He unbuttoned his breeches while burying his face in her neck and her hair. His erection practically sprang free from the confines of his breeches like a spring that had been compressed too long. He was hard and ready. Desire gave him the strength of ten men, and he was done with waiting. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted this one. His blood sang with need.
She was pulling at his clothing now, wanting the restrictions between them gone as eagerly as he did.
But he could not wait for genteel seduction. With an almost animal savagery, Harry lifted her up so she fit against him, pushing aside her skirts as he did so. She still wore her cloak. They were both still fully dressed. But none of that mattered. The moist heat of her body put him over the edge of sanity, especially when he realized she wasn’t wearing drawers, any silly bits of muslin that annoyed a man when he knew what he wanted.
Harry entered her with one long, smooth thrust and buried himself deep.
She startled, stiffened, then struggled as if to push him away.
He couldn’t stop. Not now. He wanted her too much. He’d never felt this strong of a bond with any other woman. She held him with a force he could not understand, but that he intended to thoroughly enjoy.
He began moving, cradling her in his arms as he had his way with her.
Portia Maclean ceased her struggles. Her body adjusted to his. She was tight, perfect.
Harry had to have more leverage. He leaned her against the wall of the barn, bracing her with his arms and thrusting, each drive taking him beyond where he’d ever gone before. He was whispering her name and telling her she was beautiful.
She made soft gasps that excited him more than any other sound.
Dear God, he would never let her go.
Her legs were around his waist now. She wore woolen stockings. Someday, he’d see her legs covered in silk. He was not ever going to let such a woman go. She was a magic creature in his arms and he was bewitched—
She cried out. Deep muscles tightened aroundhim. The force of her release almost brought him to his knees.
It seemed as if it would never end.
Like rings of water after a stone is thrown, the power, the intensity of this moment radiated from her and through him, until he could hold back no more. He let himself go.
Harry prided himself on being careful. He wanted no bastards, especially ones that could carry on the curse.
However, this time he was powerless to withdraw, and no completion could have ever felt better.
Slowly, he brought them both to the ground, holding her as if she were made of gold.
Silence stretched between them, a silence filled with the pounding of their own hearts. Harry didn’t know if he’d ever be able to move again. Their mating had been unexpected but physical, demanding.
The best he’d ever experienced.
And then she broke the magic of the moment with a horrified “What have I done?”
She started to untangle herself from him but Harry would not let her go.
“Stop,” he ordered as she struggled against him. “Stop.”
She struck out at him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Miss Maclean,Portia,” he said, wanting to calm her, and yet he was confused himself, especially when he realized she’d been a virgin.
God help him.
Harry was not one to deflower innocents. The evidence was damning. There was the stain of blood upon his breeches.
She noticed it as well. “Oh no,” she said, her voice wavering as if she were ready to fall to pieces.
“It’s not that bad,” Harry hurried to say.
She gave him a look that would have made a clergyman run.
