything to keep his mind from what she was doing to his body.

What had possessed him to do this? She lifted her chest off him a little to slide her hand between them, her hand skimming his stomach as her tongue slid along his neck. Every muscle in his body tensed. Her fingers trailed across the rigid bands of his stomach, and the feathery touch so achingly close was almost more than he could bear. He had to grit his teeth to prevent another groan.

Her hand dipped lower, to the waist of his breeches, and her palm accidentally brushed over the throbbing head of his erection. His bu**ocks clenched as he fought the urge to thrust.

He must have made a sound because she lifted her mouth from his neck. He could see the uncertainty in her gaze. “Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head and said tightly, “Only because I want you so much.”

She slid her eyes down to him, seeing how he strained against the leather of his breeches. If possible, it only made him harder. “Would it help if I touched you?”

“Yes,” he lied, even though he knew it would only make it infinitely worse. But what she offered him was so tantalizing, he could not speak the truth. Her tiny hand wrapped around him . . .

He shook off the thought and steeled himself for her touch.

“What do I do?”

“Undo the ties.” She did as he directed. He knew he

shouldn’t, but he had to watch her. Her eyes widened, seeing him in the flesh—all of him. He wondered if she would change her mind, but after a long pause she raised her eyes to his in question. “Circle me with your hand,” he said softly.

“I’ll try.”

He closed his eyes and groaned. Oh God, that felt good. Her hand was soft and cool, and he was so hot. He jerked a little in her hand as a drop of fluid escaped from his tip. Her grip around him was tentative, but sweet . . . achingly sweet.

Because he didn’t think he could speak, he covered her hand with his and showed her how to stroke him.

Flames roared in his ears as he gave himself over to the fire she wrought in his blood. Pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known rushed over him.

She stroked him faster, harder, until the pressure built to erupting, his body clenched, and he knew he was about to come.

He grabbed her wrist. “Stop,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ll unman me.”

His heart pounded as he fought for control. She looked at him questioningly. “I’ve been too long without a woman,” he explained, though he knew it had nothing to do with that—he had always been a man of prodigious control even when it came to sex—but everything to do with this woman.

His explanation seemed to please her. She leaned down and kissed him again. “How long?” she murmured against his mouth.

He thought about it a minute and decided to tell her the truth. “Since I first saw you.”

Caitrina didn’t know why, but his declaration pleased her enormously. She wasn’t exactly sure what his need to stop had to do with other women, but it didn’t matter. He’d lain with no one else since he’d met her. It must mean something. Perhaps he did care for her.