The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely #8) - Anna Campbell Page 0,38
reveled in the eager way her arms curled around him. He kissed her with open-mouthed fervor. “I need to take off this damned kilt.”
She let him go and shifted up against the pillows, reaching down to remove her stockings and cream satin slippers. “I’d like to see you.”
He rose to his knees and with fumbling hands unbuckled the black leather belt. Then he quickly pushed away the kilt, so that he was bare to her gaze.
She gave a muffled squeak, and her gaze was wide and wondering as it focused on the hard flesh rising between his thighs.
“What are you thinking about?”
To his surprise, eyes bright with laughter met his. She looked breathtakingly like the faux stableboy who had captured his interest. “Horses.”
He started to laugh, then couldn’t wait any longer. He surged forward and caught her in his arms, kissing her with mad abandon. He’d imagined it would take all night to coax his bride into accepting his possession – if she accepted him at all. But with a sweetness that surpassed imagination, he found himself poised between her thighs, ready to thrust into her.
“Christabel?” he asked on a long, broken exhalation.
She stared up at him, eyes weighty with need. “Make me your wife, Quentin. I’m ready.”
He slid his hand along her cleft and discovered that she was, as she said, ready. He pushed one finger inside her. By God, she was tight. All the time, he watched her face.
When discomfort drew her sleek black brows together, he stopped. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“But you don’t like it?”
As Kit shifted, her grip on his finger firmed. “I’m just not used to it.”
“It will help prepare you for when I’m inside you,” he said in a thick voice.
She hooked her hands over his shoulders and raised her knees. He kissed her again and while his tongue was inside her mouth, he began to move his finger in and out in a rhythm that echoed what his body would soon do to her. He felt her tension ease, and her face flushed with rising pleasure. When he tried two fingers, she took him more readily.
“I want…I want you,” she said in a constricted voice, digging her fingers into the muscles of his arms. “Don’t make me wait. This is like standing on the edge of a cliff.”
Quentin knew what she meant. The need to possess her was driving him insane. He kissed her again, hard and with carnal intent. Then he tightened his hips and edged forward. Kit gasped as he entered her, then bit back a strangled cry and jerked toward him as he inched further.
He made himself stop, although the snug clasp of her body made his blood clamor to fill her full-length. “I hurt you,” he said with a universe of regret, even as his animal self gloried in being inside her.
“A little. The sting is already going away.”
She settled more deeply into the mattress, and the change in angle threatened to make his head explode. He groaned. “I’m sorry, Kit. I’ll try and make it better for you.”
“Don’t stop,” she gasped.
This time, when she shifted to accommodate his thickness, she released a moan that sounded more like pleasure than pain. Carefully he shifted, until she’d taken all of him. Staring into her eyes, he felt like he saw right to her soul. This joining changed him forever. He and this woman established a union that would endure the rest of their lives.
“Oh, yes,” she said on a soft hiss. When she tightened around him, he saw stars.
“Do that…do that again,” he growled.
She looked startled. “Do what?”
“You…hugged me inside.” It was an inadequate description, but it was the best he could manage.
Her eyes turned opaque, as she squeezed him again. He struggled not to lose himself. If he could manage it, he wanted to show her pleasure.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled back, savoring every fraction of his withdrawal. He thrust again and watched her eyes widen.
“That was…”
“Good?” Dear God, don’t let him mistake what he read in her expression.
“Better than good.”
“I’ll do it again.”
True to his word, he began to move, feeling each tiny adjustment she made for him, until there was nothing but hot welcome. He relished the soft sounds of delight she made as he claimed her. When she rose to meet him with untamed eagerness, pride burgeoned in his heart. The sighs and moans and whimpers combined into a symphony of surrender. He watched her face change, as she climbed toward her peak.