Page 31 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Caroline lifted and rolled her hips. The pressure of his erection nudged the very deepest part of her body. He penetrated fully, then reared back slowly. Tremors rippled her internal walls. Sweat beaded on her brow and the weight of his body pressed her into the bed. She reveled in the sensations crashing through her. She gasped for breath, but Taran increased his speed. Sliding into her wet, heated sheath, pulling out, then sliding into her again. Cabled muscles in his arms bunched as he braced above her. A tick flinched in his clenched jaw. He rode her, wringing pleasure from her body.

“My lord.” Her heart leapt. Had he detected the fear lacing her voice? She was going to come.

Harder thrusts inched her up the bed. She would not have thought it possible, but his rod felt harder, thicker, and plunged unbelievably deeper.

“La petite mort.”

“The little death,” she repeated in a whisper.

Caroline jammed her eyes shut. Tiny sparks flashed behind her eyelids. Her tummy tightened and her mind numbed. Convulsions started deep in her core and radiated out through her body. She gripped his shoulders and locked her legs around his hips. Spasms jerked her entire being. Taran’s arms tightened then, and with a shout, he erupted. Warm seed pulsed within her, slicking her channel as he continued to pump her full of his cream until he at last went limp on top of her, his chest heaving from exertion.

A moment passed, his breathing slowed, and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, then rolled to the side. Caroline lay still as a mouse. She didn’t dare glance at him. What thoughts weaved through his mind? Had she been convincing as the blushing bride? Her heart still pounded. She hadn’t been able to completely stifle her response to his touch.

He stirred beside her, his gentle fingers tracing her arm.

“The tenderness and blood are expected,” he said.

She gritted her teeth. Why in God’s name wasn’t the man already snoring in deep sleep? Damn his eagerness. If he chose now to verify her virginity he would find only a slippery combination of their completion.

He startled her by rising and starting across the room. Caroline stared, mesmerized by the sight of his tight buttocks flexing with each powerful step. Taran reached the sideboard and she jarred from the morbid trance.

He reached for the pitcher and she scrambled to the right side of the bed. The sound of water sloshing into the bowl filled the silence as Caroline stuffed a hand beneath the mattress. Her fingers touched then closed around the silver vial. She pulled it free just as he set the pitcher back on the table. She yanked the cover up over herself with the intention of opening the top when Taran turned, bowl and washcloth in hand.

Caroline froze, the vial gripped in one hand as he strode towards the bed. “Wh-what are you doing, my lord?”

Taran stopped beside the bed and set the bowl on the nightstand. He paused, clearly taking in the blanket clutched to chin level. “There is no reason to be embarrassed.” He sat next to her. “Allow me to wash you.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. To have come so far, risked so much, only to be undone by the man’s kindness.

“My lord, I…” She choked back the words. How could she ask him to leave the room so she could deceive him further?

He dipped the washcloth in the water. His gaze shifted to the cloth as he wrung water from it and Caroline glanced at the edge of the bed. She could never slip the vial back beneath the mattress without being caught. Tears rose perilously close to the surface. It was enough that he would discover she wasn’t the promised virgin, but to catch her trying to deceive him would incur his wrath, maybe even recall his instructions to Aphrodite last night. Recognition would be instantaneous.

He shifted and Caroline stuffed the vial beneath her pillow. Taran faced her, his expression gentle. He leaned forward and breathed a kiss to her neck, caressed the edge of her breast with a feathering touch. Gently, he urged her back onto the pillow, then pried the covers from her fingers. He pulled the blanket down to her feet. Caroline shut her eyes and steeled herself for his wrath.

With pressure to the insides of her knees, he opened her legs. Cool fabric pressed against her mound. Gentle swipes of the cloth wiped away the blending of their cream.

Caroline startled at feel of firm lips pressed to her inner thigh.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Back rigid and his mouth a tight thin line, his ministrations were centered on her thighs. She shifted her gaze to her legs. Her breath caught. Streaks of blood stained the sheets. More blood—but how? In a flood, tears filled her eyes and the weight of her secret crashed around her. More blood. She hadn’t known it was possible. Apparently neither had Taran. She wouldn’t need the vial after all.

Taran traced a finger along her thigh. “Our first time—” He shook his head.

Relief washed over her and she couldn’t refrain from covering his hand with hers. His head lifted and their gazes met.

Caroline offered a tremulous smile. “We are no longer strangers.” Gratitude shone in his eyes and her heart broke.

* * * *

Tentative fingers slid across his stomach. Lower, across his groin. His breath grew thready and blood surged into his shaft. He was dreaming. Lying in a soft bed with a soft woman stretched out next to him. Silky hair draped over his shoulder and warm breath fanned against his chest. She shifted and her fingers brushed his cock. He groaned, reached over, and covered her hip with a palm. Her thighs parted. Soft, damp curls ground into his thigh. The woman moaned. A seductive, sweet sound he recognized. Aphrodite. So vivid and real beneath his hands. Smooth, naked curves. Heat from her pussy scorching his flesh. Clamping his eyes shut, he refused to wake. No. He wanted to be encased in her tight, slippery sheath.

Wrapping his hand over her thigh, he slid her onto his lap, a leg straddling each of his hips. Centered over his shaft, her slit parted and her folds surrounded his length. Rubbing, grinding, thrusting against her mound, he braced her hips, then moved his hands higher, over each rib. Finally, he cupped each perfect, full breast in his palms. He pinched the taut nipples and she gasped. Her hips rocked against him, emulating a lover’s intimate dance.

Bracing a hand on his chest, she rose onto her knees and grasped his shaft. Taran clenched his jaw and angled his head back. Intense pleasure surged through him. Blood roared through his ears and his heart pounded. Her fingers were tight, yet her stroke was delicate. When she reached lower and fondled his scrotum, Taran thought he would go mad.

With precise movements, she positioned his rod at the entrance of her channel and, in one slow slide, took him in.