Angus held still for a moment, acutely aware of the shocking notion that Gwendolen had finally surrendered to him. She had not resisted this most intimate invasion, but instead had placed her body, her life, and her future in his hands, which was an astounding occurrence—for no woman, and certainly no virgin, had ever given herself over to him like this before.
Another part of him, however—the darker, more cynical side—tensed at her unguarded abandon, for he had never desired passion or intimacy with any woman, much less a wife. Sexual release, yes. Power, definitely. But passion? It was not something he had wanted when he shouted from the rooftops that he would claim a MacEwen daughter as his bride.
But this was not the time for soul-searching, he knew. All that mattered now was his hunger for her body. Slowly, he began to resume their coupling. He drove in and out of her with a primal, reckless need, and it wasn’t long before he felt the hot rush of an oncoming orgasm and was compelled to move faster and faster—until it became some kind of wild sexual frenzy.
It had been years since he’d experienced such a buildup of pleasure, and he had to work hard to rein it in and stall his orgasm, but in the end, it was no use. He felt as if he were making love for the first time—but he supposed he’d never been with a virgin before.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t even stop to consider Gwendolen’s pleasure. He climaxed in a compulsive rage and exploded into her with a groan of blazing heat. He bucked and pushed, and she dug her fingernails into his back. It was rough, wild, and extreme—and it took some time to get his breath back before he collapsed onto her soft body with an immense sigh of satisfaction.
“That’s not what I expected,” she said, still clinging to him.
“Nor I.”
In fact, he felt a sudden impulse to get up off the bed and exit the room. He resisted the urge, however, and rolled off her to stare up at the canopy overhead.
“Did I please you?” she asked—in that sweet, innocent voice that made him realize how very different they were.
“You were fine,” he replied without meeting her eyes.
She paused. “I’ll do better next time. I promise. I was nervous, that’s all.”
He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. “You did nothing wrong.”
It was a lie. She had held him too close, enthralled him too quickly, and he was reacting to it now with a sudden rush of uneasiness.
He rose from the bed and crossed to the fire. For a tense moment, he stood naked before it, staring into the red-hot lure of the flames. He reached for the iron poker and pushed the logs around. Sparks exploded and snapped and escaped up into the chimney.
He set the poker back on its hook and went to pick up his shirt, which he had tossed on the chair earlier. He pulled it on over his head while Gwendolen watched. She was sitting up now, hugging the covers to her chest.
“Are you going somewhere?”
He picked up his tartan and wrapped it around his waist. “Aye. Down to the hall for some ale.”
“But why? Don’t you want to stay in bed? You can have me again if you like. You could teach me how to do all the things that please you.”
He tensed in response to her provocative proposition, and had some trouble with his tartan. He couldn’t seem to locate the brooch in all the folds, and was beginning to reconsider his decision to leave, for he was keenly aware of her naked form on the bed, and her enticing suggestions were still reverberating in his brain. Would it be so wrong to stay and teach her a few things?
“How long will you be gone?” she asked.
He found the brooch and turned his back on her. “I don’t know, but don’t wait up. You can return to your own chamber if you’d be more comfortable there.”
He didn’t let himself look at her, but he didn’t have to. She was hurt by his wish to leave. It was their wedding night after all.
“I would prefer to stay here,” she informed him, with less innocence and more of that proud defiance he had witnessed on the day of the invasion.
“I may be a while.” He sat down on the chair and pulled on a boot. “And I’ll likely be drunk.”
She sat up on her knees, still covering herself with the sheet. She crawled across the bed toward him. “Is that supposed to cool the fires of my lust?”
He glanced up at her in shock, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Honest to God, woman! I don’t know what to make of you!”
“How so?”
He pulled on the second boot and stood up. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s a sharp-toothed tiger under all that virtue and purity. Who the blazes did I marry?”
She frowned at him. “Perhaps you’d understand me better if you didn’t feel the need to leave every time we make love.”
He strode forward and raised an eyebrow at her. “Everytime? We’ve only done it once, lass.”
