With a fresh cloth, he cleaned her bruised cheekbone with a gentleness that almost made her weep. She covered his hand with hers and whispered, “This is why I love ye.”
“Because I tend yer wounds?” He huffed a soft laugh, then flashed that dimple that always stirred her.
“Aye,” she said. “The ones on the inside as well as those on the outside.”
“As ye do for me.” He drew her closer and ran the damp cloth down her throat and across her collarbones while easing the neckline of her shift wider open and encouraging the garment to fall into a pile at her feet. “Such beauty.”
Without taking her gaze from his, she unbuckled his belt and tossed it aside. His great kilt slipped to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his boots and léine. Heart pounding and burning with an ache to melt into him and have him melt into her, she slid her hands up under the softness of his linen shirt. The warm hardness of his rippling muscles caressed her palms as she pushed the cloth upward and off over his head. She teased her fingers through the dark blond hair dusting his chest and nibbled a trail of loving kisses in their wake.
His breathing hitched as he pulled her closer and molded his hardness against her. “I dinna think I will ever get enough of ye,” he said while nuzzling his way along her throat and even lower.
“Good.” She laced her fingers through his hair and tightened her hold. His searing kisses made it difficult to remain standing.
As if reading her mind, he swept her up, carried her to the bed, and eased her down into the nest of pillows. He paused long enough to kick off his boots before joining her. “We may miss the celebration.” He took her mouth while pulling her closer.
She arched into him, curled a leg over the muscular leanness of his hip, and squeezed. “This is the celebration.” She guided his mouth lower. He complied with a rumbling groan, licking and tasting as if she were his own personal feast.
“Sweeter than wild boar,” he teased.
“And not nearly as dangerous.” She shuddered and caught her lip between her teeth as he nibbled lower still.
“I wouldna say that.” He tickled her thighs farther apart, lowered his head, then drove her mad with artful flicks of his tongue.
No longer able to speak, she gave herself to the sheer delight of every sensation, fisting her hands in the bedclothes. A primeval cry escaped her as the delicious ecstasy crested, then crashed through her, wave after wave, making her buck for more. Hands buried in his hair, she pulled him up to her, arching to take him in. “I need ye. Now.”
“Good.” His kiss claimed her with an urgency as he settled between her thighs. He teased against her opening, then drove in deep with a long, low growl. “Never get enough,” he groaned, moving with a slow, pounding rhythm.
“Never,” she echoed, meeting him thrust for thrust. The hardness of his flexing muscles paired with the hot smoothness of his skin sliding against hers drove her even faster to explosive oblivion. His taste. His heat. Their scents mingled into one. The sensations branded her with the searing ancientness of mates bonding for life.
Then he slowed the primeval dance, his breathing strained and slow.
Stroking his sides, she arched to kiss him, moving her hips to urge him back to driving fast and hard.
“Slow down, m’love,” he rasped. “I want this to last longer.”
She squeezed the meaty cheeks of his arse and moved her hips more. “We can do slow when we are old. I need ye now.”
“I canna refuse ye.” He drove into her even fiercer than before.
And she exploded, screaming her bliss as he roared with his. He slumped across her, shuddering as they both struggled to catch their breath, still trembling with the delicious aftershocks of sensation.
“That was a proper consummation,” she said, loving the feel of him on top of her. He started to move, but she tightened her hold. “No, I like ye like this.”
“Am I not crushing ye?”
“Only in a good way.” She kissed his shoulder, reveling in the salty-sweet taste of him. A lazy, warm sleepiness lulled her inhibitions and made her say whatever popped into her head. “Yer bed is much nicer than mine.”
His laugh rumbled a delightful vibration through her. “This is yer bed now too, my precious one. As are these rooms.” He gave her a tender, lingering kiss, then lifted his head and smiled down at her. “I need ye in my bed each night and by my side every day.”
She teased her finger across his dimple. “I think we were meant to be,” she said softly. “Maybe that’s why the northern lights brought me to ye.”
“Perhaps so, my precious lady.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and lingered there for a long moment before lifting his head and smiling down at her again. “I say we toss obligations to the wind and let the clan celebrate without us. What say ye,mo ghráidh?”
There was a timid peck on the bedchamber door.
“I say our obligations have come a knocking, dear husband.” She caught his face between her hands and gave him a quick kiss. “We canna ignore them. It could be something to do with the bairns.”
A heavy sigh escaped him as he rolled off the bed and glared at the door. “Enter!”
