The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(78)

In his arms, she would never be cold again.

She groaned when his big hands cupped her bottom, bringing her firmly against his hardness. A strange shudder trembled through her. Fear and excitement all at once. He seemed so … big. Every inch of the thick column of his manhood felt branded against her.

How would he …?

She bit her lip. How would they …?

Surely it would hurt?

But then he thrust against her, moving his hips in a slow, wicked rhythm that mimicked the movements of lovemaking, and she no longer cared.

Heat rose inside her. She felt the need intensify. Dampness flooded between her legs in a hot rush. Gathering. Concentrating. Coiling in a tight ball of restless desire.

Her skin flushed. Her breath hitched in uneven gasps.

He rubbed against her, increasing the friction, increasing her need.

She needed to move faster. Harder. She arched against him, feeling something strange come over her. She was climbing, reaching for something that hovered just out of her reach.

She didn’t recognize the sounds coming from her. Urgent little moans she didn’t fully understand.

He’d stopped kissing her. His mouth was on her neck, trailing down her throat, delving between her br**sts. Ravishing. The scrape of his beard sending a delicious burn along the sensitive path of her skin.

He was groaning too, sounding almost as if he were in pain.

She sucked in her breath. Her body stilled, quivered, and then catapulted into a place of utter ecstasy. A place she’d never been before.

She cried out her pleasure, shattering into a thousand rays of shimmering light.

Lachlan didn’t care that he had her pressed up against a tree. He didn’t care that Boyd and Seton could return from the village with the horses at any time.

He’d lost the ability to think the moment his mouth had fallen on hers. Any hope that he could take this slow, that he might be able to exercise some semblance of control, died when she started to move against him. The proof of her desire was a powerful aphrodisiac. When he’d heard her little gasps of need turn insistent, heard her cry out her pleasure as her body spasmed against him, and knew he’d made her come …

He lost his mind. He couldn’t think about anything other than getting inside her and making her his. His, damn it.

But it had been too long. He wasn’t going to make it. Next time. Next time, he swore he would make it up to her. Next time he would make it good for her. Next time he would taste every inch of her. But right now he’d be lucky if he could get his braies open before he came.

Barely had the last spasm of her release ebbed when his mouth fell on hers again.

Leaving his chausses in place, he fumbled with the ties of his braies, pushing down just enough to spring his c**k from the tight confinement. It bobbed hard against his stomach, the rush of cool air a blessed relief against the hot skin stretched painfully thin. He was as hard as steel, ready to explode at the barest nudge.

He didn’t even take the time to touch her. He feared that one stroke of that delicate, silky pink flesh, damp with the evidence of her desire for him, would send him spinning in a whirlpool from which he would not be able to tear free.

He tugged the conveniently too-loose breeches down her hips and lifted her to position himself between her legs. Nudging her gently with the thick head, he groaned as the warm dampness of her release met the spongy sensitive flesh.

It was too much. His body shuddered, clenching hard to contain the pressure hammering at the base of his spine.

God, he wanted to come.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Sliding his arm behind her back to protect her from the bark of the tree, he thrust into her with a hard slam of possession.

Mine! Finally. And nothing—nothing—had ever felt so good.

She gasped in surprise, her eyes widening on his. He held her gaze, his jaw clenched too tightly to talk or murmur encouraging words or apologies for taking her with all the skill of a squire with his first maid. But he told her with his eyes. They bored into her with all the intensity of the fierce emotions flaring inside him.

Emotions he didn’t understand. Emotions that made his chest tighten as he looked into her eyes and filled him with a swell of something warm and soft. He wanted to hold on to her, make this moment last forever. But it had been too long. He’d wanted her too badly.

It felt too good.

She felt too good. Warm and soft, her body gripped him like a fist. He held himself inside her, buried to the hilt, reaching for those last shreds of control, trying to fight the nearly overwhelming urge to thrust.

He kissed her again, trying to distract himself. But he was so hot. His skin was burning. Sweat gathered on his brow and blood pounded in his ears.

He wanted to thrust so badly he couldn’t think.

He wanted to dig his fingers through her hair, letting the silky softness slide over him. But she still had her hair pinned up tightly atop her head in a plait for the cap.

She circled her arms around his neck, responding to his kiss with all the passion and enthusiasm of before.

Killing him with every eager stroke of her tongue.

He started to shake, his muscles trembling with the effort of keeping himself still.

He couldn’t do it. The drive was too strong. He had to move.

He thrust hard and deep. He couldn’t hold on any longer. It felt too good. He thrust again. “Oh God, I can’t …” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Sorry … been too long.”