Page 229 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Do you want me to stop?”

“God no,” she blurted, then jammed her eyes shut from embarrassment.

“I am relieved,” he said, his voice a bit choked.

He dipped a finger between the moist folds that protected her swollen nub. The digit caressed the delicate bud. Rhoslyn forced back the impulse to clamp her legs together. She was torn between wanting him to touch her and mortification. Alec rarely touched her this way and, in truth, she had wanted him to. St. Claire applied slight pressure and need shot through her. Oh, she was wrong. Alec had never touched her this way. She shifted restlessly, wanting the pleasure hinted at in his caress. It had been so long. All those months before Dougal’s birth, then the isolation of the convent. Too long.

He shifted his mouth to the other breast and drew on the nipple. Rhoslyn thrust the fingers of one hand into his thick hair and tugged.

“Ahh, you like this, my lady?” He sucked harder.

Rhoslyn moved against his finger. He slid one muscled leg across her legs. The thigh was heavy and so very warm, and she wanted more of him, skin to skin. His caresses intensified. She fisted his hair more tightly. He covered the other breast with his hand. Sweet Jesu, she was drowning.

His warm, moist tongue ringed the nipple. Rhoslyn moaned. Cool breath washed across her flesh and the exquisite pucker of the areola pushed her over the edge. Pleasure rolled over her in a sudden tidal wave that bowed her off the bed. She dropped back onto the mattress and couldn’t stop her thighs from clamping around his hand as a second spasm rocked her.

An instant later, she became aware of the firm ridge of his manhood between her thighs, at the entrance to her channel. He poised over her, his form blurred.

“I shall claim you now, Lady Rhoslyn. All will know it, but most of all, you will know.”

He entered her slowly, stretching, filling her until his pelvis lay flush with hers. He lowered his head and kissed her, full, sweet, and tender. Then he began to move inside her. A wondrous sensation rippled through her. He pulled back, then pressed his hips against hers again. He at last lowered himself onto her and she melted beneath his weight—she felt certain she would melt altogether, once again lost in rising need. Lovemaking had never been like this with Alec. Guilt resurfaced, but a sudden hard thrust of St. Claire’s rod inside her drove away all thoughts of the dead, and she cried out.

Rhoslyn wrapped her arms around his neck. Hard muscle bunched beneath her fingers as he thrust into her, faster, harder, driving her once again toward that bliss that only a man could give a woman. Surging upward into full consciousness and feeling, her release broke free and consumed her in blinding pleasure. He uttered a groan and her climax spiked again and rippled through her in waves that left her with the knowledge that he had, without question, claimed her.