Page 54

How do I know that?

“You are a virgin,” he said, moving even slower now.

“Nay,” she said, not allowing it. “Not any longer.” Mimicking his own movements, she circled her hips and watched his mouth open. Though part of her wanted him to kiss her again, Gillian also enjoyed watching his face. Knowing she was affecting him this way.

“Faster,” she instructed and didn’t wait for him to comply.

“Gillian, you don’t know what you—”

She was doing this to him. Giving him as much pleasure as he gave her. Finally, Graeme gave in to her silent plea. When he lowered his mouth to hers, she was lost in a haze of desire so strong she couldn’t believe she’d waited so long to experience it.

He filled her, moved with her. Kissed her and made her want to let go.

And so she did.

Gillian’s world exploded.

She gripped him with her fingers . . . her toes scrunched into balls as a wave of pleasure claimed her entire body. Pulsing and throbbing against him, she cried out again and heard him do the same. When he finally collapsed on top of her, she held on to him as tightly as possible.

For such a large man, he should have been crushing her. But he wasn’t. Instead, it was a sweet pressure, his legs entangled with her own. Still inside her, Graeme was not separate but a part of her.

“So . . . that was lovemaking?” she asked stupidly.

He pulled himself up and gazed down at her, those eyes intense enough to ignite a flame.

“That . . . and more.”

He pulled himself away, grabbing her at the same time and rolling her on top of him. She rather liked it here. Her husband’s body was so hard, it was rather like lying on a table.

Though much more enjoyable.

“More?”

Her cheeks warmed as he glanced down between them. When he looked up, the resolve in his expression startled her.

“That was you becoming my wife in truth. And I, your husband.”

“But we were married back at Kenshire.” Was that really not even a week ago?

“Married, aye. But wedded in truth now.”

She supposed he was correct.

“So we are stuck with each other?”

Though she said it in jest, a shadow crossed his face. So quickly, Gillian wondered if she imagined it.

“It seems so,” he said.

The tender moment between them had been banished by that one simple statement. The chief had returned. The man whom Aidan called inflexible.

Surely he knew she jested? She was about to tell him just that when he spoke her name, his voice full of both hesitation and resolve as he pulled away from her and placed her on the bed next to him.

“Gillian—”

“Aye?” She sat up and pulled the coverlet toward her. Or tried to, at least. Graeme swatted it away. No shyness between them.

“We need to talk.” He stood, the evidence of her innocence obvious on his manhood.