The MacKinnon's Bride (31 page)

But she wanted the touch of his lips upon
her own with a hunger that was madness. She tilted her head back,
inviting without words. Holy Mary, Mother of God...

She closed her eyes and prayed with all her
might that he might want her too.

He groaned, and the guttural, tormented
sound was like heavenly song to her ears, an echo of her own
longing... proof of his own. The hand at her chin moved to cup her
face so gently that she had to fight the sudden overwhelming urge
to weep, and then his fingers slid to her nape... sweet merciful
Jesu... causing gooseflesh to erupt. A blissful sigh escaped her as
she stood there, her body suddenly awash with delicious sensation.
It was as though she were standing bare within a warm misty
shower—like nothing she had ever known—and more glorious, even,
than it had been before!

Dear God, but she wanted this...

Her hands slid up and wound about his neck,
clinging shamelessly, tugging him down... She didn’t care. How
could she care? In his arms, she became everything she’d ever
longed to be.

And more.

The first tentative touch of his lips upon
her own sent her pulse skittering and her heart leaping from her
breast. Soft... stirring, it caused her knees to weaken and her
breath to catch. All the more desperately, she clung to him. Sweet
Mary, but she couldn’t help herself. He responded by clutching her
more firmly against himself.

She felt him then, unmistakably male, and
her breath caught. Though she trembled at the proof of his desire,
she exulted in it as well. For no matter what else he might feel
for her, this, Page knew, could scarce be denied.

He did want her.

As a man wanted a woman.

The knowledge thrilled her.

Once again his mouth covered hers, achingly
tender, tasting, caressing, suckling, coaxing, and it was all Page
could do to cling to him while he savored her lips in that slow,
erotic way that snatched her breath and whetted her senses. She
felt the passion he held in restraint in the shuddering of his
body, in the way that he gripped her arm and urged her backward
into the room while he kissed her, and was wholly undone by it.

“
I need you,” he
whispered, removing his breacan and jerking it free, casting it to
the floor. “So much...”

Page couldn’t reply, too overcome was she by
the power of his words.

His hand splayed across her back, lowered to
her bottom, pressing her more solidly against his arousal. He held
her there, and his lips slid to her cheek, to her temple. “D’ ye
feel how much?” he whispered at her ear.

“
Aye,” Page answered,
swallowing.

“
Och, lass...” She felt
his jaw tauten against her face, heard him swallow, and felt her
throat convulse with overwhelming emotion.

“
Jesu,” Page croaked, her
eyes closing, her heart pounding madly. She wanted him to want
her.

Wanted him to make love to her. So very
much.

“
I need you to tell me
what it is you wish me to do...”

Page shook her head, unable to voice her
single coherent thought.

“
D’ ye wish me to stop?”
he asked her.

“
Nay,” she answered at
once.

Never did she wish him to.

He growled, a sound of immense satisfaction,
and bent to sweep her up into his arms suddenly. Page gasped,
clinging to him. Her heart hammered fiercely as he bore her to the
fur-strewn bed and laid her down upon it.

Standing before her, he drew his tunic up
and over his head, and the sight of him, magnificent in his
nakedness, filled her with awe. She swallowed.

“
Now, lass... I’m gain’ to
show you how ‘tis really done,” he promised, straddling her and
trapping her beneath him. His smile was utterly wicked.

Without another word, he bent to kiss her,
and Page thought she would draw her final breath, so profoundly did
the touch of his lips affect her.

For the briefest instant, she forgot even
how to respond.

“
Open for me,” he
demanded. “I want to taste you,” he whispered seductively against
her lips. Page obeyed, shivering at his whispered words. “That’s
it,” he murmured, coaxing her lips and her heart. He dipped his
tongue gently within her mouth. “Mmmnnnnnn,” he
whispered.

Page’s heart jolted. Tentatively, her heart
hammering fiercely, she gave him her own tongue to spar with,
taking his example, wanting to give back equal measure. She wanted
to please him. Dear God, she wanted to please him. Lifting her
hands to his chest, she allowed her fingers to roam his shoulders
and tangle within his hair.

