The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(95)

When she started to press her hips against his, he knew he had to move. Slowly at first, and then faster as she responded, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. The kiss started to fall apart as their moans and groans increased in urgency, as his breathing became more erratic and took second place to the far greater need building in his loins.

But it wasn’t just his loins. Nay, the need for her was elemental. It permeated him, flesh, bone, and soul. There was no part of him she’d left unclaimed. He wanted her with everything he had—and even with things he didn’t have.

His thrusts lengthened, deepened, and quickened, echoing the breathy little gasps of surprise she was making every time their bodies slammed intimately together. Despite the erotic picture that presented, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her face.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. Her cheeks were flushed pink with arousal, her lips gently parted, and her eyes soft with an aching tenderness that bound them together in a way he’d never imagined. In a way he’d not thought himself capable of.

He’d had lots of good swiving before. Hell, even lots of great swiving. But he’d never had perfect swiving. And that’s what this was: perfect. It was the way she moved with him. The way they moved together—as one. It was a sensual rhythm unlike any other. But he knew it was more than that. He’d never felt so connected with a woman. Never had her pleasure been his own. He could feel it building in her. Feel as the heat and sensation started to gather and twist. Feel the pressure coiling and knew exactly when it was about to unwind.

He sank deep inside her and stilled.

Her eyes widened in sensual shock a moment before the soft cries of pleasure tore from her lungs and her body started to shudder under him. And then through him as her pleasure became his.

But it was her whispered words that pushed him over the edge. “I love you.”

His chest squeezed and then expanded. With a feral cry from between clenched teeth, he clutched the soft curves of her bottom, holding himself deep as he circled his hips, grinding every pulse, every spasm, every hard jolt of pleasure that crashed over him in blinding wave after blinding wave of shattering sensation.

His mind went black. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he might have though he passed out for a minute, so intense was the blast of sensation that overtook him. The roaring in his head was so loud that when it finally quieted—when the last drop of pleasure had been wrung from his body—the room sounded unnaturally still.

All he could hear were the heavy sounds of heartbeats and the uneven fall of breaths. Realizing he’d collapsed on top of her, and was probably crushing her, he rolled to the side and tucked her under one arm. She rested her cheek on his chest, with her tiny palm pressed right above his heart, while he let his cheek rest atop her silky head.

Neither of them said anything. What more was there left to say?

He wasn’t even sure he knew what the hell had just happened. Cataclysmic. Life-changing. Awe-inspiring. They were all too mundane to describe the experience.

It had been so much more than he’d imagined—and what he’d imagined had been pretty damned spectacular. Instinctively he’d known it would be good between them—their attraction had been too charged from the start for it not to be—he just hadn’t anticipated the rest. The feelings of tenderness that had gripped him. The feelings that hadn’t come from anywhere close to the vicinity of his groin. They’d been much deeper and much more powerful. They’d come from a part of him he hadn’t been sure existed anymore.

But he didn’t know what it meant. Or, more important, what the hell he was going to do about it.

When Rosalin was a young girl, not long after her parents had died, she’d gone chasing after Cliff and some of his friends on a hunting trip. She ran after them for miles, over hills and through valleys, as quickly as her little legs would carry her.

By the time she’d caught up with them, she’d been exhausted. Every limb, every bone, every muscle in her body felt as if it had been strained and stretched to the breaking point. Cliff had been furious that she’d followed them, and she’d been sore for weeks, but the sense of accomplishment had made everything worth it.

It was the most physically exhausted she’d ever been. Until now. But like then, it had been worth it. Every minute of it.

Well, maybe not one particular minute of it.

As she lay strewn across his chest, trying to find the energy to breathe—let alone think—Rosalin winced at the memory. That minute had hurt quite a lot. But the sharp twinge had faded quickly—thankfully—and it had been replaced by a dull soreness and a wonderful sensation of being filled. Possessed. Claimed. Primitive words, perhaps, but it didn’t make them any less meaningful or significant. What they’d just done had bound them together in a way she never could have imagined. In a way that could not be undone.

If she’d thought she loved him before, she knew it now for certain with every fiber of her very sore, exhausted, and aching being. She didn’t need to worry about it being perfect. It was perfect.

She belonged to him not because he’d taken her maidenhead but because of the connection they’d forged together. She would never forget the look in his eyes as he’d held himself deep inside her and let himself go. The sharp poignancy of the moment would be burned in her heart forever. A man did not look like that at a woman whom he did not care about—care deeply about.