Ailsa’s heart thumped again.
She had merely looked at Ewan when he’d removed his clothing; Ewan, by contrast, looked and acted. He returned his mouth to her breasts, kissing a wet path down her stomach, going lower and lower. It felt so powerfullygoodthat Ailsa didn’t quite register what he intended until he pressed the whole of his mouth to her center.
“Ewan!” she gasped, alight with pleasure and scandalized at the same time. “Ye can’t?—”
She reached down to grasp at his hair, to pull him away even though she wanted to press him even closer, but he caught her hand and pressed it firmly against the blankets.
“Aye,” he said sternly, his gaze hot and determined. “I can. Lay back, Ailsa. Let me taste ye.”
She moaned—first at his coarse, suggestive words, then at the swipe of his tongue against her sensitive places. He pillaged, searching for every place that made her gasp, twitch, moan. He found a sensitive spot at the apex of her thighs and gently sucked there, making Ailsa cry out so loudly that she feared they’d be overheard. When she tried to cover her mouth with a hand, though, Ewan again pushed her grip back to the blankets.
“Nay,” he said. His lips were swollen from his efforts. “Let me hear ye, wife.”
It did not even occur to her to disobey. She clutched the wool blanket in her fists so tightly that she feared it would never be the same as he feasted upon her, laving that sensitive spot with his tongue until Ailsa thought she would explode, then retreating, only to stoke her pleasure ever higher when he resumed his ministrations.
“Ewan,” she whimpered, needing to dosomethingbut not certain what. “Ye can’t?—”
This time, when she spoke the words, he gave her a light slap to her inner thigh. It was surprising more than painful, but the contrast between the sharp blow and the tender caresses of his mouth made her hips buck up, pushing herself briefly even more firmly against his mouth. She pulled back at once, mortified, though her embarrassment faded at his approving growl.
“Dinnae tell me what I cannae do, Ailsa,” he demanded, caressing her sensitive thighs, trailing down to her knees, then coming back up to her core. “The more ye do, the more I shall be tempted to prove to ye that I can. Do ye know how long I have waited for this day? I shan’t be rushed. I shall have ye well and truly pleasured, properly ready for me, before I take ye and make ye my wife in truth.”
His words alone were enough to force another garbled cry from her lips. The idea of Ewan longing for her, waiting for her, it inflamed her, made her burn just as hot as his touch against her skin did. He put his mouth upon her again, attacking her with unrelenting vigor until the pleasure outgrew her skin, until the coiling pressure inside her expanded and released, shuddering though her in waves.
She was still staring sightlessly at the ceiling, blinking the stars out of her eyes, when Ewan appeared in her field of vision, an unmistakablymalekind of smugness radiating off him.
“Now ye are ready for me,” he told her.
It took Ailsa a moment to grasp his meaning.
“Now I’m— Wait, nae, I can’t?—”
He cut her off with a growl. “What did I say to ye about saying what we can and cannae do?” he demanded.
She had arguments for this—he’d been talking about himself, not her, and what she could do was different, surely, it had to be—but she was interrupted by the blunt pressure of him against her. She braced herself for pain but…
But there wasn’t any. There was a strange sense of stretching, yes, and a touch of what she might call discomfort, but it wasn’t the startling pain she’d been led to expect based on the whispered gossip from other women of the clan.
“Oh,” she said, not even minding that no doubt she seemed foolish as could be. From the way that Ewan bent to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her throat, he didn’t mind either. He kept his progression forward, not precisely gentle but not hasty, either, until they were fully joined as one.
Husband and wife in body and spirit, she thought dazedly.
Ewan paused, pulling back his head to look down at her.
“Are ye well?” he asked, his voice raspy and strained.
She fretted, briefly, that this was hurtinghim—though she had never heard of such a thing—but then he thrust lightly against her, and she saw the pleasure in his expression that was followed by determination.
Something in her chest cracked open with the realization that his strain was because he was holding back because of her. To ensure her comfort.
Instinct led her to wrap her arms around him, then her legs, too.
“Aye,” she breathed.
It was marvelous, to feel all of him. And the twinges of stretching had faded, leaving behind the impression that shealsoneeded him to move. Desperately.
“I’m well. Please, Ewan.”
With a gusty sigh that sounded like relief, Ewan accommodated her request. He moved against her, motions strong and sure, and she felt so terribly lucky, at that moment, to have a husband like this; someone she could rely upon to be stalwart enough to carry them through any trouble or turmoil.
