“There’s never been a normal MacTavish, my bride,” I bend down to whisper in her ear.
“As close to normal as possible, then.”
Running my thumb across her wedding ring, I nod. “Ye know what normal newlyweds do?”
Her brows draw together. “Uh, what specifically?”
“They kiss,” I murmur, the tip of my tongue darting out to trace the soft shell of her ear. “Passionately.” My hand cups her cheek, my thumb finding her chin and pushing it up. The moment my mouth is on hers, the music disappears, the noise of the crowd, the press of bodies around us.
This was the kiss I should have given Sophie that night in my father’s study. The night I married her.
My lips press against hers, my tongue sliding along the seam of her lips and slipping in to twine with hers. Taking her little gaspinto my mouth and growling just slightly as I pull away, nipping her bottom lip lightly.
“Nothing normal about that kiss.” I stroke my thumb along her jawline. “Nothing average. That was perfection. If I dinnae take ye home right now, I’m stripping that fancy dress off ye in the middle of this ballroom and having ye right here.”
Sophie sways, licking her lips.
“Come along, wife. Time to go.”
***
Seanair, Seanmhair - Scots Gaelic for grandfather and grandmother.
Chapter Fifteen
Michael…
I haul Sophie out of the car with more urgency than grace, barking over my shoulder at Ian and Kyle. “That will be all for tonight.”
There’s a whisper of a giggle from behind me where my bride is hovering, and I sweep her off her feet, taking the steps two at a time. She’s a little tense, muscles tight in my grip but she wraps her arms around my shoulders, leaning in to run the tip of her nose along my neck. We’re in my bedroom in seconds and I kick the door shut behind me.
Then, doubts assail me.
Can you really trust her?
Are ye thinking with your big head or your little head?
Are ye sure this is wise?
She sits on my bed, looking up at me, biting her lip, and feck, I’m instantly hard. I take a deep breath. I’m being a selfish feck. I dinnae care about outcomes or risk assessments. Sophie’s the only thing I’ve wanted for myself. Not for my fecking duty to the clan. For me.
I’m taking her.
Her eyes are wide, lit by the moonlight shining through the window, looking up at me.
“Christ, you’re a vision,” I say, trailing my fingertips down the pale slope of her neck. They catch on her heavy diamond necklace and I use it to pull her closer to me. The chain bites into her skin, leaving a red mark as she lets out a breathy little moan. “Give me your mouth.”
Sophie’s back arches as she tilts her head up, lips half parted.
This second kiss makes our first, exploratory touch on the dance floor shrink into a fragment of a memory. The feel of her lips is incendiary, burning through my system and lighting up nerve endings like match tips. Her mouth is sweet, warm, and I thrust my tongue between her lips with a groan, tracing her teeth, sucking her tongue into my mouth as a gasp escapes her open lips.
Gently pushing her back onto the mattress, I stare down at her. Sophie. Finally, my wife. In my bed.
All mine.
Pulling her leg up, I rest it against my shoulder as I pull her shoe off, kissing her ankle, then the smooth line of her calf, bending down to trace my tongue along the thin skin of her inner thigh. The slit in her dress falls open for me, letting me see each inch of skin revealed and when I reach the flimsy barrier of her knickers, there’s a wet patch on the silk, making me give a guttural chuckle.
“Have ye been waiting for this moment, too,Dealain-dè,little butterfly? Wondering how my mouth will feel on ye?” Kneeling, I place a gentle kiss on the wet silk and spread her legs wider, bracing my shoulders between them.
