The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)

“But you don’t like it?”

As Kit shifted, her grip on his finger firmed. “I’m just not used to it.”

“It will help prepare you for when I’m inside you,” he said in a thick voice.

She hooked her hands over his shoulders and raised her knees. He kissed her again and while his tongue was inside her mouth, he began to move his finger in and out in a rhythm that echoed what his body would soon do to her. He felt her tension ease, and her face flushed with rising pleasure. When he tried two fingers, she took him more readily.

“I want…I want you,” she said in a constricted voice, digging her fingers into the muscles of his arms. “Don’t make me wait. This is like standing on the edge of a cliff.”

Quentin knew what she meant. The need to possess her was driving him insane. He kissed her again, hard and with carnal intent. Then he tightened his hips and edged forward. Kit gasped as he entered her, then bit back a strangled cry and jerked toward him as he inched further.

He made himself stop, although the snug clasp of her body made his blood clamor to fill her full-length. “I hurt you,” he said with a universe of regret, even as his animal self gloried in being inside her.

“A little. The sting is already going away.”

She settled more deeply into the mattress, and the change in angle threatened to make his head explode. He groaned. “I’m sorry, Kit. I’ll try and make it better for you.”

“Don’t stop,” she gasped.

This time, when she shifted to accommodate his thickness, she released a moan that sounded more like pleasure than pain. Carefully he shifted, until she’d taken all of him. Staring into her eyes, he felt like he saw right to her soul. This joining changed him forever. He and this woman established a union that would endure the rest of their lives.

“Oh, yes,” she said on a soft hiss. When she tightened around him, he saw stars.

“Do that…do that again,” he growled.

She looked startled. “Do what?”

“You…hugged me inside.” It was an inadequate description, but it was the best he could manage.

Her eyes turned opaque, as she squeezed him again. He struggled not to lose himself. If he could manage it, he wanted to show her pleasure.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled back, savoring every fraction of his withdrawal. He thrust again and watched her eyes widen.

“That was…”

“Good?” Dear God, don’t let him mistake what he read in her expression.

“Better than good.”

“I’ll do it again.”

True to his word, he began to move, feeling each tiny adjustment she made for him, until there was nothing but hot welcome. He relished the soft sounds of delight she made as he claimed her. When she rose to meet him with untamed eagerness, pride burgeoned in his heart. The sighs and moans and whimpers combined into a symphony of surrender. He watched her face change, as she climbed toward her peak.

“Don’t fight it, Kit.” The next time he thrust into her, he reached down between her legs. She released a breathy cry and shuddered across into ecstasy. She clenched tight around him. He shifted in and out once more, then gave himself up to her with a shuddering groan.

She was shaking when he slumped exhausted on top of her, burying his face in her shoulder. Through his blissful languor, he felt her caress his hair with a tenderness that made his heart ache.

“My wife,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Yes, your wife,” Kit whispered and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her naked body.

Chapter 13

The Christmas Eve ball at Lyon House was in full swing. Kit glanced around as Quentin led her onto the floor for their second waltz of the night. People had gathered from all over the Highlands for the elegant event. She’d met so many of Hamish and Emily’s friends and neighbors and family, she’d completely lost track of who everyone was. Not that her mind was on anyone except her handsome bridegroom in his black velvet coat and plaid kilt, the same clothes he’d worn at their wedding ceilidh yesterday.

The ball had transformed into a celebration to mark their marriage. Now midnight approached and the moment she turned twenty-one. She was almost free of Neil, and she was married to the man she wanted. Even better, it turned out that Quentin wanted her, too. After so many years of fear and unhappiness, she could hardly believe that such joy existed. For so long, she’d been afraid to hope, but tonight at the most joyous season of the year, hope rose in an invincible tide.

Quentin smiled at her. He’d smiled at her all night, as if he could hardly believe his luck that she was his wife. Any doubt she’d had that this was purely a marriage of convenience had long faded. After their glorious hours together last night, she was convinced that their union had begun just right, and the bond they built between them would only strengthen as the years went on.