Beloved Highlander

“Hurting?” he mocked. “Hurting! I mean ye’ll kill me with pleasure, lass.”

Meg stared, and then she smiled. Gregor found himself unable to look away from her, she was so gorgeous. Her blue, blue eyes alight with laughter, her luscious lips curling up at the corners and that sweet gap between her front teeth. He wanted to eat her up. He wanted to…

He lifted her up out of her chair and set her on her desk. Right on top of her book and her papers. The ink well tipped over and rolled off, thudding onto the rug, dripping ink everywhere. Meg tried to wriggle out of his grip, looking in horrified dismay at the mess he had made, but Gregor was in no mood to stop and wait for her to set things to rights. She’d run away from him. Instead he slid his hands under her skirts, running them up the soft length of her thighs. His finger found that moist, hot place and slipped within.

Meg forgot the ink and the figures to be tallied and everything else. She gazed into his amber eyes, and then her lashes swept down in an attempt to hide her own reaction. But he knew. He could feel her passion building, until it was as hot as his.

Savoring the moment and her eager response, Gregor claimed her mouth again. And this time when she kissed him back, her hands sought under his kilt, finding him, holding him. He gave a shaky laugh, and moved between her open thighs, feeling her stockinged legs wrap around him.

He wanted her, Meg, with a need that was beyond his ken. Never before had a woman had this effect on him.

Bewildered by his own reactions, trying to hold back, while the urge to thrust hard and deep inside her was savage, Gregor stilled. He took a breath, and slowly released it, regaining some sense of control.

Meg moaned, moving her hips, and digging her fingers into his hard buttocks beneath the kilt.

“Ye want me, Meg,” he said, and there was no laughter in his voice now, no gentle teasing. It was a statement of fact.

Her lips trembled, tears filled her brilliant eyes. “Oh, I do, Gregor. I do, I do…”

“Hush,” he murmured. “’Tis all right, Meg. I just needed ye to say it. A vow, if ye like. I needed to hear it.”

She managed a shaky smile, and then her eyes went dazed, as

he entered her the first little way, stretching her, trying to ignore the tremor in his own hands. “Meg,” he whispered. “Let me in, morvoren.”

“Yes,” she said in a husky voice. “Gregor, yes.”

He thrust deep, and then adjusting the tilt of her hips, thrust deeper still. Meg gripped her legs tighter about him, holding him inside her. He felt the little quakes and shivers already beginning in her. He had never known a woman so quick to come to pleasure. Gregor was tempted to withdraw, to make her wait, but he was too hot himself. So he thrust again, deep as he could, scattering more papers to the floor and sending Meg’s precious teacup after them.

Meg cried out in ecstasy, her head thrown back, her hair tumbling about her. Abruptly she went soft and limp in his arms, but Gregor had not finished with her yet. Lifting her, still joined to her, he sat himself down in her chair and settled her comfortably upon his lap. Her lashes lifted lazily, and she looked at him with glittering blue eyes.

“I can feel you,” she said, moving a little, rubbing herself against the length of his erection, her hands resting upon his chest for leverage.

He groaned softly, planting his own hands firmly upon her bottom to hold her still. “Wait,” he murmured. “Wait until I cool down a little, and then it will last longer.”

Meg gave him a wickedly teasing smile. “I don’t think so,” she said, and began to move against him, watching his face as she did so.

Gregor felt himself dissolving inside her, lost in her tight heat. He resisted for a moment more, gritting his teeth, but she had his measure. She leaned forward and began to kiss him, not for a moment stopping her sensual up and down movement. Her tongue mated with his, doing a dance he found impossible to resist.

She won. He erupted forcefully within her, arching his back and crying out so loudly, Meg put her hand across his lips to smother the noise. But she was laughing. Doubled over with it, clinging to him, tears running down her cheeks. He held her in his arms, rocking her, content to wait.

“Do you think they know?” she asked at last, lying quiet and restful against him.

“Who knows what?” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

“The servants. Do you think they know what we have been doing?”

“Och, Meg, who cares what they know or what they think?”

Meg tilted her head and gave him a look. “You may not care, but I do. You are very arrogant to speak like that, Gregor Grant.”

Gregor lifted a lazy dark brow. “I am arrogant. Or I was. Now I am beyond caring. There is too little of pleasure in this world, Meg. Better to take what you can, when you can, and bugger what anyone else says to it.”

She considered that unembellished advice a moment, and then she sighed and lay her head back against his shoulder. “Maybe you’re right,” she acceded.

Gregor smiled to himself. “Does that mean you have stopped running away from me and hiding?”

“I didn’t run away from you, nor did I hide!”