To Isla, it seemed as though he were talking almost more to himself than to her. It was as though he were marveling over the wonder that was her body. She let out a little gasp of surprise when his lips found the curve of her leg. His hand was sliding up her inner thigh, searching for her center. She let out little noises that had originated in the back of her throat, thrusting her hips up, telling him without speaking that she was in desperate need of his touch.
Her eyes flew open when his hand found its mark. She was being taken to that brink of pleasure again, ferried away to a place where there was nothing but passionate desire and mind-numbing satisfaction. Her legs spread themselves slightly without her thinking, and before she knew it, she rocked herself against him. The sensation was like ice melting away in a scorching fire; so intense was the feeling.
His hands moved slowly, rotating around in a tantalizing circular motion. She was in awe of how attuned he was with her body and could only marvel at how every touch consumed her mind. She opened her eyes to see him studying her expression, his gaze locked on her face. The way he looked at her only added to the pleasure she felt; his stare was so heavy that she imagined that she could feel his stare against her skin.
His chiseled chest against her breast puffed out in a sigh that she could only read as contentment. She reached up to brush the soft bristles along his jaw, like the soft fuzz of a new peach. He was wonderfully gentle in this moment; she told herself that she would commit to memory how his face relaxed and his eyes smiled.
The Laird shifted so that he was hovering above her once again, his breath hot and heaving on her neck. His frame covered her completely, like a shield, and a comforting feeling built up in her chest; he did not have to speak for his body to say that he would protect her, that she was safe with him.
For the first time since they had met, Isla did not wonder whether or not it was true. It was a simple fact that he would guard her against harm, no matter what came her way.
It was as true as rain coming from the clouds or the sun rising with the day each morning.
* * *
Isla could be no more beautiful to him if she tried.
Iain had not been able to tear his eyes away from her face, so expressive in her pleasure. It seemed as though she enjoyed every little touch of his skin against her own, as though she were drinking him as well. Iain found that every moment with her was intoxicating and now was no different.
He let another flurry of kisses fly against her lips, and she accepted each one gratefully. She stretched her neck, leaning upwards to slide her own tongue against his Adam's apple, and he swallowed hard. He had so longed to touch the dream woman like this, had desired her so much in his slumber sometimes that it had hurt to wake up. Now that he was getting what he had wanted for two long years, he was nearly dizzied with the joy and the apprehension he felt.
His manhood was throbbing against her, pulsating with a strong desire and need that he knew he had to fulfill. He adjusted himself slightly at her entrance and looked into her eyes, looking for the answer to a question he did not have to ask. She replied by jerking her head in a nod, just a dip of her pointed chin, and pulling him into her warm arms.
At that moment, Iain pushed forward slowly, parting her soft folds as he entered her, being as gentle as he could bear to.
Isla gasped beneath him, and he stopped.
"Do ye want me tae stop?" he asked, concern in his voice. "I'm sorry, I —"
"No, no," she said, looking up at him with her eyes, so big and blue. "Dinnae stop, please, I dinnae think I can bear it if ye do."
He kept going then, engulfing himself within her. His hands trailed up to stroke her hair, her face. She was biting down on her lip, smiling ever so slightly when he'd gone as far as he could go. He let himself rest there for a few moments, enjoying the sensation of being one with her.
She looked more than beautiful to him there in that moment, her pitch-black hair framing her face in such a contrasting way that he could not help but stare. Her cheeks were blushing a rosy red that, standing out against her white skin, if he could, he would press his lips to them forever. He would be glad to do it.
He trailed his fingers in her soft locks as he slowly moved himself away, pulling ever so slightly out. It tore a groan of protest from her, and she instinctively moved her hips forward to meet him. Iain then increased the rhythm in which he thrust his hips, one hand moving down to rest lightly upon her shoulder. This motion proved enough to tear out little cries of need from her, and Iain felt himself reeling from the sound. She had no idea the effect she had on him, how much she enchanted him simply by being so stunning in his presence.
He kept this pace up, only grasping at her legs and lifting them to better leverage himself. Isla's nails trailed along his back and hair, not allowing any inch of him to go untended. Her fingertips massaged the muscles in his shoulder blades as he bucked his hips forward, and she cried out in pleasure.
I cannae believe this is happening; this is really her, the woman who has haunted my dreams for all these years.
It was like a dream in itself or a gift from the heavens somehow. And she was so perfect somehow as well; she was blessed with wit and beauty and was more than capable of handling herself. It was too much to believe, too good to be true.
And yet, here she was.
He trailed his hands along the soft curve of her cheeks, feeling how indescribably soft she was. Iain allowed himself to cup her face in his hands as their bodies merged together again and again. He felt more than tender here; it was a sensation he had not allowed himself in so long. The emotion was nearly overwhelming.
Iain was about to fall into her completely. He had increased his speed until he was gasping for air, and Isla looked as though she would completely come undone. As soon as he thought that, her breath began to pick up, and then she let out a cry that pierced the sky. The image of her like this proved too much for Iain to bear, and he gasped as he released himself into her warmth. He trembled for a moment, feeling her quivering against him, and pulled away from her, laying down on the dew-covered grass.
The two stayed like that for a long moment. Iain leaned back, catching his breath, and watched as Isla's cheeks lost that rosy hue that their intimate act had turned them.
Neither Iain nor Isla spoke for a few minutes; they simply listened to the songbirds come alive around them and watched the mist lift from the moors. It was an act of companionship in its own right; Iain simply watched the horizon, enjoying her company as she sat at his side and did the same.
"I think we could use another dip in the loch after that," she said, breaking the silence between them.
A surprised laugh came tumbling out of his lips, and she followed suit. It had not been often that he had heard her laugh, and the sound was like little tinkling silver bells of purity.
"Aye," he said, allowing the joy he felt to reach his eyes. "That we should. I dinnae think I would turn down another swim."
