She moved on him, circling her hips, varying the rhythm, sweeping him to the doors of paradise. He tightened his balls against the clamoring need to fill her. He couldn’t doubt her enjoyment, but she hadn’t yet reached her peak.

He cupped and stroked the breasts on wanton display. “Don’t wait too long, mo chridhe,” he groaned.

She flattened her palms on his chest, her touch hot through his shirt. “I love having the upper hand.”

“Remember I’m only human.”

“You?” She gave a choked laugh. “Never. You’re the Mackinnon, great Laird of Achnasheen.”

Until he’d met Marina, nobody had teased him. Over the last six weeks, he discovered he rather liked it. “Not so great, when he’s slave to a slip of a girl who’s too clever for her own good.”

“Ooh, I like that even better.”

“I thought you might.” He smiled at her in delight. “Now put me out of my misery, lassie, and take your pleasure so I can take mine.”

“So considerate,” she said, and he marveled that she had the cheek to mock him when he was so far inside her that he felt like they became one entity.

“Aye, well, that’s the great laird for ye.”

She laughed low in her throat. “One thing about him is great.”

His grunt of laughter did nothing to steady his slipping control. He seized her by the hips and caught the flare of thrilled astonishment in her eyes as he rolled her over.

Fergus rose above her where she lay on the crushed grass. “It’s time to show ye who’s in charge.”

When he plunged into her, she gripped him tighter than a fist. Dear God above, he really wasn’t going to last.

“Is that so?” She curled her hands over his shoulders.

“Aye, it is.” He kissed her hungrily, then began to move, glorying in how she met every thrust. “Hold on, and pray for mercy.”

She quaked and moaned as she crossed into rapture. Being inside Marina as she found her shivering climax was so magnificent, he only remembered at the last moment to pull free.

With a guttural groan, he withdrew and turned to pump his seed into the grass beside her. Hell, they’d had a few close calls, but this was the closest yet.

He collapsed onto his back and stared unseeing up at the cloudless sky. Satisfaction and exhaustion coiled lazily in his veins. “I’m never going to move again,” he said, his voice gruff.

He felt her hand seek and find his. “That was wonderful,” she said, and he was shocked to hear her voice was thick with tears.

Weariness forgotten, he sat up to look at her. She was an unforgettable sight, spread-eagled upon the rich green grass, her breasts bare, and her skirts rucked up to reveal spectacular legs.

He took a second to appreciate the view, then focused on her face. She was flushed, and her features were soft in the way he loved after a tumble. But her generous lips turned down, and there was a sheen in her eyes that betrayed unhappiness.

“What is it, Marina?”

She avoided his questioning gaze. “I’m being silly.”

He squeezed her hand. “Tell me.”

She bit her lip, then spoke in a rush. “Everything’s coming to an end. Papa should be up and around next week, and winter’s almost here, and I have to go back to Florence. I know all of that is true. It’s been true from the beginning. After what we just did, it seems cruel that our time together is so short.” She turned away. “You’ll think I’m a fool.”

Tenderness as intoxicating as fine wine engulfed him. He turned her face toward his. After brief resistance, she gave in. Her eyes were dark pools of misery.

“I’d never think you’re a fool.”

“I am, to fret like this when I know I must go.”

“Must ye?”

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