Perfect Strangers (18 page)

Gabrielle hesitated for one throbbing moment, then sighed long and deep and nodded. "Aye, 'tis exactly what I'm asking. And I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I like your touch, Connor Douglas. It sets me on fire and makes me want things I'd never dreamed were possible. If you've no objections, I'd like to feel more of it."

Her sudden humor was reflected in her teasing tone as she glanced at him from over her bare, creamy shoulder and carelessly tossed his own words from earlier back at him. "Ne'er let it be said that The Black Douglas refused a lady."

Connor laughed, deep and hard. He couldn't help it. The twinkle in her pretty green eyes was pure mischief, demanding a response, and that response was as strong as it was automatic. "Och, but yer Scots burr be a poor one, lass. 'Tis something you'll need to work on."

"Aye, m'lord, I will. You can give me lessons later if you'd like. For now, however..." Her gaze narrowed, raking his naked torso and the color in her cheeks intensified even as her voice deepened seductively. "For now I've no wish to stay you from granting a lady's request. Lest you forget, you've a reputation to maintain."

Connor brushed his lips lightly over hers and whispered huskily against them, "Are ye planning to pen a ballad aboot this, lass?"

"Only if it proves worthy of writing about, m'lord."

The invitation in her soft, sultry voice was too great to resist. Connor kissed her fully as he adjusted their position and reached down to free his kilt. The plaid fell, draping over his naked calves in dark folds.

He pulled her willing body close as he shoved the bulk of the plaid beneath them. It made an adequate barrier to protect bare skin from the sharp bite of pine needles and scratch of wet moss, grass, and leaves.

Gabrielle twisted to the side and wrapped her arms around Connor's neck, clinging to him. Her tongue slid moistly, restlessly, over his lower lip. Her teeth nibbled the tender flesh there. She squirmed, pressing her breasts more fully against him, and inhaled sharply when she felt her nipples pucker and tighten still more.

Connor tasted warm and wonderful: the intoxicatingly rich flavor of his mouth all-consuming. Then, too, her nipples sent a sharp, tingle-burn throughout the rest of her body when he rubbed his chest against them. The thick pelt of inky curls tickled her in the most pleasurable way.

Gabrielle clutched tightly at fistfuls of his sleek, dark hair as she tried to pull his mouth closer still. It wasn't possible, but still she tried.

Connor's hands, which were again flanking her hips, shifted. The trews hugged her delectable curves like a glove; there was barely enough room to sneak his fingertips beneath the waist, yet he managed to find and use what little slack there was to his best advantage.

Gabrielle quivered and, her lips never leaving his, shifted so that she was on her knees completely facing him.

Connor eased the trews down. The curve of her naked bottom slid beneath his open palms. Lower. Over the creamy skin on the back of her thighs. Her flesh felt as warm and as soft as the velvety inside of a sun-warmed petal of heather.

The trews bunched around her knees. He wanted to feel more of her. Wanted to feel
all
of her. Wanted to feel it
now.

With a flick of his wrist, Connor moved his hand to the inside of her thigh. She trembled beneath his touch, and oh but the sensation her reaction caused to bolt through him was incredible, like liquid fire sizzling hot and fast inside his veins. His heart hammered out a plaintive need that surpassed any he'd known before.

His mouth shifted its attention to her earlobe; he suckled it into his mouth and at the same time forced himself to temper the urgency raging through him as he lifted his hand. His calloused fingertips dragged ever so slowly over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Her curiosity and eagerness had shocked him at first, but he'd adapted quickly. Now, Connor wasn't at all surprised when she automatically parted her thighs for him as his hand ascended higher still.

Her fingers tightened around his hair until he could feel the pull of it burning his scalp. There was, however, another, more compelling feeling that distracted his attention. It was the feel of her hips swiveling toward his touch in an age-old invitation.

