Page 61 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Alright?" he managed, voice rough with need.

"Aye." Her fingers threaded through his hair. "More than alright."

He kissed her again, deeper this time, while his palm covered her breast fully. Even through her chemise, he could feel her respond to his touch. Her breath hitched when he circled it gently with his thumb, learning what made her gasp, what made her press closer.

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, his back, anywhere she could reach. She hooked one leg over his hip, and the feel of her nearly shattered him.

"Maighread..." He forced himself to pause, lifting his head enough to meet her eyes. "If ye want more… if ye want me tae show ye…"

"Aye." Her voice came soft but certain. "Aye, I want that." His hand slid lower, bunching her skirts upward. Her skin felt like silk beneath his calloused palm, smooth and warm and trembling beneath his exploration. He traced the length of her thigh, watching her face transform—eyes closed, lips parted, breath coming in short gasps. Higher, higher, until⁠—

Memory crashed back like cold water. The rules. Her voice in his mind, firm and uncompromising.

Nae physical intimacy beyond what's necessary.

And beneath that, the sharper memory. Her pride, fierce and unyielding, the way her eyes flashed whenever she felt challenged or controlled.

His hand stilled high on her thigh, fingers spread against heated skin, trembling with the effort of stopping.

Her eyes flew open, confusion clouding their grey depths before frustration replaced it. She looked at him, a question forming on kiss-swollen lips.

"The rules," he managed, his voice barely recognizable even to himself.

Understanding dawned in her expression, followed by something that looked like betrayal. Her body remained arched toward him, seeking what he'd withdrawn, and the sight nearly shattered his resolve.

The war between honor and desire tore through him. His entire body screamed at him to continue, to give them both what they desperately wanted. Every nerve ending fired with need. His hand trembled against her thigh, caught between pulling away entirely and sliding higher to where she burned for his touch.

But he'd given his word. Had insisted they set boundaries, that they maintain honesty between them. Breaking that now, when she was vulnerable and wanting, would break something precious—something he hadn't even realized he valued until this moment.

He watched emotions flicker across her face: desire, frustration, anger, and beneath it all, something that might have been relief that he'd stopped. That he'd honored what they'd agreed to even when neither of them wanted him to.

Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks through his shirt. For a long moment they stayed frozen like that—him trembling with restraint, her body taut with unfulfilled need.

Then slowly, deliberately, she released her grip on his shoulders. Her hands slid away, leaving cold spots where her heat had been. She turned onto her side, presenting her back to him, the line of her spine rigid with pride and frustration.

The loss of contact felt like punch to the gut.

Tavish rolled onto his back, every muscle locked tight with denied desire. He stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, trying to steady his breathing. The ache wouldn't fade—might never fade. His body protested violently against the restraint, every nerve screaming that he was a fool.

Maybe he was.

He folded his arms behind his head, to keep himself from reaching for her, because he didn't trust what his hands might do if left free.

"I hate ye right now," she whispered into the darkness, her voice small and raw.

The words hit harder than any blow. "I ken." His own voice came out rough, scraped raw. "I'm nae particularly fond of meself either."

Silence settled over the room like a heavy quilt. The fire had died to nothing but embers, their faint glow barely touching the darkness. The storm outside had quieted to occasional wind gusts that rattled the shutters. Inside, there was only the sound of their breathing—hers quick and uneven, his deliberately controlled.

His body cooled by agonizing degrees, though awareness of her remained sharp and unrelenting. He could feel the heat radiating from her back just inches away. Could sense every small movement she made—the adjustment of her shoulders, the shifting of her legs beneath the blanket, the way her breathing gradually, reluctantly steadied.

The mattress creaked whenever either of them moved. The ropes beneath groaned under their combined weight. Small sounds that normally would have gone unnoticed became deafening in the charged silence.

Time stretched. Minutes felt like hours. The ache in his body transformed from sharp and immediate to a deeper, duller throb that settled into his bones. Exhaustion crept in around the edges of desire, softening its demands.

His eyelids grew heavy despite the turmoil still churning through him. Sleep beckoned, offering escape from the wanting, from the regret that wasn't quite regret but felt close enough.

He drifted, thoughts fragmenting into images: grey eyes that saw too much, lips that tasted of wine and defiance, skin like silk beneath his calloused hands. The memory of her arching into his touch, the sound of her breath catching, the feel of her trembling beneath his exploration.