Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(71)

She was so beautiful like this, her naked body flushed and trembling with the force of her release, her face transformed with ecstasy. He could watch her come forever. It stirred something deep and savage inside him. An emotion so base and primal, he didn’t have a name for it. Except that she belonged to him. Heart, body, and soul.

The last tremors ebbed, and he felt her go slack, weak as a newborn lamb from the force of her release.

Mindful of his injury, he rolled her under him, careful not to crush her by propping himself up on his good arm.

He was still inside her and aching to move. To unleash the storm of passion he’d fought to control. But ever mindful of her fears, he studied her face. “You’re all right?”

A lazy smile played upon her sensuous mouth. Unable to resist, he caught the plump lower lip between his teeth and nibbled gently.

Her gaze was unfocused as she looked at him. “Better than all right.”

“My weight doesn’t bother you?”

Her eyes sharpened with sudden realization. “You promised to stay still.”

He tugged her lip again, murmuring against her mouth, “I lied.”

“But your shoulder.”

“It’s fine.” Actually, holding himself off her with one arm was harder than he’d thought, but he had an idea.

He kissed her again, sliding his tongue in her mouth and circling until she strained against him. Reluctantly, he pulled out of her slick heat, feeling the unwelcome blast of cold air.

“But—”

He pressed his fingers against her lips. “Trust me.”

He stood beside the bed and slid her toward him so that her bu**ocks rested just at the edge of the mattress—at the perfect height.

He throbbed in anticipation, anxious to get back inside that wet heat.

Holding her gaze, he scooped her legs up under her knees and held them on either side of his hips, running his hands along the warm, velvety skin of her thighs. Her legs were beautiful—long, slim, and creamy white. He couldn’t wait to have them wrapped around his waist.

Slowly, he positioned the head of his c**k at her opening. She was so moist and soft and pink . . . and waiting for him. He nuzzled the sensitive round head against her, and she moaned.

Her hips lifted just the sweetest amount. But he wanted her dripping. He dampened his finger in his mouth, then dragged it along her cleft. She jumped from the heat. He smiled devilishly. His pleasure could wait.

He bent over her, kissing the tiny pink ni**les that strained to the ceiling, and then dragged his tongue down the soft ivory plane of her belly.

He heard her breath hitch and resisted a chuckle.

His mouth dipped lower, to the tender skin of her thighs. She tasted like honey, and he wanted to taste every delicious inch of her.

“What are you . . .?”

“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice husky with lust. He blew against her, and she trembled. He inhaled her delicate feminine scent, the most powerful aphrodisiac, and blood rushed to the head of his cock. He pulsed hard, feeling as if he could come right there. He nuzzled his mouth at the top innermost portion of her thigh and felt her stiffen with anticipation.

Dripping, he vowed.

He moved his mouth above her and caught her half-lidded gaze, holding it as he placed a tender kiss at her very core.

Her hips bucked and she cried out. He slid his hands under the soft curves of her bu**ocks, lifted her to his mouth, and tasted her fully. A long, drawn-out kiss of pure pleasure. He circled her with his tongue and probed inside, licking and sucking, until she was deliciously wet and hot. Until she pulsed.

She writhed on the bed, circling her hips against his mouth, and he pushed her harder, driving her closer and closer to the edge as his tongue flicked at her most sensitive spot. He knew she was close. He broke the intimate kiss, stood up, lifted her legs again, and sank into her. Watching his c**k sink inch by glorious inch into her body.

When he was all the way inside and their bodies joined, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, savoring the sharp intensity of sensations ripping through his body.

He felt electrified, more complete than he’d ever felt in his life. This was heaven. This was what it felt like when a man met his mate, the woman he was meant to be with.

She lifted her hips, demanding more, and he let go. Plunging in and out, driving deeper with every stroke, his entire body tight and fraught with need. He loved the feeling of being inside her, of filling her, of making her his.

She clutched him with her feminine muscles, milking him with her body, and he lost all hold. Never had he felt like this. Consumed. Out of control. Wild with passion. Completely free.

His hips pounded with the primal rhythm, and she met him stroke for stroke, her beautiful lush br**sts bouncing with each drive. He wanted to take them in his hands and squeeze, to flick his tongue over the pink tips and watch her skin prickle with passion.

But he couldn’t think. He was on fire. Every inch of his body focused on holding on until . . . He heard her moan. Heard the soft cries of pleasure as she reached her peak, and finally he let go, exploding deep inside her with a guttural cry that tore from his very core.

He held her against him until the last shudder, the last drop of pleasure, left his body. When it was over, all he could do was drop down on the bed beside her, pull her under his arm, and wait for his breath to steady enough to say something.

But what was there to say? What else was there to be said between them? Words seemed insufficient and trite after such a cataclysmic experience. He loved her with every bone in his body and every fiber of his being. Till his dying day.