Slowly. Steadily.
The pleasure coiled tighter until it became almost unbearable. Sweat beaded upon her skin; the words she’d whispered earlier dissolved into incoherent moans.
She was lost—and never wanted to be found.
Then ecstasy crested. Her cry echoed through the trees as it pulsed and twisted through her womb.
Panting, she lay boneless, floating.
A moment later, Ailean moved over her once more. Staring up at his face, she marked how dark his eyes were, how swollen his lips. Reaching up, she slid her hands down the hard planes of his chest, mapping every detail—the smoothness of his skin, his pebbled nipples.
Her hands wandered lower, over the flat plane of his belly, to where his shaft strained. Her fingers curved around it, and she marveled at its strength—the smooth, almost velvety skin stretched taut over steel.
His length jerked in her grasp, welcoming her touch. Emboldened, she firmed her grip and stroked from root to tip. He growled and gave a filthy curse that made heat rise to her cheeks. What a dirty mouth this man had. She did it again, feeling him swell harder in her hand, excitement flickering low in her belly.
But Ailean gently caught her wrist and drew her hand away. “No,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t want to spill … not yet. First, I want to sink into that sweet quim of yers … and swive ye until ye scream my name.”
Fiona’s belly clenched at his lusty words, but before she could reply, he drew her legs up over his shoulders, exposing her fully. An instant later, she felt the hot, smooth crown of him press against her slickness.
Then he slid into her.
For a moment, she languished in the sensation—the contrast of her softness against his burning strength. Then came a sharp sting that made her freeze, gasp.
Ailean stilled. Their gazes met, concern flickering across his face. He stroked her thigh gently. “Easy, lass,” he murmured—the same tone he’d used with the frightened horse weeks earlier. “We’ll take it slow. Gentle.” His lips quirked. “Just remember to breathe.”
She exhaled sharply before drawing in another, deep, breath. She willed her body to relax, though her muscles had locked tight. Holding himself above her, Ailean waited, stroking her belly, her hips, her thighs—as if he were a sculptor admiring his work.
Then his hand slid lower, finding that sensitive nub he’d teased earlier. He circled it gently. Pleasure trembled through her, and slowly, her body yielded.
“That’s it, Fi,” he soothed. “Open that flower up for me.”
She did. Her thighs widened, her body softened, and he pushed into her again. This time, there was no pain—only an aching fullness that made her groan.
“I’m not hurting ye, am I?” His voice sounded brittle with restraint.
“No,” she breathed. “Keep going.”
He did—rolling his hips, sliding deeper until he was fully sheathed within her. She felt impossibly full.
She expected him to thrust as she’d heard men did. Fast and rough, like animals rutting.
But he didn’t.
He waited. Sweat gleamed on his skin. He rolled his hips once more, and pleasure clenched low in her belly. Again—and heat rushed through her.
“God,” she cried. “What’s that?”
He laughed softly, although there was a strained edge to it. “Do ye want more?”
Pleasure gathered again, fierce and demanding. “Aye!” she gasped.
“Well then,” he ground out. “I shall plow yer soft … hot … furrow.”
He shifted her legs, folding her tighter, gripping her thighs as he began to move. Slowly withdrawing, then sliding deep again—so deep she ached.
Fiona trembled, a storm building once more. God, how she needed him. She wanted him to fill her, to take her over the edge again.
He took her in slow, deep strokes, each one measured, each one tightening the coil inside her—until he twisted his hips as he slid home and she shattered.
