The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,102
also gripped his hair with both hands. Good signs, all.
He added a second finger. “So tight here, love. You’ll need to be very wet.” He nibbled her ear—she loved that—and repositioned his body so his chest teased the tips of her breasts. “My cock is significantly bigger than my fingers.”
A long, feminine groan. “Ah, devil’s ballocks, English.”
He grinned and worked her swollen nub with his thumb. “Those are substantial, as well.”
“If ye mean to say ye’re the devil, I’ll believe ye.” She tried to draw his mouth to hers. “Kiss me. Please.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t like to waste my efforts”—he began thrusting his fingers in and out of her pulsing sheath—“on meaningless pleasures.” He nipped her shoulder. “We’ve a task to attend, after all.”
Her hands tightened in his hair as she struggled to pull him in tighter. “I’ve changed my mind. Ye may kiss me. I’m certain ye’ve enough energy for all manner of pleasures. Large ballocks, and all that.”
Despite feeling like his skin was too tight and his cock might burst into flames at any moment, he chuckled. “No, no, love. I’ll just ensure you’re wet enough to take me, shall I?” He moved his fingers in a deliberate rhythm, giving her just a bit more pressure with his thumb. “Focus, now.”
Her sheath tightened like a vise. She bit her lip, groaned and worked her hips against his hand.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, watching the cords in her neck and wishing he could bare her breasts. Later, perhaps. Once she’d fully surrendered, he’d indulge himself for hours. “Nearly there.”
Her patience ended with a growl. Small fists gripped his shirt. He thought he heard a seam tear.
“Now,” she demanded with harsh, rapid breaths. “Take me, damn ye.”
Her rough command struck him like a flaming arrow through a gap in his armor, straight into a spot he hadn’t suspected he was vulnerable—the place that itched when she insulted him. Where his need to claim her lived.
He’d planned to draw this out. Make her come and then pretend disappointment. Pleasure her with his mouth until she admitted he was more to her than a husband to father her bairns. More than a title or a convenience.
But she smelled like heated sugar and ripe summer fruit. She welcomed his touch with lush eagerness, arching her back and spreading her legs to let him have her. She dared command him to take her.
All his thoughts burned away. His control slipped. His muscles tightened. His cock was nothing but an aching throb. “Annie,” he whispered, trying to hold on amidst the dark, shocking flood of long-denied need.
She opened her eyes, midnight with her arousal. Her lips were full and lush, wet from her tongue. They should be wet from his.
And he lost command of himself. Bloody lost it.
Light streamed through the windows and painted her skin bright gold. Her hair was pure flame. She was all he saw. He traced her throat with his free hand. Cupped her neck. Withdrew his fingers from her sheath, but only to grip her thigh and yank it wide over his hip. Then he lifted his kilt. Lifted his wife high against the door.
Blue eyes flared and feminine fingertips dug into his nape as he positioned his cock at her entrance. “English?”
His first thrust was hard, driving a gasp from her throat. He should have been gentler. Likely his lust made him a bit larger than normal. And she was small. Tight.
So damned tight.
She grunted as he thrust again. Deeper. He needed to be deeper. Hot, wet, silken grip. Soft, sweet-scented woman. His fingers held her bare thighs tighter. Wider. Pulled her hips up so she could take him harder.
More. He thrust. More.
“… too bluidy massive like this,” she was panting. “But I need ye. It’s good. Move, English. Aye, move. Like that.”
Harder and harder. The door banged with every thrust, but he didn’t care. Burying his face against her throat, he finally sank as deep as he could go, feeling her soft flesh grind against the root of him. His heart pounded and pounded, drowning out everything but her voice. A sweet Scottish rasp, calling him English. Telling him how much she wanted everything he could give her.
And the pleasure he’d thought to delay coiled up his spine. Sparked and ignited. Drove his pace to a hammering frenzy.