The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(94)

She was so hot and achy, her skin fevered and flushed. Vaguely she was aware of his hands loosening the ties of her sleeveless surcoat and easing it past her shoulders. Then he was cupping her br**sts, kneading them through the wool of her cotte and linen of her chemise as his mouth traveled down her throat. His thumb moved over the hard nub of her nipple. Circling. Caressing. Pinching gently between his fingertips.

Her hands skimmed wildly over his back, clutching his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin with every teasing stroke. She moaned, wanting to strip away the fabric, to feel his hands—his mouth—on her skin.

And then they were. First her cotte, then her chemise, were eased up her legs, past her waist, and then over her head.

She might not have noticed if he hadn’t stopped to look at her. He lifted his head from her throat and slid his gaze over her nakedness.

She blushed and tried to cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her.

He grabbed her wrists and shook his head. “Don’t,” he said roughly, something thick and raw in his voice. “You’re beautiful.” He lay on his side and trailed his finger down her arm as if she were so delicate she might break from his touch. His eyes caressed her br**sts, making her ni**les tighten even more. He slid a finger over the tip, then around the heavy curve. “Jesu,” he breathed raggedly. “Your br**sts are unreal.” He groaned and eased down to cup them in his hands, lifting them to his mouth.

He kissed one throbbing tip, then the other, leaving her trembling with need. When he finally closed his lips over her and sucked one nipple deep in his mouth, she cried out.

Arthur had never seen anything more beautiful. He knew he should slow down to take in every inch of creamy, baby-soft skin, but one glance had been enough to nearly send him over the edge.

Slim and delicately formed from the top of her head to the tiny arches on her feet, she looked like an angel. He might have thought he’d died and gone to heaven, if it weren’t for her br**sts. Her br**sts were pure sin. A male fantasy come to life. A little too big, round and high with youthful pertness, the soft, creamy flesh was tipped by berry-pink ni**les that made his mouth water. And they tasted ...

He groaned and drew her in his mouth again, circling the warm, taut peak with his tongue. They tasted of sweet carnal desires and dark honey pleasures.

He wanted to go slow, to draw out every moment of pleasure, but their need was too hot. Too desperate. And too long denied.

He eased his hand between her legs, testing her with his fingers.

He was hard as a spike, but feeling her dampness—knowing she was already wet for him—made him swell even harder. He sucked her br**sts and stroked her with his fingers until her hips lifted against his hand and her breath started to hitch erratically.

When he knew she was close, he quickly rid himself of his chausses and braies and moved over her, positioning himself between her legs.

Their eyes met.

He wished he could say he hesitated, but he didn’t. All he could think about was that he needed to make her his. That he had to hold on to her. That in her eyes he’d seen the acceptance and love he’d never thought would be for him. Love that God knew he didn’t deserve but wanted more than anything in the world.

“Please,” she whimpered.

It was all the invitation he needed.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust hard and deep, he lifted one of her legs around his waist and started to ease inside. Although “ease” was probably the wrong word. She was tight, and he was big—very big.

Sweat gathered on his brow.

Tight. God, so incredibly tight.

He clenched against the hard pull in his groin. His bollocks tightened as the pressure built at the base of his spine.

Her body fought against the invasion, but he wouldn’t be denied. He pushed a little deeper.

She flinched and made a sharp sound of distress.

Blood pounded through his veins. He felt as if he were going to explode, but he held back, giving her a moment to adjust before burying himself deep inside.

Jesus. Don’t push ...

“I-I’m n-not sure this is going to work,” she said anxiously. “M-maybe when you’re a bit smaller?”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest through the pain. He would explain some of the intricacies of the matter later. “Trust me, love. We will fit perfectly.” But admittedly he’d never been with a maid before. “You might feel some pain for a moment.” He looked into her eyes. “All right?”

She nodded, but looked a little less certain than before.

He held her gaze the entire time, giving her silent encouragement, as he sank a little deeper. Inch by excruciating inch.

The sensation of her body wrapped tightly around his c**k was nearly too much. He had to fight against the urge to thrust, knowing how good it would feel. The tight, wet heat gripping him. Milking him. Every muscle in his body was rigid with tension as he tried to hold back, as he tried to go slow. It felt so good.

But he would make it perfect for her, damn it.

Almost ...

There. The point of no return. Looking deep into her eyes, he felt his chest contract and gave the final push.

She gasped, and her eyes widened with pain, but she didn’t cry out. The stoic look on her face gave him the perverse urge to smile. “It will get better, my love, I promise. Try to relax.”

She shot him a look as if he were crazy. “I don’t think that’s possible.”