Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(67)

He loved the contrast of the pale, plump mounds and the pink-tipped ni**les. He could spend hours feasting on them, licking and sucking until he drove them both mad with lust.

Feeling particularly devilish, he licked over one and then followed it with little nips, his teeth grazing the points until they were hard and puckered. Then he licked the other, rubbing his tongue over and around, circling until she was writhing beneath him.

Then he pulled away, staring intently into her beautiful eyes. “Ah, lass, how you tempt me. I cannot spend another moment outside your sweetness.”

He slid his fingers into her opening, wanting to ensure that she was prepared for him. They met with no resistance. She opened easily for him and then fit his fingers snugly as he moved them deeper.

It was enough to send him right over the edge.

He rotated his body over her, moving her thighs apart with his knee. Then he grasped his erection and worked it up and down, bathing himself in her moisture. Finally he positioned himself at her opening and pushed forward, entering her just enough that she fit snugly around the head of his cock.

She closed her eyes and her hands flew to his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. He pushed farther, gaining another inch. She trembled and then lifted her hips in silent plea for more.

He was more than happy to accommodate her. He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out and he went completely still until he realized it wasn’t a cry of pain but one of pleasure.

It was the most intense sensation he’d ever experienced. Never had he realized what it would feel like to be with the right woman. One he wasn’t with for a quick rut and an even quicker release. This was right. So very right, and he knew he’d never feel such again. There would never be another woman for him.

She was his. His wife.

He loved her.

The realization was startling and it overwhelmed him.

Love.

He loved Eveline Armstrong. How could it have happened so quickly? How could he love a woman whose clan had caused his family such grief? Logically he knew—and he’d already made it clear—that she could not be held accountable for the sins of her clan. He even knew that he felt a certain tenderness for her, and aye, a fierce protectiveness.

But love.

’Twas an extraordinary realization and one he hadn’t been prepared for. It was like being hit by a mace.

“Graeme?”

Eveline’s whisper reached his ears, and he realized he’d gone still and was hovering above her as he processed the magnitude of this moment.

“ ’Tis all right,” he said, his voice breaking. And it was. Everything was perfect.

He was holding in his arms the woman meant for him. Nothing would ever feel this right if he lived to be a hundred.

He looked down at her, wanting to savor this moment, to commit to memory the moment he realized just how much Eveline Armstrong meant to him.

A tiny slip of a lass who’d snuck between his defenses. It was baffling even as it was satisfying.

He began to thrust again, this time with slow and measured movements meant to prolong their pleasure. He was besieged by tenderness, by the need to hold her and cherish her. How was he possibly to explain to her what she meant to him? How could he even find the words?

Aye, but he could show her. He could show her what he didn’t yet have the words to describe. He might not be able to tell her what was in his heart, but he would show her in actions and deeds.

Gathering her in his arms, he slid into her deep and then retreated only to push back inside her.

Never had he felt so vulnerable, so completely unprotected, and yet it wasn’t the terrible thing he would have imagined. He found he didn’t mind trusting her with this softer side. Indeed, he wanted her to have it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her lips whispered over his jaw and then to his ear where she kissed and nibbled at the lobe, playful and yet sinfully sweet.

Her actions were unpracticed and yet he found it endearing that she sought to show him her affection and perhaps her love. He could only hope, for it was the worst sort of hell to imagine that she wouldn’t return his feelings. She simply had to love him. He could entertain no alternative.

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her hair, letting her surround him, hold him. He didn’t trust this sudden overwhelming emotion. It was overpowering. Beyond simple lust. Beyond the pleasure of a beautiful woman’s body. His heart was captured and it was a helpless, wondrous feeling.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, knowing she wouldn’t hear, but wanting to test the words on his lips. “I love you,” he said again when he realized how easily they came.

He covered her completely, but it was she who held him in her tiny hands. She who possessed him, not the other way around.

His release was powerful, so much more intense than ever before. It came from a place much deeper inside him. His entire body drew up and he plunged deeper, harder until she tightened around him.

She went liquid around him, soft and satiny, and he thrust again, this time his satisfaction roaring through him like a storm. He held her so tightly, he feared he was hurting her and yet he couldn’t let go.

He wanted to be inside her so deeply that they could never be separated, so that when they were apart, she would remember this moment when they were inseparable.

When they were one.

He relaxed onto her body, his loins still quivering with the last vestiges of his release. He rested there a moment, savoring the feel of her flesh imprinted on his. After a moment, he shifted to the side, bearing her with him, their legs tangled, their bodies still connected in the most intimate way possible.