Compromising Positions by Selena Kitt Page B

ye’re t’me. I knew it the moment we met.”
    His eyebrows went up, a smile playing on those full, oh-so-kissable lips. “Who’m I?”
    “Yer Donal MacFalon,” she said simply, as if it explained everything. And to her, it did. He had eclipsed everyone and everything until she could see naught else. “Yer the man I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime fer. Yer me one true mate.”
    “Aye,” he breathed, kissing her again, this time with a soft assurance that spread through her like warmed honey, filling all the cracks and crevices in her soul. It was like coming home, like breathing after coming up from being underwater, lungs bursting, and finally breathing the air your body craved.
    “I’ve ne’er experienced anythin’ like this a’fore,” he confessed, kissing the corner of her mouth, then licking it. “I do’na understand it.”
    “Ye do’na need t’understand it,” she murmured, tilting her head back for the press of his lips on her long, slender throat. “Ye jus’ need t’feel it.”
    “I feel as if I’m fallin’ in a dream, and I’m afeared to wake up. Kirstin, I want ye,” he growled into the hollow of her throat, his teeth raking her flesh, sending needlepoint pricks of sensation all the way to her fingertips. “I need ye.”
    “I’m yers,” she admitted fully, to him and to herself. She didn’t care if he was a man and she was a wulver, if it was unconventional, or even impossible. Laina had said it would come like a lightning strike, that you couldn’t mistake the feeling for naught else, and she had been correct, even if Kirstin hadn’t really believed it. Until now. “I’ve been yers since the day I was born.”
    “Och, lass, the things I wanna do t’ye...” he groaned, wrapping his arms around her, encircling her completely so she was lost in them.
    “Stop talkin’ and do ’em,” she moaned, turning toward him fully and sliding a thigh over his, hooking her wet foot around his ankle.
    He let out a low growl as claimed her mouth again, He wasn’t gentle anymore. There was no holding back. Kirstin encouraged him, wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his deep, probing kiss, feeling his hands moving over the soft curves of her body through her plaid. But it wasn’t enough for her. Not nearly enough.
    Donal let out a strangled groan when Kirstin’s hand moved under his plaid. The MacFalon was a true Scot, so there was no barrier between her fingers and the heat of his erection. She wrapped him in her fist, claiming the MacFalon sword as her own in one easy stroke, making the man’s arms tighten around her until she thought he might break her spine.
    “I can’na hold sway wit’ what ye do t’me, lass,” he panted in her ear as she pumped him slowly in her hand. “I can’na stop where this is goin’.”
    “I’ll die if ye stop.” She nibbled his lower lip. The man’s honor was too ingrained. He was far too used to maidens who teased and tempted, who withdrew to protect their precious virginity. “I do’na want ye to e’er stop. Make love to me. Make me yers.”
    Her eyes met his in the slant of sunshine coming from the window high above and she saw the lust in them, knowing it was reflected in her own. There was no holding back from this for either of them. It was a force out of their control, compelling them forward, drawing their bodies together. She could no more ignore the urge to mate with this man than any woman could deny the force that brought wee bairns into the world from their full-moon bellies.
    “Och, lass, please.” Donal’s voice was hoarse as she rubbed her thumb over the mushroom-head of his cock, feeling sticky wetness. And still, he tried to do the honorable thing. “I can’na...”
    “Aye, ye can.” Kirstin took his hand and guided it between her legs, to the center of the universe. He cupped her, moist and swollen, just one thin piece of cloth separating him from the Promised Land. “’Tis yers. Now and always.