The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(69)

She didn’t know what was happening to her, but it was perfect. Each stroke of his hand brought her closer to a peak she didn’t understand. She writhed in frustration, her body aching for ...

“Let go, love,” he whispered. “I want to see you shatter.”

The husky sound of his voice broke through the last vestiges of maidenly repression. Her breath caught, and then released in a shuddering cry as her body seemed to come apart in sharp spasms of intense pleasure.

It was the most wondrous moment of her life, but as she stared into the dark depth of his gold-flecked eyes, Anna knew it wasn’t enough. Her passion had been satisfied, but her heart still throbbed with the need for fulfillment. She wanted a deeper connection. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted all of him. Forever.

I love him. Of course. It was so clear—so certain—she wondered how it could ever have been otherwise.

Warrior. Knight. It didn’t matter. For in her heart, Anna knew she’d found the man she was meant to share her life with.

Arthur couldn’t wait any longer. The pressure had gathered like a hot fist at the base of his spine, building toward the throbbing tip of his cock, demanding release.

Touching her.

Hearing her cry out in sharp gasps of pleasure.

Feeling her body weep and shudder around his hand.

He clenched his teeth, holding it back, knowing he was about to come like he’d never come before.

Jesus, she was so damned beautiful. Honey-gold hair spread out behind her head, shimmering in the candlelight. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Eyes dazed and heavy with passion. One perfectly formed breast heaving out of her bodice, big and soft, the tight little nipple red from his mouth.

She looked like a wanton who couldn’t wait to get tupped. My wanton. All mine.

Jesus, he repeated, half prayer, half oath. He’d never felt like this before. Desire had consumed him.

“Arthur,” she whimpered. “Please ...”

The raw desperation in her voice was the last thread. He couldn’t wait another moment to be inside her.

He practically ripped open the buckles and ties of his chausses and braies to release his engorged cock. But the freedom from confinement and breath of fresh air provided little relief. The only thing that was going to ease his pain right now was being inside her.

He lifted one lithe, long, and flawlessly creamy leg around his hip and positioned himself at her warm and deliciously wet entry. Next time he’d take the time to taste her. To slide his tongue inside and make her come against his mouth.

He held her gaze the entire time, not daring to look away for fear of breaking the powerful connection that had risen between them.

He should have felt a flicker of hesitation. A feeling that what he was about to do was wrong. Honor was important to him, even if the knightly code was not.

But he didn’t.

All he could think about was that he couldn’t lose her. That he had to make her his. That if he could only do so, everything would be all right.

When the sensitive head of his c**k met the damp heat of her entry, a deep, guttural groan of pure pleasure tore from him.

He rubbed himself in her creamy dampness, lingering, wanting to prolong the pleasure. He knew that when he was inside her, it would be too late.

His body was on fire. Every muscle tense, poised for entry. Blood pounded in his veins. In his ears. In his bones. His skin felt tight and hot.

Thrust. God, he wanted to thrust. He’d never wanted to thrust into someone so badly.

He knew it would be incredible. Her body would grip him like a hot glove. Milking him in long, hard pulls. Sending him deeper and deeper into mindless oblivion. He wanted to see her moving under him with the power of his thrusts. Lifting her hips to meet each deep stroke. He wanted to watch his c**k sliding in and out of her.

He clenched, the urge to plunge inside almost overpowering.

But he couldn’t hurt her.

So, he forced himself to go slow, teasing her with his thickness, getting her used to the size and strength of him, slicking the head of his c**k with her dampness to ease his entry.

It felt too good. The pressure was coiling at the base of his spine, cinching tighter and tighter.

She was moaning again, her breath coming hard and heavy. Desire flushed her beautiful face. Her leg tightened around his hip, trying to draw him inside her.

It was all he could take. He started to push.

She cried out in surprise.

Jesus. He gritted his teeth. Sweat gathered on his brow. Blood drummed through his veins. Tight. So incredibly tight. He had to go slow and easy. God, he wanted to come.

Almost there ...

A faint sound penetrated the haze.

He froze, a flicker of premonition brushing the back of his neck. The air shifted.

He swore and pulled away, his body throbbing in protest. “Cover yourself,” he said, yanking up her gown while simultaneously fumbling with the ties of his braies.

But it was too late—or too soon, if the frustration burning in his bollocks right now meant anything.

The door opened with a crash.

Sir Hugh Ross stood in the doorway, his steely gaze taking in every detail.

Though they’d managed to cover themselves, nothing could hide what they’d just been doing. Anna was still leaned back on the table—cheeks flushed and eyes hazy—Arthur was still positioned between her legs, and the small room was hot and heavy with the musky scent of mating—or near mating.