Warlord

But now he was claiming something very different, and something he wanted almost nearly as badly as he’d wanted his territory back. That said something monumental about this woman he now carried into his chambers. This passion that burned inside him was bright and angry and alive, and he had never felt anything like it before.

The custom of his people was to finish celebrating with everyone. Although there were some who consummated their marriages in front of an audience, Bronson wasn’t about to let anyone see his woman or what he planned on doing with her. Oh, he planned on making this official and taking Genevieve deep and hard until she knew exactly who she belonged to.

He set her down gently on the ground and took several steps back to stare at her. She was gorgeous, and innocent, and so very shy that his cock jerked forward. He had been trying to rein in his desires for her since he had chosen her, but now there was no need to do that. There she stood, wearing his tartan around her curvy body like she was born for it. Her hair had been left down as he specifically requested, and the thick waves in the locks moved over her shoulders and across her breasts. He wanted to see her naked with only her hair covering her peach-colored skin and to have to lift the thick strands away to see the treasures that lay hidden.

“Are ye frightened, lass?” he asked as he stared into her face that was partially hidden by her hair. He heard her swallow and saw the slender line of her throat work as she did so. Of course, he knew she was, but he wanted her to feel comfortable with being honest with him.

“Aye, Lord Bronson.”

He moved toward her until there was only a foot that separated them. “Lass, I am not yer lord but yer husband, and ye will address me as such.” He lifted her head with his finger under her chin, and once again, he was struck by the intensity of her green eyes. “Say it tae me.”

She didn’t respond right away but finally licked those red, succulent lips of hers, ones he easily imagined wrapped around his cock, and answered him. “Aye, husband, ye make me verra frightened.”

She was his Scottish lass, his wife, and the one woman who would never have to be afraid of him. She would also hold his heart; of that, he was certain. “I would never harm ye, Genevieve.” He reached out and pushed a piece of her hair away. Moving closer to her, he smoothed his hands along the bare flesh of her shoulders, continued down her arms, and then stopped at her waist. “I can only assume ye are verra nervous about what will happen tonight, aye?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything in response.

“Ye are the only person who will never have tae be afraid of me.”

She nodded again. “Aye, husband.”

“Say my name, lass.”

She stared at him, right in the eyes, and he felt his cock grow even harder. “Aye, Bronson.”

Hearing her say his name turned him on more than he ever had been before. “Ye kno’ what will happen tonight?” he asked as he slid his gaze over her collarbones and down to where the slight swells of her breasts rose above her neckline. Her breasts were bountiful, and his fingers itched to feel them bare against his skin.

“I kno’, Bronson.”

“And ye are scared, lass?” he questioned, low, soft, but kept his gaze on her chest. She had these little laces that tied between her breasts, and he found himself reaching out and taking hold of the ends and pulling at them until they came undone. She was breathing heavily, and he saw she nodded in response to his question. “No need tae be afraid, darlin’.” He leaned in just an inch so their mouths were only a hairsbreadth apart and breathed in her scent. She smelled of flowers and citrus, a combination that had his heart pounding and sweat starting to bead his brow. “I want ye fiercely, lass.” He lifted her gaze to her face and saw her watching him.

“I want ye, too.”

And then he leaned forward and claimed her mouth in the only way he knew how to—brutally hard and with a desire that rivaled all others. He moved his tongue along the seam of her lips, and the flavor of her was addictive.

He wanted the dress gone, wanted to see what was his and what he would devour and worship. When she started kissing him back, he didn’t stop the groan that left him, but he broke the suction of their lips and trailed his mouth along her jawline to her ear. “I am so hard for ye, lass.”

She made this soft noise, one that sounded like need and desperation and everything that turned him on. He slipped his hand behind her nape, curled his finger into her soft, warm flesh, and started kissing her pulse that beat rapidly beneath her ear. He pulled her closer, so he felt her breasts press to his chest. A low growl left him, one he couldn’t stop.