The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,103

and thrusting. Needing her so much, his pleasure was pain, his madness pleasure.

She clung to him, her sheath gripping and giving and rippling a warning. Her fingers raked his hair while her hips writhed into his, riding his cock with helpless cries of pleasure. Then, she seized upon him. Cried and clung as her body was wracked with culminating ecstasy.

For him, the explosion came when she put her lips to his ear and murmured in a shaky purr, “I’ll have all of ye, English. Ye’re mine, do ye hear? Ye belong to me.”

He roared as it seized him. Lifted him into the sky and broke him open until he shattered into dust. Shimmered like stars.

As his body worked to fill hers completely, he gasped against the skin of her neck, smelling sweetness, tasting salt, feeling the thrill of her hands cradling his head and kneading his shoulders. The wrenching spasms of his climax slowly eased. Her lips found his brow, his cheek, his jaw, and finally, his lips. Those she claimed with sweet passion and a determined tongue.

He answered with a sensual stroke of his own, though he was fully wrung of all his strength and the kiss turned beautifully lazy. They stayed like that, weakened by one another and leaning upon one another, until he gathered enough strength to carry her to the bed. Even as he sat with her straddling him, he refused to leave her body. Already, his was readying again.

A husky laugh sounded in his ear. “Are ye certain ye’re not a wee bit Scottish, John Huxley?”

He grinned as she continued kissing his neck and jaw in tiny Annie-sized bites. “I do find the kilt has significant advantages.”

“Mmm. Quick access. Do ye aim to have another go, then?”

His answer halted as she tugged his shirt up and stripped it off over his head. Blue eyes danced as her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. She began plucking pins from her hair. Withdrew her veil and laid it gently on the bedside table. “Do ye like my backside, English?”

His hands were squeezing her firm-yet-cushiony buttocks, instinctively trapping her in place. “Yes,” he said.

She grinned and glowed, a sensual, flame-haired queen. “I like yers, too.” Her hands stroked down his chest, pausing here and there to sift through a bit of hair or dance over his nipples. “Are ye pleased with yer wife’s bosom?”

“You know I am.” His voice was shredded.

She leaned forward and rubbed her silk-encased breasts against him. When she sat back, her cheeks were fiery, her eyes now molten with new desire. Her hands traced his jaw, her finger his lips. A tiny frown appeared. “My bonnie Englishman. I’m not the lovely sort of wife ye might’ve had, am I?” she whispered.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ll never be beautiful.”

He frowned, utterly confused. “You are.”

“Nah.” Her gaze fell to his shoulders and down his chest. “Nae bonnie or fine, like you.” Her gaze lifted, shining bright as a flame. “But I’ll fight for ye, English.” Her body squeezed his where they were joined. “I’ll fight to pleasure ye ‘til yer dainty toes curl and those enchantin’ eyes roll back in yer head.”

“God, Annie.”

She leaned forward and took his mouth. Kissed him passionately, caressing his jaw then wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ll fight to make ye proud of me.”

“Love, I am—”

She touched her forehead to his and stole his next breath by rolling her hips. “Ye’ll teach me what pleases ye.”

“You please me. You.”

She began to take him. Stroke by stroke, she rode him.

They breathed and moaned together. Kissed and touched and sighed together.

“And another thing. Ye’re goin’ to tell me who hurt ye, John Huxley,” she said as she clung and drove him higher with a slow, rhythmic ride. “Ye’re goin’ to tell me why ye lied.”

He didn’t want to tell her. He wanted to put her on her back and thrust harder until they both came again. He wanted to leave the past where it belonged.

He kissed her to shut her up. Kissed her because he needed her pleasure as much as his own. He threaded his hands through the silk of her hair and held her beautiful mouth still for his pleasure. Then, he pulled back to grate, “I’m going to tup you until you can’t walk. That’s what I’m going to