His lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. “Then let me have ye, my heart.”
He kissed her then, deep and consuming, as his hands made quick work of the laces of her gown. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and she gasped as the cool air kissed her bare skin.
Niall’s eyes darkened as he took her in. “Ye are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He scooped her up, carrying her to the bed, and as he settled above her, his body pressing into hers, Charlie’s breathing quickened, anticipation coiling tight in her belly. He braced himself on his forearms, his body warm and solid against hers, the weight of him both comforting and electrifying.
His lips brushed over her jaw, trailing soft kisses down her throat. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “All day I’ve dreamed of this. I’ve barely been able to hold myself back.”
Charlotte arched into him, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. “Then stop dreaming.”
A deep growl rumbled in his chest, and then he was kissing her again, this time with an urgency that sent heat surging through her veins. His hands roamed over her body, calloused palms tracing every dip and curve.
She shivered as his lips moved lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses over the swell of her breasts. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, teasing her with slow strokes of his tongue until she was writhing beneath him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Niall,” she gasped, her body aching for more.
He lifted his head, his eyes burning with intensity. “Aye, my heart?”
She couldn’t find the words, so instead, she reached for him, her hands tugging at the folds of his plaid. Understanding flared in his gaze, and with one swift movement, he shrugged off the remaining barriers between them.
She smiled wickedly as she took him in—the strength of him, the raw masculinity of his body. But what undid her was the way he looked at her, as though she were his whole world.
He nudged her thighs apart, settling between them, his heat pressing intimately against her. “I love ye,” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint.
Charlie cupped his face, brushing her lips against his. “Likewise. Now give me what I want.”
With a groan, he entered her, slow and deliberate, giving her time to adjust. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intensity. She gasped, clutching at his back, pulling him deeper.
Niall stilled, his breath ragged. “God above, lass... ye feel like heaven.”
He began to move, each thrust slow and deep, as if memorizing every reaction, every shiver of pleasure that coursed through her. Charlie met him stroke for stroke, their bodies in perfect rhythm.
His name spilled from her lips as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, tightening and coiling until it finally shattered over her in waves. Niall followed moments later, his body shuddering as he found his own release, his grip tightening around her as if he never wanted to let go.
For a long while, they simply lay there, tangled together in the moonlight, their bodies still thrumming with the aftershocks.
Niall pressed a lazy kiss to her forehead, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine. “Mine,” he murmured fiercely. “Ye are mine.”
Charlotte smiled, pressing closer to him. “And you, Niall Campbell, are mine.”
“Yers,” he agreed, his voice already heavy with sleep. “Always yers.”
The night had settled into a hush, the only sounds the distant rustling of the wind through the trees and the slow, steady rhythm of Niall’s breathing beside her when Charlie jolted suddenly awake.
She opened her eyes, staring up at the wooden beams above their bed, her heart suddenly racing. She was sure somebody had been calling her name.
She blinked, trying to clear her foggy thoughts.A dream,she told herself.Just a dream.
Charlotte,a voice called almost beyond hearing.
Wait. That was no dream.
She shifted carefully, slipping out from beneath Niall’s embrace, pressing a kiss to his shoulder when he stirred but did not wake. The air was cool against her skin as she pulled on a robe and padded barefoot to the door.
The house was quiet and still as she made her way downstairs and through the door. As soon as she stepped outside, the night wrapped around her, vast and endless. The moon cast a silvery glow over the courtyard, illuminating the figure seated on the steps. Small, rotund, with a gray bun pinned to the back of her head.
Irene MacAskill.
