Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(69)

He had but one chance to make this perfect, and he was determined to do just that.

“Breathe, lass, and hold on to me tight. I’ll be gentle and move slow. I want it to feel good.”

Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, where her fingernails dug into his flesh, marking him with tiny claws.

He pushed forward, entering her inch by inch. Never had he taken it so slowly or been so careful. He watched her closely for any sign that she wasn’t with him. She emitted a small sigh and fidgeted beneath him as if she were as impatient as he for him to seat himself all the way inside her.

She closed around him, all soft and sweet and lush. Absolutely lush and decadently sinful. Never had he felt such a rush of pleasure. Or contentment. ’Twas like coming home. As if he’d waited for her—and this moment—forever. And maybe he had.

She completed him in a way he’d never imagined a female completing him. He had kin, clan, his duties to his brother. Graeme, Teague, and Rorie had always come first. He placed their well-being and needs above his own. And now Genevieve had taken over. He’d move the sun if that’s what it took to ensure her safety and happiness. Nothing was more important than her security. His focus was and had to be solely on her, for she had no other to champion her cause. If he didn’t see to her happiness, who would?

Closing his eyes, he slid deeper, pushing inward until finally his hips met the backs of her thighs and the hair at his groin mingled with the baby-fine hair between her legs.

Her eyes were glazed. She looked as though she was overwhelmed, intoxicated. Her hands worked up and down his arms as if she couldn’t remain still, and then she lifted them upward to dive into the hair that streamed over his shoulders.

He withdrew, and they both groaned with the exquisite pleasure that assailed them. He thrust forward, a gentle push. He glided wetly through the tight tissues, and sweat beaded his forehead as he fought for control.

“Bowen, I need …”

“What do you need, lass? Tell me. I will give it to you if ’tis within my power.”

“I need … you,” she said in a desperate voice. “ ’Tis clawing my insides, this need. I don’t know what to do. ’Tis growing and growing until the pressure is an ache within me.”

He eased back and then thrust a little more forcefully, setting a rhythm as he rocked against her. His hands wrapped around her hips, holding her steady as he pumped in and out of her tight clasp.

Sliding one hand to her groin, he eased his thumb low, through the curls and into the V of her legs until he brushed over her quivering nub.

She tensed immediately, going so tight around him that he very nearly spent himself then and there. He groaned and halted, breathing rapidly to gain control.

Then he flicked his thumb over her again, eliciting another bone-deep shudder. She was close. Perilously close to finding her pleasure, and he wanted to take the plunge with her.

Pressing his thumb and then working in a sensual circle, he began to slide in and out, forcing himself deep. The friction was nearly unbearable. She was so tight that it was difficult to move with ease.

Her fingers dug into his arms. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth opened in a silent cry.

She went wet around him, suddenly easing his passage, and he thrust harder and faster. She arched high off the bed, and then she did cry out, the sound garbled as it ended in a gasp.

Like a wild thing, she bucked in his grasp, and he let her, riding her as she writhed beneath him. His release gathered in his cods, tightening every muscle in his body until it bordered on pain. It raced up his shaft and exploded in a tumultuous burst. He pulsed forcefully, planting himself deeply within her only to withdraw and push himself deep again.

Finally he paused, buried inside her, his body flush against hers as he quivered and emptied the last of his seed within her.

He gathered her in his arms, wanting only to have her as close as he could manage. She was limp and sated, her satisfied sigh purring over his ears.

For a long moment, he remained buried inside her tight clasp. He had no desire to leave. If it was up to him, he’d remain this way for as long as he could, a part of her, connected in the most intimate way possible.

He kissed her temple, nuzzling her skin, and murmured again that she was the most beautiful lass in the world. They weren’t just words he offered. Platitudes he didn’t mean. He cared not about the scar that marred her face. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful lass he’d ever known and nothing would change that. Not a scar. Not circumstances. She was his, and he didn’t give one damn what others thought.

“I love you,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ll always love you, Genevieve.”

But when he pulled away, he saw that she’d already drifted into a deep sleep, her mouth curved into the tiniest hint of a smile. She looked at ease, the lines on her forehead replaced by smooth skin.

He kissed her again and gently eased himself from the warm clasp of her body. Then he pulled the covers over the both of them and gathered her close so that she would sleep in the safety of his embrace.

Chapter 33

It was in the early hours of the predawn morning and Bowen lay in bed, Genevieve resting at his side, her head on his shoulder as he stroked the softness of her hair.

They’d both awakened but lay in the quiet, simply enjoying the intimacy and closeness of their embrace. Every once in a while, he pressed a kiss to her brow, because he was unable to keep from touching her and kissing her in even the smallest of ways.