“
Ah, Christ,” he hissed,
and groaned, wrapping his arms about her and rolling with her
unexpectedly. “I believe I’ve changed my mind,” he revealed. He
grinned engagingly as he settled her atop him. “Make love to me,”
he urged her. She froze, as though unsure she’d heard correctly,
and he tossed his hands playfully. “I’m yours,” he declared with a
wink. “Do wi’ me what you will.”

Iain thought she looked terrified, and he
suppressed a chuckle. His grin widened, and he lifted a brow in
challenge. “You might even torture me if it please you.”

At once her beautiful lips broke into an
impish smile, and she asked, “I can do anything?”

“
Anything’ at all,” he
assured. What better way to be certain she dictated their
lovemaking?

Her brown eyes flickered with mischief. “And
what if I should, indeed, decide to torture you?”

Iain’s heart lurched. His eyes narrowed with
infinite pleasure over the wicked possibilities that flashed
through his thoughts. “Then I should die a contented man,” he
disclosed. And God help him, he thought he just might.

His hands slid beneath the hem of her gown,
guiding it up her bare calves. His body quickened painfully at the
delicious feel of the warm, soft flesh beneath his fingertips.

Still, she hadn’t moved, merely watched him,
her breasts rising and falling with her every breath, her
expressive eyes wide and anticipating. When he reached her thigh,
she suddenly reached out, stilling his hand.

For the space of a heartbeat, Iain thought
she meant to refuse him, and then she slid his hand away, smiling
softly as she did.

His heart stilled as she lifted herself
enough to tug the gown from beneath her. It snatched free of their
bodies and she drew the gown up, slowly, teasing him. The wench.
His heart hammered fiercely. He dared not look away, wanting to
miss nothing as she tugged the gown up and over her head. She flung
it aside, and with it came free the gold braided binding from her
hair. Like strands of silken thread, her beautiful tresses cascaded
down to cover her exquisite breasts. It was all he could do not to
reach out and brush it aside, expose her to his hungry eyes once
more.

Ah, but Christ, it was the look in her eyes
that made his heart quicken painfully. Pleasure. There was no
mistaking it. She took immense pleasure in revealing her body to
him—though no more than he did in watching her do so.

She was beautiful.

Exquisite.

And God, but he wanted her... now... this
moment... madly.

Reaching out, he grasped her by the waist
and lifted her from his body, eager to take her. She gasped softly,
and then again when he settled her over his shaft. His body
trembling, he guided her down over him. “Ride,” he bade her, his
jaw taut with savage pleasure as he watched the rapturous
expression come over her face while she sheathed him fully.

Her head fell slightly back, her eyes
closed.

The sight of her drunkened him.

“
Marchaich mo ghradh,” he
murmured, lapsing into the old tongue as he cast his head back
against the bed to savor the feel of her body enclosing him. “Ride,
my love,” he whispered.

For an instant Page was too overwhelmed by
the feel of him filling her body so completely to hear, much less
understand, his behest, and then he spoke so passionately in his
guttural tongue—some strange endearment that prickled her senses
and made her bold. Warmth flooded her from within, flowing there
from that region where they were joined.

And then he repeated his wicked demand, and
a shudder shook her. Sweet Jesu, scandalized though she might be by
his bawdy request, followed by those words... my love... she knew
she would do anything at all... if only he asked.

She wanted to please him—that was all that
she wished. Nothing more.

His hands gripped her hips, guiding her
movements, gently at first, and tentatively Page began to move with
him. She was rewarded with a deep moan of satisfaction from Iain
MacKinnon’s sensual lips.

“
Aye, lass,” he whispered.
“That’s it.”

Page continued to move atop him, marveling
at the power of her woman’s body. Her breathing belabored and her
heart pounding madly at the sight of him lying so powerless beneath
her, she took immense satisfaction in every groan of pleasure she
elicited from his lips. Every sigh.

