The Laird of Stonehaven by Connie Mason

panting for more. Was this the way it was supposed to be between a man and a woman? Graeme seemed to know exactly what to do, alternating from a slow, rhythmic slide of his finger between the petals of her sex to a frenzied friction that had her clutching at him in frantic torment.
    She moaned in frustration, unsure what lay beyond the titillation of Graeme’s talented hands and fearing she would never be the same afterward. Then he kissed her, and the world fell away beneath her. Her body arched into his, her senses heightened by the scent of his arousal; she felt herself spinning out of control.
    When his lips abandoned hers, she wanted to grasp his thick black hair and pull him back, but he took his loving to a higher level, bringing his mouth down to suckle her nipples. She felt her breasts swell as liquid heat rushed through her veins. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this.
    She thought all she had to do was lie on her back and let Graeme have his way, but naught was going the way she had imagined. Never would she have thought her body capable of such intense feelings. Pleasure was a bonus she had not anticipated.
    “Your breasts are perfect,” he whispered. “Everything about you is perfect.”
    Abruptly he went still, as if suddenly aware of what he had said. Then he reared back and stared at her.
    “What is it?” Blair asked, confused by his sudden withdrawal.
    Graeme withheld a reply as he reached for a candlestick and held it high above her. She squirmed beneath his dark, probing gaze, wondering what he was looking for.
    “Turn around. I want to see your backside,” Graeme ordered.
    A groan of dismay trembled from her lips. She knew, oh God, she knew. Graeme was looking for a witch’s mark upon her body. What must she do to convince him of her innocence? She was angry, angrier than she had ever been. How dare he doubt her! She started to draw away, but Graeme flipped her over and held her down before she realized what he intended. She protested violently when she felt his hand glide over her bottom and down her legs.
    “What did you expect to find?” she asked when he flipped her over on her back. “Nay, dinna answer, I already know. You were looking for a witch’s mark upon my skin.”
    Graeme shrugged. “I’m sorry, lass. I had to know.”
    “Did you find what you were looking for?”
    “I found naught but smooth, unblemished skin.” He lowered his head and kissed her abdomen. “You are flawless, lass.” With a flick of his wrist, he removed his plaid. “I hope you find me as tempting as I find you.”
    Were all men as magnificently endowed as Graeme? she wondered. Somehow she doubted it. The sheer power of his sex, thrusting proudly from the thatch of dark curls at his groin, and the frightening size of him gave her second thoughts about consummating their marriage. Never would she be able to take all of him. This was a mistake. She lurched up from the bed, intending to flee.
    As if aware of her thoughts, Graeme anchored her against the mattress with his hard body. The engorged length of his erection pressed against her belly, hot as fire and smooth as satin. A droplet of pearly moisture beaded from the thick, blunt head of his sex as it slid between them, warm and slick upon her skin.
    “You are not going anywhere,” he whispered against her ear. “You came to my bedchamber for this, did you not?”
    “I . . . had no idea it would be like this. I canna surrender so much of myself to you.”
    His voice was a seductive purr as he began a slow exploration with his hands. “Can you not?”
    The wonderment of what she felt returned, then swelled into something powerful, something demanding. She thought she would go mad with the pleasure of the moment, but it was naught compared to the jolt of raw sensation that struck her the instant he slid down her body, spread her legs and put his mouth to her intimate flesh.
    His tongue touched her, warm and wet and rough against the tender pearl