Page 124 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
He let his hands do most of the work. His palms moved over her shoulders, her sides, the dip of her waist, as if he wanted to memorize all of it before he allowed himself to want more.
Ava felt heat gather low in her belly. She pressed closer and felt his breath quicken against her temple.
“Ciaran…”
“I ken,” he said.
His hand slid lower, and she felt him cup the heat between her legs through the thin linen of her shift. Her hips moved of their own accord, pressing into his touch.
He kept the pressure steady and slow, and she gripped his shoulders tight and said nothing. There was nothing left to say that her body was not already saying plainly. Even when he laid her on the bed.
When he slipped his fingers beneath the linen, she made a short, sharp sound.
He stroked her with intent, watching her face the whole time. She could feel that even with her eyes half-closed, the weight of his attention, the fact that he was taking note of every breath she drew and every shift of her hips.
Heat built fast, and she was close enough that her thighs had begun to tremble when he withdrew his hand.
Ava opened her eyes to find him looking at her with an expression that made her heart flutter.
She decided to reach for him this time around.
Her hand found his hard length through his trousers, and the sound that left him was low and primal. She worked her hand slowly and felt him stiffen against her.
“Ava.” Her name came out rough.
“Aye?”
His hand closed around her wrist and held it still. “Nae yet.”
He stripped the last of what lay between them until they were fully naked. Then he notched his full length against her entrance. She exhaled slowly at the weight of it.
He held himself there for one moment, braced above her, and looked at her face. “Are ye ready?”
“Aye,” she responded without hesitation.
When he pressed forward, she felt the stretch and sucked in a sharp breath.
He paused.
She shifted her hips slightly, and he moved again, deeper this time. She turned her face into his shoulder with a sound that she would have been ashamed of a week ago.
He stayed still, letting her adjust to his size.
God.
Then he began to move.
He was slow at first, each stroke deliberate. Her hands found his back, and she held on while the pace built slowly and relentlessly. She could hear her own breath break and hitch with each snap of his hips. She tilted into him. He changed the angle, and she gasped and dug her fingers into his back.
“There,” she breathed. “There, daenae stop.”
He did not stop.
The room had narrowed to sensation, to his body and hers, to the heat building between them with nowhere left to go. She could feel himeverywhere. She could feel the restrained force as well and the effort it cost him to hold back.
“Ciaran.” His name came out wrecked.
“Aye. Let go,” he murmured against her hair.
