Lachlan couldn’t stand it. The burning in his chest intensified. Hearing her cries of pleasure—knowing that he was the one responsible—and not being able to see her face was killing him.
Before he realized what he was doing, he’d turned her over, laid her down gently on the plaid, and surged into her again. This time, holding her tightly under him.
She gasped, eyes wide.
He stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, a joyful smile curving her mouth. She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Nay. I love how you make me feel.”
Love. The look in her eyes…
Something shifted in his chest. Something he’d thought impossible.
Holding her gaze, he started to move. Long, slow, sensual strokes that dragged him deeper with every thrust. His jaw clenched against the raw pleasure surging inside him.
He was hot, heavy. Trying to make it last, but it felt too good.
Her lips parted. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes fell to half-lidded slits. Her breath started to come in sharp little gasps. Her fingers tightened in his shoulders…
And then her hips started to lift, meeting his thrust with one of her own.
It was too much. Sensation surged hard inside him. He couldn’t hold on. He pumped harder, grinding into her with each frantic stroke, needing to take her with him.
Her body arched. She started to cry out.
He let go, coming into her with a ferocity he’d never experienced before. Each pulse, each spasm, each sharp burst of pleasure seemed wrenched from the deepest part of him.
The entire time he was looking into her eyes. Being pulled in.
He barely had the strength to roll to the side before his muscles gave out. He collapsed beside her, breathing hard, more spent than he’d ever been in his life. Even being forced to run up the Cuillins during MacLeod’s training hadn’t taken so much out of him.
He was glad he was too exhausted to think for a while, because when he realized what he’d just done, the moments of sated bliss were all forgotten.
Shame burned in his gut. How could he have done that? How could he have tried to hurt her like that?
He’d played a dangerous game and lost. He’d wanted to prove to her that it didn’t mean anything, but it was he who’d been proved wrong. He could no longer deny it: He cared for her. More than he’d cared for anyone in his life.
And still he’d hurt her. What the hell was wrong with him?
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw.
She rolled on her side, gazing up at him, with a sad smile that ate at his conscience. “I know.”
She didn’t know anything. She didn’t understand him, damn it. She looked at him like he was someone he wasn’t. Like she saw something in him that wasn’t there. She expected too much from him. He could never be the man she wanted him to be. Didn’t she know he would always hurt her?
A storm of conflicting emotions unfurled inside him. Longing. Resentment. Confusion. Anger. She was twisting him up in knots, making him forget what was important.
His jaw clenched. “This doesn’t change anything.”
She stared at him for a long moment. He steeled himself against the shadow of hurt in her eyes. “So it was just fucking, is that right, Lachlan?”
She threw the ugly word back at him like a taunt, daring him to agree with her.
His chest pounded. He felt as if the walls were closing in. As if he were walking into a dark tunnel. Why couldn’t she stop pushing him? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?
Freedom, damn it. No ties.
He looked her right in the eye. “Aye.”
