The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(82)

He leaned down, his tight, husky voice breathing close to her ear, as he continued his deft strokes. “What if I came into you like this from behind, my fair Rosalin. Would you like that?”

If the unevenness of her breathing and the frantic pulsing between her legs were any indication, she feared she would. Quite a lot.

He groaned as her pleasure communicated itself to him in a very warm and silky way.

“Is this gentle?” he said. She felt another blunt finger slip inside her, stretching her. Then another. “How about this?”

Releasing his hold on her hands pinned above her, his left hand started to explore her body. The feel of one of his big hands cupping her breast, squeezing her, pinching her nipple between his fingers, even as others plunged in and out of her body was too much.

She moaned, arching against him, pressing her hips back to meet his feigned thrusts. “Aye,” she whispered between bated breaths. Surprisingly it was. No matter how hard and rough he wanted to make it, there was an inherent tenderness to his touch that he could not hide.

He swore angrily, as if he, too, knew the truth. His movements slowed, his strokes becoming softer and more drawn out, as he, too, succumbed to the pleasure of the intimate touch. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned, rubbing some of her dampness with soft little circling motions of his thumb. “So warm and wet for me. But I’m going to make you even hotter—and wetter.”

Any embarrassment she might have felt was lost in the cacophony of other emotions swirling inside her. Her breath—her whimpering moans—quickened at a frantic pace in keeping with the plunging of his fingers. She felt her body lift in expectation as passion took hold. As her desire and love for this man entwined in the perfect whirlpool of sensation.

His hand took her higher and higher. A fever spread over her skin. “Oh God, Robbie,” she begged helplessly.

He held her there. Right at that perfect place, until she couldn’t take it anymore and broke apart. “That’s it, mo ghrá. Let me feel your pleasure.”

The spasms rocked her, pulsing through her body in sharp wave after wave. His hand was still holding her when the last ebbs had flowed from her body.

She glanced over her shoulder and lifted her hazy gaze to his. His blue eyes were hot and penetrating, his face a hard mask. “What does mo ghrá mean?”

He was holding her so closely, she swore she could feel his heart stop. For a moment she thought he actually looked ill, but then his features once more schooled into hard impassivity. “It means ‘my beautiful one.’”

To her surprise, he let her go. To her even greater surprise, she didn’t fall to the ground in a boneless pool. “What about…Are you not…?” Her cheeks flushed hot.

His face was drawn so tight, he almost looked to be in pain. “What you want is impossible, Rosalin. I’ll not take your virginity to prove it. You wanted pleasure; I gave it to you. Do not make anything more of it.”

Rosalin stared at him, stunned and more hurt than she would have thought possible. For a moment she felt a flicker of doubt. Was lust truly all this was to him? Was she imagining things that weren’t there? Or was he just being stubborn and intentionally cruel to push her away?

Perhaps she should let him. Heaven knew it would be easier. She did not delude herself. A future for them seemed unlikely, even if they both wanted it. But she wouldn’t let him go without a fight. Not this time.

“I see,” she said softly. “Thank you for clarifying it for me. Now I shall know the difference.”

His hands clenched. “What difference?”

“To compare. When I return home.”

The pulse below his cheek jumped. He was furious, but determined not to show it.

She smiled, as if she hadn’t noticed. “When am I to leave?”

“As soon as your brother delivers the silver. A week, maybe two.”

She feigned concern, a small frown gathering between her brow. “And should I feel this desire again before I go, what then?”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘what then’?”

Rosalin knew she really shouldn’t take such pleasure in angering him, but then again, he’d hurt her. “Should I seek you out or someone else?”

He stiffened. His dark gaze rested on her for a long, angry pause before flickering to the bed. Rosalin suspected she was one nudge away from being tossed on that bed and very thoroughly ravished.

A proper, gently born lady really shouldn’t be feeling such a wicked thrill at the prospect.

But when his gaze landed on hers again, it was narrowed with understanding. “It won’t work, Rosalin. You will not goad me into changing my mind.”

He turned and ducked out of the tent before she could reply.

We’ll see about that, Rosalin thought smugly. She intended to goad him into quite a lot. It seemed she, too, could be quite merciless when fighting for the right cause.

Robbie walked away while he still could. Before he did something rash like toss her down on that bed and give her exactly what she’d asked for. The lass trusted in his honor more than she should. He wasn’t one of her damned knights.

Someone else. Bloody hell! The goading words still set primitive fires roaring through his blood.

He pushed a branch out of the way, snapping it, as he made his way through the forest to what was fast becoming his new favorite haunt: the ice-cold burn that ran behind the camp. He needed to cool off. One part of him in particular.