He positioned himself at the end of the bench, lifting her leg, bringing one of her ankles to rest on his shoulder. The soft light from the fire complimented her fair coloring, highlighting the light and darker golden streaks in her hair. He refused to look away, afraid this was a dream, fearing she’d disappear as easily as the wisps of smoke rising to the opening in the roof. “What would you have me do, sweet one?” He’d do anything, she need only ask.
“Pleasure me…”
Had he heard her correctly? “Do you know what you are saying?”
She raised her head. “All I ask is that ye doona take my maidenhead. If that is too much of a burden for ye, I understand. I want to wait until after I marry.”
He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, committing her golden perfection to memory. He’d never let her go now. “Know this, Miran MacKay. Once I have ye, once I taste the forbidden pleasures of your body, you are mine. There is no going back. If another man touches you, I will kill him. Honor demands it, and so does my heart.”
Her green eyes narrowed, and he knew she was listening this time. Her life would never be the same, she’d have to yield to his claim, respect that she would become his wife upon their return to Sands Airgid. And once they were married, he would claim all of her, including the maidenhead she kept locked away like an untouchable treasure.
“Do ye mean…”
“You will marry me, Miran. No more games.”
Her gaze raked up and down his naked body, stopping on his manhood. She sighed. “Ye are beautiful, carved from stone, I think. Not of this world, Prince Kuresh.”
For some unknown reason, hearing that name come from her enticing mouth did not offend him. In fact, it made his manhood throb. “What is your decision?”
“I will marry ye,” she said.
All he needed to hear, for before she finished her thought, he lowered his face between her legs, burying his tongue deep inside her, watching her writhe and lift her hips, begging for release. Aye, he’d give it to her.
As she peaked, he covered her slight body with his, seeking the warmth and sweetness of her mouth and the wicked tongue that had torn him down and built him back up on many occasions. Aye, his Miran—his sweet Highland lass.
