Page 130
I swallow, then nod.
“Promise ye’ll tell me if I hurt you,” he murmurs, like it matters more than his own breathing.
“I promise.” It isn’t pain I’m afraid of. It’s how much I want him.
He moves again, careful and sure, letting my body have the time it needs, until I’m filled and trembling and my breath is nothing but broken little pulls of air.
“Ye’re so tight, Ellen,” he groans, pushing deeper. “Absolute perfection—made for me, made to take me and me alone.”
His forehead drops toward mine, a tremor running through him as he stills for a beat, letting me stretch for him, letting my body adjust to the sheer reality of him.
I whimper as he shifts. “James... I was made to belong to you. Just like this.”
He sinks as far as he can go, praising me with every thrust forward. “This is everythin’ I dreamed of and more.”
He rolls his hips in an unhurried rhythm, like he has all the time in the world to ruin me. The slight pinch of pain turns to a dull ache which transforms completely into a pleasure I can’t explain. All I know is that I need more of it. Forever and always.
My legs hook around him, urging him on, and he ruts into me with building intensity, each stroke hitting deep, our bodies slick with sweat.
“Mine,” he rasps against my ear, sounding almost awed. “Ye’re so tight and wet, and takin’ me so well. My perfect wife.”
The praise moves through me like fire finding dry timber, and my hands slide from his shoulders into his hair to hold him close as his rhythm deepens.
My responses turn filthier, laced with that Highland fire. “Harder, James… yer cock’s stretchin’ me past all sense. Make me feel how badly you want me.”
His control frays. I feel it in the way his breath breaks, in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he presses closer as if he can’t bear even the smallest distance between us. He lifts me as though I weigh nothing, and my legs tighten around him, locking him in place because my body wants him deeper, nearer, more.
He makes a sound that turns feral. He feels it too—the perfect alignment of us, the way he knows what I need as surely as I know what he needs.
“That’s it,” he mutters, voice gone rough enough to scrape. “Hold on to me.”
I do. I hold on like the world might fall away.
He holds me tightly by the hips and moves me—up, then down—slow at first, like he’s testing what I can bear, determined not to take too much at once.
Then he’s pounding up into me. It’s a new kind of sensation like this. Different. Deeper. It steals all thought from my head, leaving only heat and helpless, broken sounds I can’t swallow back. I let go of him and lean back on my hands as he uses my body.
The pressure in my core builds until I’m shaking with it, until everything in me tightens around that unstoppable want, and then I come apart with his name caught in my throat. My whole body turns to light and ruin.
His hands loosen from my hips, and he pulls me into him, rocking into me through my release. His arms band around me with a possessive kind of tenderness, and I can feel the hammering of his heart against mine.
He doesn’t stop, not even when his mouth finds my throat and sucks hard. Then he softens there, pressing slow kiss after slow kiss to the wild beat beneath my skin, as if he can calm me with tenderness while desire tears through him. His breath turns ragged against my neck, and I feel the shiver he tries to hide when he swallows down a sound.
His body tightens again, a deep, involuntary clench that makes my eyes flutter shut.
Oh.
So this is it. This must be what it feels like when a man is near the edge. When he’s holding on by sheer will and there’s nothing left to hold on to.
I cling to him, stunned by the intimacy of feeling it so plainly, feeling him unravel in my arms like he trusts me with it.
“James,” I whisper, half breath and half reverence.
He makes a low sound into my neck, and his hold turns fierce, like my name on his lips might be the last thing that breaks him.
My palms find his jaw, and I gently lift his face until he has no choice but to look at me.
“Let go,” I murmur. “Spill inside me.”
