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“Och, I…”
“Mine,” he decided succinctly, striding swiftly along the corridor. “’Tis farther from the kitchen and servant’s quarters, for I mean to make ye cry my name as ye come undone.”
That sounded very spectacular, indeed.
Looping her arms about his neck, Bethea giggled again. “’Tis no’ even twelve of the clock yet. What will the servants say?”
“‘About bloody time,’” he growled, lowering his head to nuzzle her throat. “And I have to agree. I’ve wanted this since I kissed ye at The Boar and Brew. Nae, before. When I danced with ye at the Hogmanay celebration.”
She grinned and kissed his corded neck, earning another rough sound from him. “Mmm.”
He smelled divine: spices, and musky male, and the outdoors.
“Stop that, or I’ll no’ make it to my chamber, and I’d no’ take ye against the wall our first time.”
She arched her neck, searching his eyes. “Is that possible?”
“Aye, ’tis.”
“Och, my.” Bethea tried to envision exactly what that might entail. The image was quite erotic. “I think I should like to try it.”
“No’ this time,” he denied firmly. “This time, I’ll have ye naked and in my bed, in my arms so I can worship ye in the manner ye deserve. I’ll take my time, introducin’ ye to passion, mo ghoal.”
Her nipples pebbled and damp heat pooled between her legs. “Perhaps no’ so verra much time, Camden. I fear ye may have married a wanton.”
“Praise God and all the saints,” came a smoldering, delighted rumble from deep within his broad chest.
Somehow, while balancing her weight in his strong arms, he managed to open his chamber door and promptly kicked it shut behind them once inside. He strode straight to the huge bed centered on one wall across from an unlit fireplace. Sunlight streamed in the wide windows, bright rays of warmth and golden light.
Bethea didn’t pretend maidenly bashfulness or chagrin. She wanted this joining. Wanted to be naked and see Camden stripped bare, too. Yes, virginal uncertainty niggled, but she’d not focus on that. He would show her what to do, and she welcomed the forthcoming instructions.
She presented her back. “Unlace me, please.”
“With pleasure.” With an adeptness she didn’t wish to ponder, Camden soon had her gown sagging low on her shoulders. He brushed a hot kiss on her neck, then flicked his tongue out to taste her.
“Delicious,” he murmured.
A gasp escaped her, but she only angled her head, seeking more.
With a throaty laugh that promised all sorts of wonderful things, he set her from him, and stripped her gown down her arms, past her hips, and let it pool at her feet.
Between hot, wet kisses and fumbling fingertips, they stripped the clothes from each other until they stood gloriously nude before one another.
“My God,” he breathed, his ravenous gaze devouring her.
Aye, indeed.
Her core tightening, she licked her lower lip.
Camden was a magnificent male animal—all sleek muscles and sinewy contours. A thick mat of pitch-black hair covered his chest before narrowing into a vee. His manhood, proud, rigid, and pulsing every little bit, jutted from a thatch of matching black hair at his groin.
Bethea’s heart flipped over in her chest. This man was her husband, and hers to touch any time she wanted. To bed anytime she wanted.
Her feet carried her forward, and she caressed his face with her fingertip, then pressed her mouth to his chest. “Make me yers, Camden.”
He needed no further encouragement. In a trice, they were upon the bed, and he was playing her body like a fine-tuned instrument. She gasped and panted, urging him on, growing tauter and tauter until she felt she’d shatter.
“Och, aye,” she cried when he captured a nipple in his mouth while sliding his fingers amongst the damp folds of her sex.
