move.
His stare had lingered at her breasts. She’d had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from covering her nipples with her hands to still the ache. And when his gaze traveled down her body, little flames seemed to lick her skin. When he smiled at her private parts, she caught fire completely.
No wonder her priest always said it was better to marry than to burn, but she never imagined she was about to self-immolate in Lachlan Drummond’s arms. No, for some inexplicable reason, her body had chosen to lust after Mad Rob MacLaren.
Rob seemed to think she wept for her lost bridegroom or her parents’ pain. She wished she were as dutiful a daughter and bride as he thought her.
Instead, she wept for her lost innocence. She’d have believed herself the model of chaste womanhood, a paragon of self-control all her days if she’d never laid eyes on Rob MacLaren. Now she knew the truth of her own nature.
She was desperately wicked.
And unrepentant to boot. The knowledge grieved her, but she couldn’t deny the truth.
Elspeth palmed Rob’s cheeks and deepened their kiss. She welcomed his tongue. She gave him her neck to nibble and suckle, loving the rough stubble of his beard as it tickled across her skin. His hands brushed through her hair, stroking and smoothing.
Her laces loosened, and she realized he’d untied her bodice.
She didn’t care.
She lifted her arms in surrender to help him slip the bodice over her head without unlacing it completely. Her breasts swung free beneath the thin chemise. A little thrill coursed over her sensitive skin.
Rob rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. The weight of his body on hers was heaven. A ribbon tied at the neck of her chemise held it closed. He caught the end of the bow between his teeth and gave it a tug. The knot unraveled, and the fabric parted to bare one of her breasts.
He stared down at it, clearly fascinated. Her nipple was drawn tight. He circled it with the tip of his finger as his gaze shifted to her face.
Her first instinct was to look away, to shield her wicked thoughts and feelings from his penetrating gaze. But if ever there was a time for truth between a man and a woman, this was that time.
She met his eyes steadily and didn’t care whether he saw the abandon and bliss she felt. His face held a cross between the wonder of a boy on Christmas morn and the knowing look of a man who was exquisitely aware of what wicked things he was doing to her. He enslaved her with pleasure, and she had no defense.
Her cheeks heated, and her breath hitched, but she couldn’t look away. He might stop, and she didn’t think she could bear it if he did.
Instead, she moved. Just a little, so his finger would brush her sensitive tip. A jolt of longing shot through her body from her breast to her womb.
“Merciful God!” she breathed.
“Aye, lass, and ’tis a good thing He is,” Rob said with a wicked grin, “for I am no’ merciful in the slightest.”
As if to prove his point, he lowered his mouth to her breast and licked her taut nipple. She went all soft and liquid inside. Between her legs, she ached in time with the flicks of his tongue.
It was unbearable. It was torment. She prayed it wouldn’t end.
His mouth was everywhere. Suckling her breasts, nibbling her neck, and licking at her earlobe, showering her with soft kisses on her jaw, cheeks, eyelids, and temple. When she started to make a noise of unrestrained pleasure, he covered her mouth to catch the sound. Then he kissed her again, a deep drugging kiss that shattered any hope of defense and weakened her last resolve.
He shifted to lie beside her, and she felt the hard evidence of his arousal against her hip.
She’d never seen a man in the altogether before. She assumed their parts were somewhat like stallions, sometimes dangling harmlessly, sometimes a thick, stiff organ designed for rutting. Rob was definitely stiff, and the ridge of him beneath his kilt was thick. She moved against him
His stare had lingered at her breasts. She’d had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from covering her nipples with her hands to still the ache. And when his gaze traveled down her body, little flames seemed to lick her skin. When he smiled at her private parts, she caught fire completely.
No wonder her priest always said it was better to marry than to burn, but she never imagined she was about to self-immolate in Lachlan Drummond’s arms. No, for some inexplicable reason, her body had chosen to lust after Mad Rob MacLaren.
Rob seemed to think she wept for her lost bridegroom or her parents’ pain. She wished she were as dutiful a daughter and bride as he thought her.
Instead, she wept for her lost innocence. She’d have believed herself the model of chaste womanhood, a paragon of self-control all her days if she’d never laid eyes on Rob MacLaren. Now she knew the truth of her own nature.
She was desperately wicked.
And unrepentant to boot. The knowledge grieved her, but she couldn’t deny the truth.
Elspeth palmed Rob’s cheeks and deepened their kiss. She welcomed his tongue. She gave him her neck to nibble and suckle, loving the rough stubble of his beard as it tickled across her skin. His hands brushed through her hair, stroking and smoothing.
Her laces loosened, and she realized he’d untied her bodice.
She didn’t care.
She lifted her arms in surrender to help him slip the bodice over her head without unlacing it completely. Her breasts swung free beneath the thin chemise. A little thrill coursed over her sensitive skin.
Rob rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. The weight of his body on hers was heaven. A ribbon tied at the neck of her chemise held it closed. He caught the end of the bow between his teeth and gave it a tug. The knot unraveled, and the fabric parted to bare one of her breasts.
He stared down at it, clearly fascinated. Her nipple was drawn tight. He circled it with the tip of his finger as his gaze shifted to her face.
Her first instinct was to look away, to shield her wicked thoughts and feelings from his penetrating gaze. But if ever there was a time for truth between a man and a woman, this was that time.
She met his eyes steadily and didn’t care whether he saw the abandon and bliss she felt. His face held a cross between the wonder of a boy on Christmas morn and the knowing look of a man who was exquisitely aware of what wicked things he was doing to her. He enslaved her with pleasure, and she had no defense.
Her cheeks heated, and her breath hitched, but she couldn’t look away. He might stop, and she didn’t think she could bear it if he did.
Instead, she moved. Just a little, so his finger would brush her sensitive tip. A jolt of longing shot through her body from her breast to her womb.
“Merciful God!” she breathed.
“Aye, lass, and ’tis a good thing He is,” Rob said with a wicked grin, “for I am no’ merciful in the slightest.”
As if to prove his point, he lowered his mouth to her breast and licked her taut nipple. She went all soft and liquid inside. Between her legs, she ached in time with the flicks of his tongue.
It was unbearable. It was torment. She prayed it wouldn’t end.
His mouth was everywhere. Suckling her breasts, nibbling her neck, and licking at her earlobe, showering her with soft kisses on her jaw, cheeks, eyelids, and temple. When she started to make a noise of unrestrained pleasure, he covered her mouth to catch the sound. Then he kissed her again, a deep drugging kiss that shattered any hope of defense and weakened her last resolve.
He shifted to lie beside her, and she felt the hard evidence of his arousal against her hip.
She’d never seen a man in the altogether before. She assumed their parts were somewhat like stallions, sometimes dangling harmlessly, sometimes a thick, stiff organ designed for rutting. Rob was definitely stiff, and the ridge of him beneath his kilt was thick. She moved against him
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