He thrust deep, his cock begging for relief.
A whimper escaped her lips and she pressed her mouth tight.
Sin gripped the back of her neck with one hand held onto her hip with the other, pulling her down to meet his drives. He fucked her harder. Faster.
Winnifred bit her lower lip, her shoulders tensing.
Leaning over her, he whispered, “Is there something you need to say,mo chridhe?” He skimmed the hand at her hip down to graze her pouting clit.
Her mouth opened on a silent gasp, her hips jerking back on him in her desperate spiral.
He licked the tendon straining in her neck before biting down.
Her whimper only spurred him on. She wouldn’t be thinking about MacConnell or her life before Sin. Not now. “I want to hear you scream my name. You have permission for that.”
She wailed, her dewy skin flushing pink all over, “Siiiin.” His name was a tortured groan. A plea. The best fucking sound he’d ever heard.
Planting one foot by her side, he fucked his wife for all he was worth. The ride was wilder than any runaway horse, any country race.
The slap and squelch of their bodies melded with his grunts. With her moans every time he hit bottom. Lightning raced along his cock and fire pooled low in his ballocks. They pulled up tight as Winnifred’s shoulder muscles hardened to stone.
The need for release was overwhelming. He shouted as he spilled into her, pulse after pulse of his seed filling his woman, and he ground his finger against her clit. Her core clamped hard around him as she cried out, and he circled her nub, trying to drag out the excruciating moment for as long as possible.
It wasn’t long enough. It would never be enough. He collapsed on top of her, pinning her frame, keeping her from ever escaping.
A log in the fireplace popped, and the skin of his back cooled. Finding her hands, he interlaced their fingers together and rolled to his side, wrapping their hands around her middle.
When he’d gained a wife, he’d felt the lure of possession. As Winnifred revealed her soul bit by bit, like a sultry little dance of seven scarves, his feelings had bordered on obsession.
Now, something else took root under his breast.
He buried his nose in her hair and kissed the back of her head.
Something that felt an awful lot like love.
Chapter Eighteen
Everything ached. The muscles in her shoulders and thighs. The bruises on her hips. The soreness between her thighs.
Winnifred shifted with a groan. Sin had been right. She didn’t want to rise from bed this morn.
Rolling onto her back, she stared at the cathedral ceiling of the bed and reveled in the luxury of the silk sheets. They were good aches, she decided. The fatigue one felt after a long and successful day of running experiments. Twinges that would remind her of the day before with every move she made.
She’d let Sin strip her of all control. Reduce her to her basest self. She waited for the flood of panic to crush her. It never came.
Sin had seen her at her worst. Her wildest. She’d behaved in ways her mother had never come close to.
And he’d accepted it. Taken pleasure in it. Shown her how to discover her own bliss in the storm of passion in return.
Her husband had shown her so much and she would forever be grateful. Expanded her constrained world and let her explore her limits. He truly was a dear man.
Her stomach growled, and she rubbed a hand over her abdomen. She could wait for the maid to bring her breakfast, but there were guests in the house. The thought of entertaining them left her feeling nothing but calm. A smile nudged her lips. Her frenzies when alone with Sin were their own private moments. They didn’t reflect her behavior the rest of her day.
She pressed a hand to her heart, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t broken.
Throwing her covers off, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and dropped to her feet. She winced at her first step but by the time she rung for her dressing maid, her steps were even.
Sheena breezed into the room. “’Morning, milady.” Her abigail flung open the door to the dressing room, chattering like a magpie. “Going doon to break your fast this morn? I dunnae blame ye. Have ye seen the Earl of Summerset?” The girl held up a blue-stripped satin gown, and Winnifred nodded approval. “Of course, ye’ve seen him. He’s the laird’s friend, but cor, is he handsome.”
