The Laird of Stonehaven by Connie Mason Page A

of sensation Graeme found there. She cried out and attempted to push him away, for the emotional impact was too much, too raw.
    “Nay. Dinna try to escape the feeling,” Graeme murmured. “It’s all right. I willna hurt you.”
    How could anything so intense, so intimate, be all right? Without volition she began moving her hips in concert with Graeme’s carnal kiss, propelled by an unnamed urgency. She arched and twisted beneath the persistent pressure of his mouth, fearing she would fly apart. As if aware of her dilemma, he held her hips down to keep her steady, coaxing her further into madness with tender kisses and tentative brushes of his mouth and tongue.
    She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, moaning in frustration because she had no idea what it was she wanted from him.
    Graeme must have known precisely what she wanted, for he shifted upward, his sex poised at the juncture of her thighs. She looked up at him and caught her breath. His body, bathed in silvery moonlight, was thick-muscled and elegant, his limbs and torso cast into fascinating relief. His features were stark with need, his eyes glazed with passion. She felt his muscles tense as he slowly melded their bodies, and she waited in stoic acceptance for him to begin his brutal assault. Was that not what all men did?
    She did not realize she was holding her breath until she felt Graeme’s sex prodding against her narrow opening; then she let it out in a whoosh. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain she knew would come when he tore into her.
    “Relax, lass. I’ll try not to hurt you too badly.”
    “You willna fit! This isna a good idea.”
    “This is a wonderful idea.”
    He edged forward, slowly slipping inside her. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him, felt pressure . . . a lot of pressure. Then there was a fiery tearing as he thrust his hard length all the way into her tight passage, a burning that pierced through her and left beads of perspiration on her brow.
    “Stop! Take it out!”
    “ ’Tis done,” he panted. “This is what you wanted, what you came here for.”
    He moved within her slowly, deliberately holding himself back. Though he tried to be careful, he was large, and almost too much for her tender passage. But as he moved deeper inside her, something happened. She began to feel pleasure despite the pain, pleasure that came from the slow, sensual friction of his shaft inside her body and the silken slide of his skin against hers.
    Blair clung to him, suspended in a place somewhere between pleasure and pain as he thrust and withdrew, each deep penetration seeming to impale her to her very soul. The spirits had been right. This would change her forever.
    Her thoughts skidded to a halt as she felt herself spinning away from reality, felt the pain of her breached maidenhead dissipate as spiraling ecstasy began to swell inside her. Closing her eyes, she clung to him, burying her fingers in the crisp hair on his chest and clutching at him as he rocked inside her.
    The force of Graeme’s passion was pushing her higher and higher, into a state of breathless rapture. “Graeme!” Her back rose up off the bed as he pumped harder, deeper, faster, burying himself to the hilt inside her. Then she was soaring, meeting his thrusts with an almost desperate urgency. She felt the earth careening, felt bliss building scant moments before a dizzying wave of release lifted her and swept her away.
    Her climax was totally unexpected. She had no idea women could experience the same earth-shattering release that men felt. Distantly, she heard herself sobbing Graeme’s name as she floated slowly back to earth.
    “ ’Tis my turn, lass,” he growled, kissing her slack mouth as he renewed his assault on her quivering body.
    With a wordless groan, he impaled her again and again, shuddering with each deep thrust, his every muscle tense and strained. She felt him swelling, growing harder as he lifted her hips to meet his