His fingers moved ever upward along the inside of her thigh. The soft black curls there tickled and teased his fingertips, wisped softly, warmly across the back of his knuckles. His skin tingled and burned as his attention turned inward.

A soft moan whispered past her lips; the warm, moist waft of breath filtered through his hair and washed over the side of his neck.

He stroked her slowly, gently.

A shiver coursed down Connor's spine when he felt how hot and wet and ready she was for him. Her hips pulsated back and forth, matching the rhythm of his hand to perfection, urging it to increase.

He nuzzled her ear, then pulled back enough to watch her give a toss of her dark head, her silky hair shivering around her. Her eyes were closed, her soft features accentuated by the brief glitters of moonlight filtering down through the branches. The muscles in her thighs tightened and they closed firmly around his wrist. The movement of her hips increased and she moaned again, long and deep, as she rubbed against him.

The burden of restraining his passion, so unexpected and strong, was almost overwhelming.

Gabrielle's unbridled excitement served to increase his own. He wanted to push her back against the kilt, cover her body with his, claim her in a way she'd never been claimed before. And, God willing, never would be again! He wanted to make her his in the most intimate way. The need was raging inside him until he could think of nothing else but complete and total possession.

Only a few short minutes ago, Connor had offered to stop. Then, he would have, could have. Now it simply was not possible. With each thrust of her hips, with each feel of her dewy warmth against his fingertips, he knew he was beyond stopping. Her wild passion told him that Gabrielle knew it as well... and that neither of them wanted to see an end to such raw pleasure.

Swallowing back a groan, he slipped his index finger deeply inside her.

He heard her sharp inhalation. The fingers clutching his hair tightened painfully, but he didn't complain. Her hips went unnaturally still. After a beat, her inky lashes flickered up. Connor suddenly found himself staring down into passion-darkened green eyes. Eyes so deep and luminous they snatched away what little breath he had.

"M'lord, is that y-your...?" Her words trailed off, even as the color in her cheeks heated to a vibrant shade of crimson-peach.

It took Connor a second to realize what she was talking about. Because of her unreserved response, he'd forgotten for a second that she was very much an innocent in the ways of physical love.

God in heaven, was she so innocent in the ways of a man and a woman that she thought...?

Aye, he realized as he gazed down at her, that was exactly what she drought. He was torn between two equally strong urges; the first was to laugh, the second was to prove exactly how his "...?" felt like when it moved inside her!

"Nay, lass," he said finally, when he had breath enough to speak. "Soon, but not yet. 'Tis what I'm preparing ye for."

"Preparing me for? You mean there's"—she gulped hard—
"more? You
can make me feel better than
this?"

She stared up at him with an innocent sort of amazement; her dazed expression and the hungry look in her eyes combined to warm a heart Connor had thought long ago frozen over.

"Aye," he murmured, "maun more. Relax, lass. Let me show ye."

Gabrielle did as he bid. She tried to relax. Tried, and failed. Her senses were soaring too high for that. A strange, burning sort of tension had settled deep inside her muscles, pulling them taut with white-hot anticipation.

Connor's hand started moving again.

She closed her eyes, arched her back, reveled in the tidal wave of exquisite sensation that washed over her. His strokes were long and deep and sure as he caressed her in places no one had ever seen before, let alone touched in such a gloriously intimate way. Her hips moved with the tempo he set, then her thighs tightened around his forearm, urging the pace quicker.

A choppy moan whispered past her lips when Connor dipped his head and whisked her nipple with his lips. Shaggy strands of black hair fell forward over his shoulders as his tongue made teasingly warm, moist circles around the rigid, rosy peak of flesh.

Gabrielle clutched at his upper arms, her fingers digging into his skin as she felt the muscles in her stomach, and lower, convulse with exhilarating pleasure.

She tried to pull him down atop her, wanting to feel the hard length of his body covering her, but he stubbornly refused. Instead, the strokes of his hand quickened, and he did something with his thumb that made all the sensations that had come before seem infinitesimal by comparison.

