They had reached the ground floor, which was rough and dank, with only a few torches lit on the walls. “We are in the cellars?”
“We are in the cellars.” He pulled her into his arms. “Alana. Dinna deny me.”
In his arms, the shock dissipated. “I don’t know,” she managed to say.
His answer was to catch her face in his hands and kiss her again, as hard and passionately as before.
Desire exploded within her, and it was mindless, insane. She seized his shoulders, finally kissing him back.
He groaned, as their teeth caught, as their tongues met and mated. Then he pulled away, breathing hard, looking around. He pulled off his plaid, making a pallet on the stone floor, behind a pile of sacks of wheat. Before Alana could move, he had divested her of her mantle, which was fur-lined, and added that to the pallet he had just made. Kneeling, he looked up.
Her belly was hollow; she felt faint. She would worry about what she was doing tomorrow! Alana held out her hand.
He took it, rising, and guided her back into his arms, and as one, they sank onto the cloaks. Slowly, Iain came down on top of her, hooking the skirt of his leine in his belt. He smiled at her, but it belied the blaze in his eyes.
“Are ye a virgin?” he asked.
She nodded, trying not to glance at his erect manhood and then giving up. He was massively proud.
And his eyes blazed, clearly triumphant. “Do ye like what ye see? Are ye pleased with me?” he whispered roughly.
And he found her mouth. But this time, his lips were like feathers, gentle, plying and teasing.
Alana closed her eyes as pleasure washed over her. She was incapable of answering.
He feathered kisses down her neck and along the edge of her bodice, while pulling up her skirts. And then one of his strong knees moved between her thighs, opening them.
Alana cried out, her eyes flying open, as she seized his strong shoulders. Something ballooned in her heart. It was huge, buoyant—it felt like love.
“I need ye, Alana,” Iain said hoarsely. His expression strained, Iain seized her bodice and ripped open all her garments at once. He gathered her up, and she felt his penis against her, rock-hard and slick. Their gazes met.
The pleasure surging between them was stunning. Alana gasped and moved her calves over his back.
“Ye have amazed me as no other,” he murmured, and then he kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep.
Alana held him harder, clawing at him now, kissing him back.
He broke the kiss, panting, and rose up over her. Their eyes locked. And then he surged into her, crying out, grunting.
Alana cried out, as well. The pain was brief. Instead, pleasure blinded her.
She threw her legs higher around his waist. He slowed his rhythm, and their gazes met again. And the moment they did, she could no longer bear it. The pleasure became ecstasy.
* * *
HEPULLEDHERinto his arms. “Have I hurt ye?”
Alana labored to breathe. Her mind began to clear. They had just made love—explosively, mindlessly. “No.” Her heart was racing wildly, but it still held that huge, buoyant feeling, as well.
Still keeping one arm around her, he reached down and pulled off each boot in turn. Then he leaned over her to kiss one of her taut, still aching nipples. “I owe ye a gown.” He now reached between them and removed his belts. The sheathed swords hit the stone floors loudly.
Alana realized he had torn her clothing open from collarbone to navel. She began to blush. A torch was on the wall, somewhere behind them, and she lay in the light while he remained in shadows.
He laid his hand on her ribs, beneath her breasts. “Ye dinna have to hide from me. I have never seen as beautiful a woman.”
Her heart thundered. Desire returned, instantaneous.
Alana took his hand and moved it over her breast. “You do not have to flatter me.”
