The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(53)

He lifted his head to look into her eyes. The handsome, hard angles of his face looked even more dangerous in the shadows. “Does that frighten you?”

She shook her head. “Nay.” The fear had fled the moment he’d touched her. Her heart was fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird as she struggled to find the words. “I want that, too. I like how it feels when you touch me.”

He stilled. She swore she could feel his gaze grow hotter, more intense. She blushed, wondering if she’d said something wrong. But then he was touching her again and she forgot everything but the pressure of his mouth on her breast and the hot friction of his hands covering her body.

Tor had to keep reminding himself that the passionate woman writhing in his bed was essentially a virgin. But when she moaned and arched under his mouth and hands, silently begging him to kiss her br**sts harder, it was all too easy to forget.

His naughty talk to distract her from her questions had worked—he’d been outside because a few of the men had arrived early, necessitating a midnight trip to the broch—but it was she who’d had the last laugh when her response had distracted him. “I like how it feels when you touch me.” Christ, how could he not react to that?

The innocent honesty of her words only increased his hunger for her. Part of him had wondered whether he’d only imagined her responsiveness that night. He hadn’t. If anything, he’d underestimated its sensual allure.

Virgin, he reminded himself, trying to slow down the pounding in his blood, the primitive call he longed to answer.

He’d wanted to bed her since the first time he’d laid eyes on her. But he swore after his rough handling during their first encounter that he would make it good for her. Very good. Slow and gentle. Hot but controlled.

This was what he understood. In the darkness. Man to woman. Nothing but passion—primitive and raw. He knew how to make a woman ache for his touch. How to make her moan. How to make her weak with pleasure. He knew what she needed and would give it to her. And in return she would give it to him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Base needs satisfied.

In bed, Christina Fraser was no different than any other woman. His need for her was hotter. More intense, perhaps. But lust was lust, and nothing he couldn’t control.

He was a passionate man. She was a passionate woman. It was as simple as that. Passion in the marriage bed was something to be grateful for—his first wife had not been so eager. It was nothing to concern him.

But he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. Even in the darkness, the lush sensuality of her plump pink lips beckoned. He rebelled against the intimacy—kissing wasn’t something he usually thought about.

But he could taste the rest of her. He untied the opening of her chemise, no longer content to have a barrier between his lips and her skin. She smelled incredible. Warm and flowery. He inhaled deeply, her delicate scent enfolding him in its sweet embrace.

She cried out at the first touch of his mouth on her bare skin, and his already rock-hard erection grew even harder.

At the first tentative touch of her hands on his back he froze. The demanding press of her fingers, kneading the taut muscles of his upper arms and shoulders, made him feel like he was jumping out of his damned skin. She liked touching him. A sharp clench of desire clouded his vision for one mindless moment as lust spiked inside him.

Control. Forcing his blood to cool, he scooped her gorgeous br**sts in his hands, holding them to his mouth, taking turns devouring each one. His c**k pulsed hard against his stomach and he took relief, rubbing himself gently against her hip as he suckled, the gentle friction stoking the fires even higher.

I can do this. But he’d never felt so aroused in his life. Her innocent responses were more erotic than the experienced moves of the women he usually bedded.

He licked her nipple, the honey-sweet taste ambrosia on his tongue. His chin scraped against the sensitive skin as he kissed her harder. Sucking and swirling his tongue around the taut little point until her hips started lifting against him.

His hands were all over her body. He couldn’t stop touching her. Her skin was so soft, her body lush and sweetly feminine.

He groaned. God, she was incredible. So natural and free in her passion. But it was getting harder and harder to check his instincts, to ignore the hunger and craving burgeoning inside him. His body was on fire, his head pounding. Rationality became harder to find as the red haze of lust crashed over him.

His hands skimmed over her hips and down her legs to lift the edge of her chemise. He heard the short hitch of her breath as his fingers swept up the velvety softness of her inner thigh. Her fingers dug into his arms. She seemed suspended, poised for his touch.

The knowledge of how much she wanted this did something to him. Something that went beyond masculine satisfaction or pride. It filled him with a heavy warmth that reached down deep inside him and tugged. At that moment, nothing had ever felt more important than giving her pleasure.

But not yet. The only thing he wanted more than release was to make it last. He teased the moment out, feeling her body quiver as he caressed the baby-soft skin near her core with a feathery circle of his fingertips, drawing near, then pulling back. Accustoming her not only to his touch, but to her own desire. He wanted her to recognize what her body wanted. What it needed.

He mimicked the movements of his finger with his tongue on her breast. Flicking out to brush against her, then pausing, allowing the warmth of his breath to blow over the damp, sensitive tip.