A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,54
about to resurrect.
There wasn’t a man alive who deserved her.
And neither did he.
Lodging himself to the hilt, he held her there for a moment, flexing within her, kneading the soft globes of her ass with restless fingers.
When he could stand it no longer, he arched away, lifting her up to enjoy the soft pull of her channel as it clenched at him.
She was so fucking small. So tight. So perfect. He couldn’t use the word enough. Vanessa Latimer was the perfect woman. His perfect match.
He’d only had to die and wait a century and a half to meet her.
It had been worth it.
His every muscle clenched and corded with tension as he released her hips to run his hands down her smooth thighs.
Trembling as they were, she took over, her knees gripping his hips as she lowered her body to meet his relentless upward thrusts.
Of course they found a perfect rhythm immediately. Of course they did. Of course they would.
Even as they gathered speed, he reached behind him to unlatch her fingers from the headboard and nudged them to grasp his shoulders.
He wanted to feel the bite of her nails as he made her come one more time.
Licking his thumb, he reached beneath her skirt and found slick places where they joined—his hardness, her softness—and he thrummed the little peak of her pleasure, knowing her climax still lingered there because he’d left it at the ideal crest to make it crash upon her once again.
Her mouth fell upon his, open and gasping. And the moment he felt her silken sheath clench around him, drenching his cock with yet another release, he threw open the gates and allowed the storm of his own pleasure to devour him.
It took him with more force than even he expected, locking every muscle into a paroxysm of bliss. His skin caught fire, his veins constricted then released, filling his blood with an inferno of pure, carnal power.
One word swept through him as he released an agonized groan into her mouth, clenching her to his arching, straining body.
Mine, he thought, a wave of melancholy following on the wings of the most powerful pleasure he’d ever taken with a woman.
His woman.
Mine.
It was a fact. She was his. He’d claimed her just now.
And it was also a lie, because they could never be.
They stayed locked like that for an eternity, or perhaps only a few moments, it was impossible to tell in the dark.
She collapsed against him, her ear to his chest. John took entirely too much delight in wrapping one of her ringlets around his finger, uncurling it, and starting again.
Finally, after the silence had stretched between them for too long, she said, “I can feel your heart beating.”
“Really?” he murmured. Because he could only feel it breaking.
She sat up, miraculously still joined with him as she blinked languidly with her doe-bright eyes. “But you’re not—returned. I can feel you fading. I can see that you’re diminished.”
She swallowed what he knew was a lump of tears and summoned a brave smile for him, even though anguish shined in her eyes.
“I know.” He lifted his knuckles to run them against her downy cheek, realizing that he could almost see her skin through his hand. He was tied to the ring, and it had given him precious time…
But it wouldn’t be enough to keep her.
Slowly, with infinite care, he finally got around to undressing her. His fingers appreciating every button, buckle, and clasp. Delighting in every slip of skin he uncovered.
She lifted off him and they found a fresh ewer and towel left by the innkeepers, and washed themselves before sliding into bed like a couple long used to each other’s nearness.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He tucked her against him, her back to his front, and he rested his head in his hand so he could gaze down at her. Commit her face to his memory.
For who knew if he would ever see her again after tonight?
She snuggled into him with unabashed relish, greedily drawing from his warmth.
“You should rest,” he murmured. Pressing a kiss to her temple as she covered a yawn with the backs of her knuckles.
“I’m not going to sleep,” she mumbled, her eyes opening a little less each time she blinked. “I’m not going to miss one moment with you.”
“I know,” he said against her hairline. Pressing little love kisses to her eyebrows. Her lids, feathering his lips across them, tasting the salt of the tears she refused to let