“I grow to dislike that word, caro.”

“Whisht, lassie,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her again. “We’ll get there in the end.”

He played with her mouth until she was shaking and panting. In a silent plea for more, she raised grasping hands to knead the hard muscles of his upper arms. When he brushed his lips over her instep, she jerked against the bed, although compared to what he’d done to her breasts, the kiss was almost chaste. She attained such a pitch of hunger, every touch sent heat exploding along her veins.

Fergus dropped a rain of kisses across her breasts before with impressive efficiency, he released her skirt and petticoats. He drew the garments down to reveal filmy drawers under the rucked-up shift. His eyes turned bright with hunger, as he undid his wide black belt and let it drop with a thud to the floor, followed by the soft rustle of his kilt falling away.

His nakedness transfixed Marina. “What a superb man you are,” she sighed, her heated gaze tracing his powerful leanness, before focusing on the hard column of flesh rising from a nest of dark red hair between his legs.

Her hands closed on emptiness at her sides as apprehension stirred anew. He was so very big. Per pietà, how would all that male strength feel as it moved inside her?

“Thank you,” Fergus said, and he bestowed his rare, full smile upon her. Whenever he did, she always felt like he gave her a wonderful gift. Her fleeting fear vanished as if it had never been.

Marina had imagined she’d feel nervous when a man saw her naked for the first time. She’d been nervous when he first joined her on the bed. But Fergus had built her responses inch by inch, until all she cared about was finding an answer to this endless desire.

She sat up and, hands clumsy with eagerness, she tugged her shift over her head. Now only her drawers remained. The transparent material did little to hide the dark patch of hair between her legs.

With glittering eyes, Fergus surveyed her body. Marina had a sudden memory of their first meeting when she’d wanted to spread herself before him and let him work his enchantment. The wanton thought had been a premonition.

“You’re quite a sight yourself, lassie,” he said in a hoarse whisper, kneeling over her.

Her skin tightened in anticipation as she waited for him to rip away her drawers and plunge into her, but there was just more of that tantalizing patience. His face stern with concentration, he explored her body, trailing fire across breasts and belly and flanks. Only when she was moaning and trembling against the covers did he touch her where she burned for him.

He found the slit in her drawers and cupped her mound. An uncontrollable surge of liquid heat welled to greet him. She gasped in surprise and bowed up, wanting more but not understanding what that meant. Fergus met her helpless response with a guttural sound of approval.

Per l’amor di dio, this encounter was a revelation. How she could burn to the point of immolation, then burn some more. How a man’s hands on her bare skin made her blood rush in a hot tide of demand. How desire could tease and torture to the edge of pain, yet remain the most exquisite pleasure.

He kissed her again. He’d kissed her so often today, and every time it was different. This was a passionate exploration, so that when he started to caress her between the legs, it felt like part of the same act. This bold exploration of her most private flesh should shock her, but his careful seduction had carried her far beyond shyness. Blindly she reached for his arm, seeking some stability in a reeling world.

Then thinking herself beyond shock, she discovered she wasn’t at all. Subtle pressure, and one long finger invaded her body.

She shuddered at the intimate penetration, then cried out when he brushed his thumb over a place of tormenting sensitivity. A blast of pleasure shook her, then another and another, as he began to work his finger in and out. She was sleek with need already, but her uncontained female response to this invasion astonished her.

Fergus watched the way his hand moved on and in her with an unwavering concentration that fired her arousal to wildfire. There was something bewitching about having all that blazing masculine attention focused on her.

She shuddered anew when he stretched her with two fingers, then again when he curled the tips against a spot inside her and sent rivers of wild flame coursing through her veins. Her breath emerged in harsh sobs, and her hand clenched hard against his shoulder.

“Now,” she said brokenly.

The eyes he raised to hers were black with hunger. “Soon.”

“Mackinnon, stop torturing me.” She dug her nails into his firm flesh. “I want you.”

“Not enough.”

“Any more and I’ll explode.”

“Och, you’re nowhere near that yet,” he said, and in her urgency, she hated his smugness, even as her body tensed toward some unknown end.

“I want…” she stuttered as sensation rose to inundate her. “I want…”

She expected him to smile, but he looked as if the fate of worlds hung on what he did to her. Still the powerful feeling swelled inside her. She was nearing some mysterious edge, when he eased his hand away.

“Kiss me, Marina,” he said in a thick voice.

She lurched up, linking her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth to his. “Touch me again,” she muttered against his lips.

Instead of returning to that delightful torment, il cattivo, he went back to squeezing and touching her breasts. She was in such a fever that every brush of his fingers made her quake. When he began to roll and pull the tips, fireworks exploded behind her eyes. All of her thirsted for him to take her. She bumped her hips up until her cleft met his arousal. Instead of providing any satisfaction, that only spurred her need.

Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net