Knox withdraws slowly, almost completely, before driving back into me with a force that sends me sliding up the table. His hands tighten on my hips, holding me in place as he sets a rhythm that has me gasping.
“My fiancée,” he growls, the possessive edge in his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “Mine.”
“Yours,” I agree breathlessly, my hands reaching for purchase on the smooth surface of the table. “Always yours.”
The sight of him above me, chest gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, muscles rippling with each powerful movement, his kilt bunched around his waist is nearly more than I can take. His eyes never leave mine, that intense green gaze searing into me.
I feel the familiar tension building low in my stomach, that pressure that signals I’m close. Knox must sense it, too, because one hand leaves my hip to slide between us, his thumbfinding the sensitive bundle of nerves. He circles it with expert precision, his rhythm never faltering as he drives into me.
“Oh god, Knox!” I cry out as the first waves of pleasure crash through me. I clench around him, pulsing with each surge of my orgasm.
Knox slows his movements, watching me with dark eyes as I come apart. When the final tremors subside, he starts to withdraw, but I catch his wrist.
“Wait,” I say, my voice husky with satisfaction. A new desire forms, wicked and urgent. “I want to watch you.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Watch me what,mo ghràidh?”
I push myself up on my elbows, feeling deliciously languid. “I want to watch you finish yourself off.”
His eyes widen, then darken with fresh arousal. “Christ, Juliette.”
He steps back, his hand wrapping around his thick length. “Like this?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper as his large hand moves deliberately up and down his shaft.
I nod, mesmerized by the sight. “God, yes.”
He stands between my spread legs, his kilt bunched around his waist, revealing the powerful muscles of his thighs as he works himself with increasing urgency. His eyes drink me in, roaming over my exposed body splayed before him, my heaving breasts, the ring glinting on my finger, the slick evidence of my pleasure still visible between my thighs.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Knox groans, his pace quickening, muscles tensing across his abdomen. I can see the exact moment his control fractures, his jaw clenching tight.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
I meet his gaze, my pulse racing. His hand moves faster, his breathing ragged. Then, with a guttural groan, one that seems torn from the deepest part of him, Knox erupts. Thefirst hot pulse lands on my stomach, then another across my breasts. I gasp at the sensation, watching as his release paints my skin where it pools in the hollow of my throat, more streaking across my trembling thighs.
“Fuck.” He shudders as the last of his release fades, leaving him spent. Cum glistens on my flushed skin, marking me as thoroughly his, just like the ring on my finger.
Knox braces himself against the table, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. When his eyes meet mine, they’re filled with a mix of satisfaction and reverence. “Look at you,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “You’re a fucking vision.”
My cheeks flush, but it’s not embarrassment. I feel claimed in the best way. Worshipped and wild. The heat between us hasn’t eased. If anything, it’s intensified. I trail my finger through the wetness on my stomach, bringing it to my lips. His eyes track the movement, pupils dilating as I taste him.
“You’re going to kill me,” he groans, leaning down to capture my mouth in a bruising kiss.
When he pulls away, his expression shifts to something tender. He disappears for a second, returning with a warm, damp cloth. With gentle strokes, he wipes the evidence of us from my skin.
His touch doesn’t spark lust this time. Instead, it sparks something deeper that whispers,you’re safe here.
Without a word, he scoops me up like I’m light as air. No big deal. Just a six-foot-something Highlander hauling around his emotionally overwhelmed fiancée.
I bury my face in his shoulder, completely boneless. It’s the only way to survive the whiplash of being worshipped and ruined in the same breath.
If this is what love feels like when it’s good and real and wrapped in trust…then he can have all of me. Tomorrow, the next day, and every single one after that.
forty-five
JULIETTE
SIX MONTHS LATER
The world outside Knox’s house—ourhouse—is finally waking up to spring. The air is lighter, almost like it’s celebrating the start of something new along with me.
