He didn’t look at her as he said it, as if meeting her gaze might let her see a part of him that he was not ready for her to lay eyes on.
She knew that she could have pressed for more, but he had already given her as much as he was willing to. Whatever it was, whatever pain still lived inside of him, he could not spill it in a single night.
He needed her to show him that she was not going anywhere, that she was willing to care for him as more than just a matter of course, but because she wanted to.
Because she needed to.
She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair, guiding a few dark strands back from his face so she could look at himproperly. To her, for so long, he had looked like he had been carved from marble, so cold and so hard that reaching anything beneath the surface seemed impossible.
Even now, she could still sense it in him, but she could tell that he wanted to lay himself open for her, even if it hurt, even if it went against every inch of his good sense in the process.
She moved to his lap, wrapping her arms around him.
“Ye dinnae have to be of stone with me,” she murmured. In the flicker of the firelight, something glinted in his eyes.
“I’ll hurt ye,” he warned.
His instinct, it seemed, was still to try and push her away in any way he could. But she was done with that. Done with the way he tried to play with her, the front he put up to try to convince her that there was not a greater man who lived beneath the surface.
“Ye’ve already done that,” she murmured, tracing her fingertip over his cheek. “Now, do something with that hurt, Tavish.”
And, before she could say another word, at last, he seemed to realize what it was she wanted from him.
His lips found hers, caressing along her mouth gently, as though they were starting to speak a whole new language to each other.
And, as she deepened the kiss, proving to him that she would not pull back nor deny him, he rose to his feet, gathering her into his arms, and making his way out of the study and along the hall to where his quarters waited for them.
He did not break their kiss for an instant, the sweetness of it coursing through every inch of her till she felt like she might overflow.
And when he laid her down on the bed and looked upon her, there were none of the games that he had played before; noneof the back and forth that had seen both of them trying to take command of the situation.
No, at last, it felt like she had seen part of him that was real, part of him that he was not trying to shape or hide or give her reason to second-guess. And all she wanted was to lose herself to it, once and for all. To give herself to her husband as she had wanted to on her wedding night.
“I must taste every inch of ye, lass,” he growled to her, his voice laced with such a hunger it almost scared her.
He moved on top of her on the bed, his hands running along the length of her arms, their mouths not breaking from their impassioned kiss for even a second. It felt like they were speaking a whole new language to one another, a language that only the two of them could come close to understanding, breathing words into each other’s mouths that were meant only for each other.
She could feel his hardness stirring against her hip, insistent, but he hardly paid attention to it, letting his hands pin hers to the bed above them. She lifted her hips to move against him, some deep instinct getting the better of her, guiding her body in all the ways that she needed in this first time.
“Say it, then,” he commanded her. “Say what ye want fae me.”
“What ye did on our wedding night,” she breathed. “Whatever ye did, I need it, I need more, I need… I need…”
The pleasure was already starting to pool between her thighs, just as it had done when he had first touched her, but this time, she knew there would be no end to it. Their lips crashed together again, and there was no need to put it into words any longer.
He undressed her slowly, kissing each exposed inch of skin as the fabric fell away as though he was greeting her anew. Even though his stubble was rough, his lips were soft, almost exploratory, like he was discovering her for the very first time.
“Show me, lass,” he growled to her as he let his teeth catch against her skin. “Show me how much you want me. Let me hear ye…”
She let out something between a moan and a whimper, and she felt him grinning against her. As if in reward, he pulled away her bodice and drew her nipple into his mouth, her lips parted and her lashes fluttered, his teeth grazing against the nut-brown of her breast as she cradled his head to the spot.
Once he had entirely stripped the dress from her body, he took his time with her underthings; her petticoat unwrapped from her like a gift, her body laid out beneath him like it was his for the taking.
She half-expected to feel anxious—the first time she was on display for him like this—but the way his grey eyes drank her in, it was impossible to think of anything but how much she ached for him, too.
“Ye’re perfect, wife, and all mine, at last,” he murmured, almost awestruck, as he ran his hands over her hips, the curve of her waist.
His voice was slightly hoarse, but there was no inch of doubt or second-guessing to it. He meant it, each and every word, and the knowledge sent another shudder of need through her, the warmth pulsating between her legs.
