Beloved Highlander

With a little smile, Meg sat up, her bright, curling hair cascading about her. Surprised, Gregor leaned on his elbow, his movements fluid and easy.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, eyeing her carefully.

Did he think she might run screaming? Meg had no intention of going anywhere.

“I am awake, Gregor,” she said, “and now it is my turn.”

His eyes narrowed as if he doubted his hearing. “Your turn?”

“That’s right. The wife is allowed to take a turn, isn’t she?”

He understood, and he wasn’t laughing at her. In fact he looked as if he was about to swoon. “Aye, Meg,” he said in a husky, breathless voice, “the wife is allowed to take a turn.”

Taking her time, Meg leaned over him, and began to taste his skin, swirling her tongue over his chest and the rough hairs that covered it. She decided he tasted of man, and of her, and she liked it very well. By the time she had worked her way down over his belly, exploring him with her fingers and her mouth, he was shaking beneath her like a tree in a gale.

That was good, and it served him right after what he had done to her, but she had yet to reach the most important part. The most interesting and fascinating part.

“Now,” she said, eyeing his rod. “I wonder. Maybe if I were to…” Her tongue licked delicately along the length of him. He cursed and bucked beneath her. “Interesting,” she murmured. “What if I were to put my mouth over—”

He caught her up and tossed her ungently onto her back. With a gasp, Meg found herself pinned beneath a savage Highlander, his glittering amber eyes fixed on hers.

“You are tormenting me, Meg.”

“No,” she laughed, “truly I am not. I am…I am curious, I suppose. I have never had a man in my bed before, Gregor. There is much for me to learn about you. I don’t want to waste a moment.”

“We have all our lives to learn about each other,” he reminded her quietly.

Meg wished she could believe him, but she feared that, even if Abercauldy did not destroy them, Gregor would eventually tire of her and find someone else. Someone prettier and more interesting. No, much as she wanted to trust him, she knew he was wrong. Their time together was short and precious, and therefore she meant to make the most of it.

“Gregor, let me just—”

“Och, Meg,” he groaned, and bent to ply his mouth on hers, kissing her until she’d forgotten what it was she had meant to do. Then he slid gently inside her, carefully, making sure she was not hurting from the last time. But Meg was not hurting, apart from a desperate ache to have him back inside her. She arched beneath him, seeking to have more of him, but he held back, smiling at her frustration.

“You are cruel,” she gasped, as he stooped to suckle on her breasts.

“Aye, verra, verra cruel.”

He moved suddenly, pushing inside her deeply, then further again, resting there. Meg’s lips parted as she gasped, and with trembling fingers she stroked his cheek. “You were right, Gregor. You’ve made me want you. Is it always so?”

“Like this, do ye mean? No, lassie. Yo

u and I have something rare; our bodies fit together verra well. Never take it for granted.” He turned his head to capture her fingers, kissing them, sucking them.

Meg watched his mouth avidly, knowing that the reason she felt like this was simple. She wanted Gregor Grant. It was Gregor Grant who made her feel as if she was on fire, as if she never wanted him to stop.

Pleasure swept through her as he drove deep again, and she cried out and clutched at him. He thrust with a measured, controlled motion, building her pleasure, and in such a way, he brought her to another shuddering, breathless release. And then his control slipped and his breathing grew ragged, and Gregor found his own wave.

Glen Dhui Castle was still at last. Gregor felt it close about him like a mother’s arms—though not his mother, it had to be said—sheltering him, holding him safe, just as it always had when he was a wee lad. Such things were an illusion, he knew that now. A house could not keep him safe. He was not safe. But despite his loss of innocence, the sensation was worth savoring.

Meg lay pliant, asleep in his arms, her soft curves pressed to his hard lines. She had turned over, so that her back was spooned into his chest, and his arm was wrapped tight about her, beneath her full breasts. Her hair tickled his nose, the sweet scent of it filling his head. Her soft bottom was pressed enticingly against his groin, her long thighs resting against his more muscular ones.

He could not get enough of her.

It was a fact.

He had taken her twice now, and still he wanted her. Despite the fact that she had been a virgin and he must have hurt her. Gregor was not a man who hurt women—but he knew he’d have to have her again, soon. It was like a force of nature, a storm or a drought. There was no stopping it.

This insatiable need was not something he was used to. A woman was a woman, or so he had always thought. When Gregor was lucky enough to have one in his bed, they made love, they sated themselves with each other, and then they parted. He did not hunger after his partners like this, as if he were starving and without any hope of a meal!