Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(55)
She could tell from the strain in his body that what she’d done had pleased him. And pleasing him, she realized, had also pleased her.
She felt relaxed, confident, and most important, eager to continue.
She kissed him again, rubbing her body ever so gently against his. The places where they touched tingled with sensation. But it wasn’t enough; she craved the weight and pressure of his hands.
She kissed him harder, trying to convey her wishes with her mouth. She could feel the passion stirring inside him but knew that no matter how hard she drove him, he would hold to his vow.
She would have to tell him.
Her mouth moved across his jaw, rough with stubble, to his ear. “Touch me,” she whispered. “Please, touch me.”
“Where?” he asked.
The heavy brogue of his voice seemed as rich and dark as molten lava, sinking deep into her bones. No man should have a voice like that—one that could seduce with a word. “Everywhere,” she answered.
He moaned and cupped her br**sts lovingly in his hands, pinching her ni**les to taut peaks. “Like this, my sweet?”
She threw back her head, giving herself over to the exquisite sensations wrought by his powerful hands on her body. Hands that could wield a claymore with deadly strength but could stroke and caress with painstaking tenderness.
His mouth clasped over one nipple as he drew it deep in his mouth, tugging it between his teeth until her body—of its own accord—started to move against him. She felt his erection hot and throbbing against her belly. Like the rest of him, he was a big man. Though she’d felt him pressed against her body, she hadn’t quite realized just how big until she’d released him from the confines of his breeches. For a moment, all she could feel was shock and not a wee bit of trepidation—until she’d taken him in her hand. She remembered how he’d felt—like velvet over steel. But most of all, she remembered how it had felt to harness all that raw masculine strength in the palm of her tiny hand. She had the power to make him weak with pleasure, and the knowledge was both thrilling and emboldening, giving her confidence she would have thought impossible.
“I want you naked,” he said, and his eyes bored into her with a passion that was almost frightening in its intensity. It wasn’t merely lust, but something far deeper. Something that wrapped around her like a warm, fuzzy plaid. Something that she’d never thought she’d feel again: secure.
She nodded, and he deftly pulled her nightraile over her head, depositing it on the floor beside the bed. She was no longer on top of him, but stretched out beside him.
She didn’t have time to be embarrassed by her nudity because he was sucking her br**sts again, lifting them to his face and nuzzling between the deep cleft. The scratch of his whiskers was a welcome friction against her fevered skin.
Never had she felt so cherished. He worshipped her with his mouth and tongue. As if trying to memorize every inch of her, he sculpted her with his hands, leaving nothing unexplored. The long, slow drag of his callused palms across her feverish skin made her prickle with awareness. It was exquisite, beautiful in its torture. Every touch, every move he made, was calculated for her pleasure. Desire gathered between her legs in a heated pool. She was warm and soft and desperate for his touch.
His lips covered hers again in a wet, openmouthed kiss that was dark and carnal. His fingertip skidded along the inside of her thigh. Her breath caught in anticipation.
“Tell me,” he whispered. She nudged toward his hand, but all he did was gently sweep over her with the tip of his finger. “Do you want me to touch you here, Caitrina?” She was in such anguish, her entire body shuddered from the feather-soft touch.
“Please,” she begged, pressing against his hand, craving pressure.
She moaned when he finally slid his finger inside her, bringing her to the very peak of pleasure with his deft stroking. He was pulling her down a long, dark tunnel of sensation where all she could think of was releasing the pressure building between her legs.
He murmured wicked encouragements in her ear, driving her wild. She was so close. . . .
But she wanted more. She wanted to share her pleasure with him. Instinctively, she reached out to take him in her hand, her fingers wrapping around his hot, velvety skin. “Show me,” she said.
His hand went still. His gaze met hers. “You’re sure?” She nodded.
Taking her by the hips, he gently guided her on top of him so that she straddled him with her legs. The feel of his thick, heavy column between her thighs gave her a moment’s pause, but all was forgotten when he moved her over his tip. Her body started to quiver as he nudged gently at her opening with the smooth, round head. She spread her legs wider and slowly lowered her body over him.
He made a sound that was almost pained as she sank down, taking the heavy head inside her. She stopped when she felt a bit of resistance and allowed her body to get used to the sensation of being stretched around him, trying to decide whether it hurt.
He held himself perfectly still, not moving an inch, though she knew that he was holding himself by a very thin thread. She could see the grim determination on his face, the muscles in his neck and shoulders drawn as tight as the string of a bow.
“It doesn’t hurt so badly at all,” she decided.
He made a sound that was like a strangled laugh. “I’m afraid we’re not quite done yet, my love.”
Love. She knew it was a turn of phrase, an endearment uttered in the heat of the moment, but it did not stop the pang of longing in her chest. “We’re not?” she asked.