Page 25 of This Laird of Mine

Taking her silence as acceptance, his fingers came down and brushed the upper swell of her breast.

She shivered, and the muscles of her stomach contracted in response.

“If we do this,” he said, his voice as heavy and sensual as his gaze, “it won’t mean anything.”

She arched against him. That was the old Jules talking—the man who used to be a womanizer. Now, he was a married man. “It will mean everything,” she countered. It would mean the consummation of their previously unconsummated marriage, and more.

He groaned and shifted away from the intimate press of their bodies.

Instead of releasing him, Claire brushed her hand down his wet shirt, found the edge and teased it up.

His hands came down on hers. “The shirt stays on.”

The muscles of his stomach were clenched and locked beneath her palms. She met his gaze as she returned her hands to his chest, stroking the hardened muscles beneath. Some of his tension eased, yet passion still burned in his eyes.

Surely it was not embarrassment that kept his body shielded to her. She had seen earlier today that he was strong and muscular when he had been cutting wood. What mysteries would she see up close that she had not seen from afar?

In that moment, a warm breeze lifted his tawny hair from his forehead and molded the material of his shirt to his chest, the same wind that caressed her cheeks. She became acutely aware of the water lapping softly against the shore, the spongy grass beneath her bare feet. The air seemed suddenly thick and hard to breathe.

“Your shirt matters not to me.”

He drew a deep breath, as though he too were affected by the breeze and the moment.

The heat of his gaze was a physical thing on her flesh. “I can take you, enjoy you, then walk away.”

Shock tingled through her—shock at his words that so closely mirrored what she intended to do, and shock at the desire that still flared, causing her breasts to swell, harden, and ripen beneath that gaze. He had barely touched her skin, but her body was preparing. “I would like to see you try.”

His hands went to the hem of her wet gown. He tugged it up over her head, taking her chemise along with her dress, exposing her fully to the warmth of the sunshine and to his heated gaze. “That is a challenge I readily accept.” He tunneled his fingers through her hair and tipped back her head. But instead of lowering his mouth to hers, he dipped farther down and touched his tongue to her nipple.

She arched her spine, welcoming the intimacy of his touch. Heat blazed through her, and she prayed the same was true for him. As much as she burned, she wanted to make certain she would become an elixir that was every bit as vital to him as the air he breathed.

He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Do you find that pleasant?”

“Very.”

“And this?” His head bent, his tongue touched her other nipple, flicking it into a hardened nub.

Need flared deep inside, as did the edge of panic. Her stomach clenched. She might have wanted to control this situation, but in carnal matters she was but a novice to his master. She brought her hands up to tunnel in his hair, holding him to her. The silky feel of his hair against her fingers sent a tingle of desire to her core. Her heart was beating so fast, she was certain he could hear it, that the world, as vast and wide as it was, had now shrunk to just Jules and herself.

His hands cupped her breasts, trailed along her sides, until he reached her bare buttocks. His hands opened and closed on her, urging her into the cradle of his hips. Arousal. Stark, bold, and pulsing provocatively against her nakedness. Suddenly his clothing became a barrier to whatever awaited them both.

With trembling fingers she reached down and released the ties of his breeches. She eased the fabric over his muscular hips and thighs. He pushed his clothing aside, leaving him gloriously naked from the waist down, and fully aroused. She needed him against her, skin to skin, more than she needed to breathe.

He shifted over her, and she shivered in anticipation as he parted her thighs and moved between them. His hand fluttered across her abdomen, then rose slowly, with languid anticipation to close about her breast. Her breath caught, hitched as he kneaded, explored, and sent her heart racing.

His other hand fluttered down her side, past her waist, then slid slowly over her bottom, pressing her upward to greet him with a promise that was both explicit and seductive. Unfettered desire shone in his eyes as he caressed her breast, stroked her bottom, and filled her mouth, the heavy thrust of his tongue mimicking what he intended, and what she urgently desired.

Her senses reeled as she followed his lead into a void where only sensation existed. His hand left her breast to cup her womanhood, stroking, patting, until his fingers delved in her wet heat, stroked, then penetrated. He thrust forward, spreading her, preparing her.

Her body arched as he pressed deeper. She moaned, the sound trapped in their kiss. She pressed upward, wanting more, needing more than his fingers offered. As if in response to her unspoken plea, his fingers moved away and the blunt head of his erection took their place. He entered her, then stopped, not moving. He looked down at her, his eyes wide. “A virgin?” he asked, his voice raw with need.

“Of course,” she said through a haze of lust. “What did you expect?”

“I didn’t think.” The pain of his restraint tugged at his features. “I should pull back . . .”

Every nerve in her body was on fire as he hovered half in, half out of her. She couldn’t let him go. Not now. Their joining would mean something to him. It must. Claire brought her hips up and lunged forward.

His eyes closed and a groan of ecstasy escaped him as her tightness closed around him. “Damnation.” He plunged hard and deep.