The tension that had flooded through her now centered, the crux of it focused on the juncture between her thighs. Another alien but highly pleasant sensation pooled inside her, gathering quicker than a wild sea storm.

"Dinny fight it, lass. Let yerself go," he murmured encouragingly as he quickened the pace of his hand to a dizzying speed.

The first spasms crashed over Gabrielle like waves breaking over rocks. She cried out in surprise and pleasure as the fierce undertow of sensation dragged her downward, threatening to drown her in its fiery wake. Her cry melted into a husky groan as her body convulsed and vibrant strokes of color exploded behind her tightly closed eyelids.

Her groan mingled with Connor's own as he slipped his hand free and levered himself on top of her. With his free hand, he guided himself into her.

"'Tis sorry I am to cause ye pain, lass, but 'tis the way a maid becomes a woman. Just a sting, I promise ye. The pain will not last."

In one long, sure thrust, he shattered the restrictive barrier of her maidenhead.

Gabrielle gasped. Her fingernails bit into the flesh on his shoulders and her body went rigid beneath his.

She felt
perfect,
so very tight and wet and warm. Despite his body's burning desire to move inside her, Connor stilled, waiting with more patience than he knew he possessed for the shock and sting of the necessary pain to pass.

The pressure on his shoulders eased. Her open palms stroked his back restlessly. Her index finger traced a thick scar located just beneath his shoulder blade, a scar he'd acquired years ago on a decidedly unsuccessful midnight raid against the neighboring Kerrs.

Gradually she began to move tentatively beneath him, as though testing to see if more pain was in store. When there was none, the movement of her hips swiftly became bolder, more insistent.

Connor gritted his teeth, biting back a groan as he began gradually to move inside her. She met him thrust for hungry thrust, and the way her body milked his pushed his self-control to the limit. If he didn't slow the pace, and slow it soon... och! no matter how good his intentions, he would not be able to last long.

Her legs entwined with his and her hands strayed downward. Over the small of his back. Lower. She sighed like a contented cat as she drew him deeper inside her still.

"Ah, yes, again," Gabrielle murmured, her voice as soft and amazed as the expression he found himself looking down into.

The muscles in Connor's stomach clenched when he felt her shudder beneath him, her inner muscles tightening spasmodically around that most sensitive part of his body.

His hands curled into white-knuckled fists around broken twigs, damp leaves, and the scratchy hem of the kilt. He picked up the pace, driving into her, his need for fulfillment suddenly so intense that his vision went blurry around the edges.

In a blinding rupture of sensation, the tension in his body gathered, then, when it was almost unbearable, burst.

Connor groaned her name as he thrust his hips forward, burying himself inside her as deeply as he could go.

Again.

And again.

It took far longer than Connor would have thought possible for the aftershock of relaxation to wash the tension out of his body. When it finally did, he shifted, lowering much of his weight onto the bed of her curves.

He nuzzled her ear with his nose. The soft, sweet fragrance of her filled him to overflowing, and he smiled with satisfaction when he felt Gabrielle's instinctive shiver of response.

He opened his mouth to say... something. The words evaporated unspoken off his tongue as relaxation surged into something stronger and more lulling. He was tired. Nay, exhausted. Yet in a thoroughly contented sort of way. Surely whatever he'd been about to say could wait a wee bit?

That thought in mind, he shifted onto his side, taking care to keep their bodies joined. Slipping one arm beneath Gabrielle's head, he coiled the other around her waist and pulled her close.

She felt warm and good in his arms. Her ripe, full curves fit the planes and angles of his body flawlessly. She snuggled against him, her cheek cradled against his shoulder.

As Connor let his mind and body come untethered, drifting naturally toward much needed rest, he was vaguely aware that he'd never felt such overwhelming protectiveness as he did right now for the woman who lay in his arms. His last thought before sleep overtook him was that making love had never felt so good and right as it did tonight, with this woman... and it never would again.