The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

As his movements grew choppy, she toppled over to take another flight

among the stars. Through the raging oceans in her ears, she was vaguely aware of a deep, guttural sound coming from his throat.

He ripped himself away, shaking and sweating, and his body jerked over and over as he pumped his seed onto her bare stomach. She shivered with wanton excitement, as hot semen splattered across her skin.

Brock rolled to the side and collapsed beside her with a lengthy, broken groan that conveyed both weariness and completion. She slumped back against the rumpled sheets, boneless with exhaustion.

Selina supposed she should get up and wash. But she was as limp as a piece of wet string. She felt as if she’d flown into the center of the sun and dissolved into blinding light.

"I had no idea you could do that to me," she said in a croaky voice, once she’d recovered breath enough to speak. "I had no idea anyone could do that to me."

He flung one arm over his eyes, and his chest heaved as he struggled to fill his lungs. Had what they’d just done tested his limits, too? Surely not. "But you knew about pleasure."

The ecstatic daze receded, and she stiffened with wariness. "I…"

He lowered his arm and turned his head until he could see her. "You said Roderick had no idea how to give you a climax."

A grim smile turned down her lips. "He might have had some idea. But if he did, he never exerted himself to prove it." She paused as she thought back to those uncomfortable, disheartening encounters with her husband. "I wonder if he did know. The women he paid for sexual congress wouldn’t demand any particular consideration, I suspect."

"Yet he’s been the only man in your bed."

Selina frowned up at the stars and moons embroidered on the tester above the bed. "I told you he was." All of a sudden, she felt awkward. "Don’t you believe me?"

He rolled onto his side and rose on one elbow. "If you succumbed to temptation, I’m in no position to point a finger. In fact, I’d rather admire you if you did. That oaf Roderick deserved some of his own medicine."

When Brock was buried between her thighs and she moaned and twisted in the throes of pleasure, she hadn’t felt self-conscious. Right now, she was ready to die of embarrassment. Her cheeks were hot, and she was agonizingly aware of her nakedness and the sticky mess drying on her stomach.

With a shaking hand, she grabbed for the sheet. "I told you that I never betrayed my vows. That was the truth. I had a son to consider. A notorious mother could do him harm."

Brock reached to catch her wrist, stopping her from hauling the sheet up to hide her mortification. "I’m not judging you, Selina."

She avoided his eyes and tried to pull free. "It sounds like you are."

"I’m curious. Damn it, I want to know everything about you. It’s absurd, but I want to encompass a whole lifetime with you in the space of one short week. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You owe me nothing. We come together by free will, and I have no right to compel you. But I’m puzzled. I hadn’t expected you to understand what a climax is."

"I’ve never known pleasure at a man’s hand until you," she mumbled. She wasn’t comfortable with his questions, although the bewildered desperation in his tone mollified her a little. This ferocious need that flowered between them left her reeling. She was gratified to know that the worldly roué also found himself at a loss.

"I believe you." When he drew her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the knuckles, she didn’t resist. "Let me clean you up."

"I can look after myself." Her voice retained that tart edge.

"Let me," he said softly, and the glow in his eyes vanquished her brief umbrage. "I want to cherish you."

Cherish… What a lovely word. One she couldn’t apply to the way either Roderick or Cecil treated her. "Very well."

Brock’s kiss was gentle. He swung out of bed, utterly at ease with his nudity. With deep feminine pleasure, she watched him walk to the washstand, admiring the long horseman’s thighs and the way the tight buttocks flexed as he strode across the carpet. The flickering candlelight turned his smooth olive skin to gold.

"I scratched you," she said in horror, as her attention fastened on the jagged red marks marring that supple back.

Without turning, he lifted the jug and splashed some water into the bowl. "I know."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m not. I like to wear your mark."

Pleasure made her curl her toes against the sheets. How could she defend herself against him when he kept saying these things that set her heart cartwheeling?

Defying the way her tired muscles objected, she pushed herself higher against the pillows and watched as he washed with quick efficiency. There was something thrilling about sharing such an intimate moment with him.