Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,86

she was able to regain her composure, she smiled warmly and reached out for his hand. “I do not wish for ye to be appalled with my scars.” She winked as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Richard, ’tis the God’s honest truth that yer scars, no matter where they be, do not offend me.”

The sincerity in her voice made his chest feel tight. He believed her.

“So, from now on, when we join, I will not remove my clothes. I shall remain dressed,” she said, trying to sound most serious, “to save yer tender heart and sensibilities from havin’ to see such.”

“Like hell ye will.”

Aeschene heard the bolt slide across the door. A rapid heartbeat or two later, Richard was divesting her of her robe and chemise.

His kisses were hot and filled with so much passion it made her legs feel as strong as jam left in the sun. Gently, he placed a soft kiss on her chest above the abrasion. “Aeschene, ye must ken my scars are far more ghastly than yers.”

“I dunnae care,” she told him breathlessly. “Especially when ye kiss me like ye do.”

Tenderly, he pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder as he caressed her arm. “Ye like my kisses then?” He asked playfully.

“Ye cannae not tell?” She asked as she sucked in a deep breath.

He chuckled victoriously as he continued to nibble her shoulder and the slender column of her neck.

Before she knew it, Richard had divested her of all clothing and was himself half dressed. He led her to the hearth where he promptly took a seat and pulled her onto his lap. Everything after that was a blur of passionate kisses, tongues, and roaming hands.

He all but tossed her onto the bed. Oh, how she wished she could see him; all of him. To look into his eyes to see desire and passion. To study every square inch of his body. By touch alone she knew he had to be a most magnificent man to look upon, with all his hard, rippling muscles. But to see it would have been glorious.

The bed sank considerably when he climbed into it. A moment later, he was over her, skin to skin, save for that blasted tunic. Disappointment settled in over her heart. She wanted to plead with him to remove it but worried he’d become too upset and stop. Mayhap ‘twould be best to broach the subject at another time.

Thankfully, he had at least removed the leather ties from his tunic. ‘Twasn’t quite as uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the skin to skin as she had desired.

Scooping his arms under her torso he rolled over, bringing her with him. Clinging to his tunic with both hands, she moaned in sheer delight when his hands caressed her back and thighs.

“God’s teeth, ye are beautiful,” he murmured against her cheek.

Her heart swelled and desire enflamed. Never would she tire of the sweet words he gave her when they were alone. He was tender and passionate; gentle and wicked.

Straddling him, she was desperate for more, to be filled, to feel the sensation of him inside and all around her, all consuming. “Please,” she murmured into his ear as she fought for purchase atop him.

“As ye wish,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling against her ear.

She moaned with pleasure as he filled her, kissed her ardently, his tongue dancing with hers.

“Ye feel so good,” she sighed.

He held her tighter, his kisses deepening, his thrusts increasing. Wrapped tightly in his arms, she couldn’t move, save for her hips. With her head buried against his chest, her hands still gripping his tunic as if holding on for dear life, she moaned at the delightful sensations that were slowly building.

“Relax, lass,” he whispered into her hair.

’Twas awfully difficult to relax when he was doing such delectably wicked things to her insides. On a sigh, she melted against him as he slowed his pace.

Wrapped so tightly in his arms, she relaxed and closed her eyes. Nothing felt as good as this. It went beyond the physical pleasures. ’Twas a level of intimacy, of trust, she never thought possible.

The thrilling sensations, the heat and tightness of her womb grew and built until she thought she’d go mad from it. “Oh, please,” she murmured. “Faster.”

But he didn’t. He continued his tortuously slow, methodical pace, no matter how she pleaded.

She couldn’t do anything but breathe, for his tight grip, like steel bands, wouldn’t allow for anything else. The tension continued to grow, like the string on