And then he suddenly abandoned her to her
own pace. His head cast to one side, his jaw taut, he allowed her
to move at her own will, while his hands slid upward, exploring her
breasts, her sides, her shoulders... her face. He drew her down and
kissed her deeply, and dear God, wanton though she might feel, she
closed her eyes and abandoned herself wholly to carnality.

His hands left her face. Like flittering
butterflies they explored her shoulders once more, moved down to
cup her breasts, kneading them gently, his fingers masterful in
their stroking, and Page thought she would die from so much
pleasure.

And all the while, he kissed her deeply, the
most exquisite, heartrending, tender kiss...

She was passion incarnate.

Iain marveled at the way she embraced loving
him. She moved with complete abandon, gave him everything
unabashedly, kissing him back with the slow, erotic cadence they
shared together in other regions.

He wanted... God, he craved... madly... to
turn her about and bury himself deep within her body, spend himself
violently and furiously within her. Wholly. Completely.
Irrevocably.

Ending the kiss, he let her rise, one hand
still upon her breast as he lifted his hips, following her
movement, undulating beneath her.

Withholding his own release was the most
painful pleasure he’d ever experienced, but he did so, wanting to
feel her, intending to withdraw. Clenching his jaw, he lifted his
head from the bed, watching her, mesmerized by the artless beauty
of the woman loving him.

When she opened her beautiful eyes, glassy
with passion, and gazed down upon him, he thought he would lose his
resolve completely, so disarmed was he by what he saw within
them.

There, in the fathomless depths of her eyes,
he spied everything he’d ever yearned for.

Everything.

Christ, and she was right here within his
arms—all he needed to do in order to know she was real... was to
feel. And God, did he feel.

A shudder shook him as he slid his hand back
down, his fingers skimming her belly. Like a mistress of the loch
calling out to him, her body’s sinuous movement was like a siren’s
lay, coaxing his seed from his body.

And he wanted to give it... craved the
release she could give him. But he didn’t dare.

Still she seduced him... nearer to the edge,
closer to his release, wooing his body with too little effort. When
she closed her eyes, he closed his own, summoning every last shred
of will he possessed.

Damn, but he wasn’t going to allow himself
this. Wanted her to experience it—but God help him, she cajoled him
so sweetly with her soft moans and her uninhibited responses. He
knew by her rhythm she was nearing completion, and the very thought
nearly lost him his control. He opened his eyes to watch her face,
wanting to see her at her moment of release, and the intensity of
her expression nearly unmanned him.

She struggled to capture it, he knew.

His heart hammered fiercely. “D’ ye feel
it?” he whispered softly. The muscles flexed in his legs and arms
as he vied for control of his body. “D’ ye feel it?” he asked her
urgently.

Her answering moan sent his pulses leaping
and his body into carnal oblivion. He bucked beneath her, groaning
in torment, losing himself, losing restraint.

God help him, he was losing control.

Iain squeezed his eyes shut and thought of
his horse. Damn, but a vision of mating animals suddenly came to
mind. Mentally eradicating the image, his mind searched for a safer
device—bloody hell, but he couldn’t do it!

Couldn’t hold back!

His hands grasped her hips. “Seize it!” he
demanded, groaning, his body moving against his will, convulsing.
“Seize it,” he urged her. “Now before I canna... ahhh, God!” he
cried, when her body tightened about him. “Bluidy hell!” It was
almost too late for him, he felt himself begin, and tried to lift
her at once from atop him.

“
Nay!” she cried out,
resisting him.

His hands trembling, his body stilling at
once, Iain told her, his breath labored and his voice harsh, “Ye
dinna understand!” He could scarce focus upon her, his eyes were so
glazed.

“
I do,” she whispered
fiercely, shuddering and moving once more atop him, stubbornly
disobeying. “I do!”

Iain’s climax was immediate and violent.
“Ah,

Christ!” he cried out, and bucked against
her, driving his seed within her womb. He clutched her to him with
quivering hands, and still she moved atop him, milking every last
drop from his body.

Gratitude washed over him first, a fierce
satisfaction that he’d never in his life experienced—and close upon
its heels an overwhelming, blinding emotion he’d never known could
possibly exist within his long-jaded heart.