Page 58 of The Return of the Heir

Their wills met and matched in a clash of fire and passion. The sorrow she had experienced moments before converted in a heartbeat to something more potent, to a compulsion that thrummed in her blood, and filled her with dizzying desire. That desire burgeoned, erupted, and swept her up in an all-consuming need. She gave in to the powerful emotions that overwhelmed her until she felt Alastair stiffen.

He wrenched his mouth from hers. His dark eyes stared at her, drowning in the same passion that had fired her blood. “If we continue, there will be no turning back. Is that what you wish?”

A queer sensation fluttered in the pit of her stomach—part pain and part pleasure. He was giving her an opportunity to refuse him and the life he offered her. If they continued, they would eventually come together in the most intimate of ways. They both knew it would not be just for that moment, it would be forever. Their betrothal would be unbreakable, and she would never have the life she thought she wanted.

Did she truly want that life anymore? Or did she want a life with him more? His gaze caressed the bare flesh of her shoulders, and her body trembled in response, wanting him to own her, claim her, devour her. Something flowered in her depths, a part of her that was suddenly free, reborn. She was no longer trapped by anyone, not even herself. She wanted to feel sensations like those he had evoked, every day. To live the full life she had always been denied.

Gwendolyn could not keep a smile from her lips. Alastair’s eyes widened as she bent forward. She took his still-smooth cheeks between her hands and hauled his head down to hers. She captured his lips with her own. At the sharp intake of his breath, mutual desire flared once more.

His hands came up to her shoulders. Slowly, he pushed the neckline of her nightrail down to her waist, exposing her pink-tipped breasts which rose and fell with her quickened breathing. His lips left hers, slid lower. His mouth fastened over her left nipple, and she made a low sound and involuntarily arched upwards. “Alastair. . .”

“Soon enough, my dear.” His warm, wet tongue moved over her left breast into the valley between, then shifted to caress her right breast. “I used to wonder how you would taste.” His voice was thick. “How you would feel.”

His mouth closed fully over her right nipple. Fire. Hunger. Need. She gasped as hot pleasure rippled through her. He stimulated her other breast as he continued to suckle, drawing each nipple up until they were both pointed and throbbing. She could see the pulse beating wildly in his temple, and his breath was coming faster, harsher.

He lifted his head to reveal eyes that were glazed with passion. He pushed her back onto the bed and slipped her nightrail past her hips and tossed it to the floor before he stripped himself of his clothing, all while his gaze roved over her swollen breasts, then on the curls surrounding her womanhood. “You are as beautiful as God could make you.”

He was more than beautiful. He was magnificent as he stood before her, sculpted with muscle and strength, and powerfully aroused. His dark eyes were wild in his flushed face, his mouth heavy with sensuality. He brought his hands down to stroke her thighs—down the long length of the outside then up to the apex of her womanhood, his touch feather-light. Heat erupted inside her, followed by an ache between her thighs.

He spread her legs with one hand and stood there staring at her. She burned, and yet suddenly self-conscious, she started to close her legs when he joined her on the bed. He positioned himself, kneeling between her legs, and began stroking her curls in wide circles that grew more and more narrow until one long, hard finger slipped between the folds. He moved in and out of her body in a rhythm that was as maddening as it was exhilarating.

“I can feel you expanding, preparing for me. Can you feel it too?” Another finger joined the first, and she released a fractured breath. The tension inside her was building but to what she did not know.

He plunged his fingers deeply, rotating, exploring. With his other hand he continued circling at the very heart of her. He bent down and pressed kisses from her shoulder to her neck, avoiding the injured and bandaged areas. He drew in a deep breath and smiled. “You smell exactly how I imagined you would. Like sunshine and heather on a spring morning.” His lips found hers and he kissed her deeply, his tongue moving wildly as his fingers pursued their own rhythm.

Needing to explore him, her hands travelled over the expanse of his chest, his muscled arms and shoulders, before shifting to the expanse of his back. He was a study in texture—firm and soft, corded and smooth.

She was breathing hard, and her muscles were locked with tension when he broke the kiss. He pulled his fingers out of her, then shifted his body forward until his manhood pressed against her core. Slowly he thrust forward, allowing her to accept his invasion inch by inch until he met with resistance.

“Kiss me,” he demanded softly.

She lifted and brought her lips to his, wanting to absorb the tension she could feel inside him. Lost once again in the sweetness of his mouth, she felt him pull back then plunge forward. She gasped as pain, sharp and lightning-quick, pierced her. Then, with her next heartbeat, it was gone, replaced with fullness. “It only hurts the first time. There will be only pleasure from here on out, I promise.”

Alastair remained still for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath and grow accustomed to his presence inside her, filling her, stretching her until slowly he started to move.

He reached down and lifted her buttocks, thrusting into her with long, hard strokes. His body claimed hers. He plunged deeper and deeper into her core, and just when she grew accustomed to his rhythm, he changed it. Keeping her guessing, making her want more and more of what he offered. She arched up, meeting each thrust.

She moaned her pleasure as she curled her fingers into the coverlet beneath her. She thrashed her head back and forth as the tension inside her built, tightening, tightening as he pushed into her, hot and hard. Desire swamped her. Her breath came in panting gasps as he withdrew and thrust anew. Her nerves sizzled and stretched, until she erupted in a glorious, rippling cascade. It was unlike anything she could have ever imagined.

As her pleasure peaked, he continued to thrust, harder and faster, until his body tensed. She tightened around him. Deep inside her she felt him shudder as his release swept through him. She clung to him, as she too was swept once more into a vortex of sensation, erupting, bright and hot, enfolding them both in a sea of shared pleasure.

He put his hands on either side of her head and bent down to kiss her, despite his harsh and laboured breathing, before he shifted to the side and slumped upon the bed. He pulled her back against him, curling his body protectively against hers. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder before he nestled his head against hers. She could feel the evocative beat of his heart against her back, felt that beat match her own. Her womb clenched, and where he had entered her throbbed, but it was not pain. It was a continuing reminder of what they had shared, of all they had become in these moments.

She was his, and he was hers.

As their heartbeats settled, Alastair pulled the coverlet up and over their bodies. Slowly the world around them faded as they drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, when a faint light seeped into the chamber, Gwendolyn startled to wakefulness at the sound of screeching.

“Where is she. Where is my daughter!” Beatrice’s father bellowed.

“MacLeod!” Another deeper voice cried. “Where are you? You attacked the MacDonalds. Explain your actions.”

“He attacked the MacDonalds?” A third voice joined the others. “Of all the brazen, underhanded things to do. His father would not have attacked under the cover of night. He was decent enough to do so in the daylight. Where is the bastard?”

Gwendolyn rolled over to see Alastair, propped on his elbow, gazing down at her. Despite the anger in the voices outside in the hallway, a smile pulled up the corners of his lips. “Good morrow, my dear.” He bent over and kissed her.

“How can you be so at ease?” she asked. “Do you not hear them?”