Twenty-one
Robbie drew her into his arms and did what he’d been aching to do since the moment she’d walked into the room. His mouth fell on hers with a deep groan. It was as if a dam had broken and all the passion, all the emotion, all the desire he’d bottled up inside was set free the instant his lips touched hers.
God, they were soft. And so damned sweet he didn’t know how he could have resisted for so long. Why had he? If there were voices in his head trying to remind him, he wasn’t listening to them anymore.
He was too busy kissing her. Tasting her. Sliding his tongue deep into her mouth with long, slow strokes that she parried with strokes of her own.
It was incredible. The lass was a quick learner, God help him.
He could have gone on kissing her like this forever. But the longer and more thoroughly he kissed her, the fiercer her response grew and the hotter his blood fired. Heat radiated off him. And then there was that other pounding, the one against his stomach that was growing harder with every stroke.
He could taste her need, her hunger, feel the urgency building, and it sent flames licking through every corner of his body. The moans, the little whimpers echoed in his ears, ripping what control he had left to shreds. She was clutching his arms, his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but their bodies were already plastered as close as they could be without…
He swore against her mouth. Once the image was there it would not be dislodged. Skin to skin. Naked tangled limbs. Sweaty sheets. Him sinking inside her. The ultimate closeness. She wanted that. And God, he wanted it, too.
Swinging her up in his arms, he carried her over to the bed. He broke the kiss only long enough to set her down and slide in next to her. He wasn’t going to give either of them time to think.
Perhaps she had the same thought, because the moment her head touched the pillow she was reaching for him again. Circling her hands around his neck to bring his mouth down on hers. Bring him down on top of her. He let her feel his weight while he savored the incredible feel of that soft, curvy body under his.
But it wasn’t enough. Not now. Not with the image blaring in his head. He was moving faster now. His lips slid to her jaw, her neck, to the tender place below her ear that made her shiver, to her throat, and finally to her breasts.
The rapid beat of her heart and uneven catching of her breath hammered in his ears, egging him on faster and faster. Too fast. But she didn’t seem to care. She was right there with him.
Her hands were in his hair as he worked the laces of her gown and then her shift—neither of which garments he’d ever seen before. Only the thought of having to explain to Joanna how they’d become ripped prevented him from tearing both off her.
“Hurry,” she breathed, her impatience matching his own.
He muttered an expletive. Christ, she was killing him. His normally deft fingers felt twice as big and were practically shaking. Hell, they were shaking. So much for experience. When it came to Rosalin this was all new.
No skin had ever felt so soft, no lips had ever tasted so sweet, no one had ever smelled so damned good, and no woman had ever made him this hot.
But it was more than that, and he knew it. Even if he didn’t want to think about it. For the first time in his life, he was making love to a woman with more than his cock.
Finally, he had both the gown and chemise underneath loose enough to take her beautiful breasts in his mouth. He cupped her, squeezing gently as his lips closed over one taut nipple. He sucked it gently, circling it with his tongue and plucking it between his teeth. She gave a soft cry and arched into his mouth, her fingers tightening their grip on his hair. His whole scalp tingled as pleasure poured over him in a hot wave, dragging him under.
He wanted to strip her naked and worship every inch of that creamy white skin. But he wasn’t going to last five minutes. Not like this. Though he had to at least try.
“Oh God, Robbie…”
The soft plea took his intentions to go slow and ground them to dust. He gave her what she wanted and sucked her hard into his mouth. She was so beautiful, so damned responsive, it drove him wild. He couldn’t get enough of her. He ravished her breasts with his lips and tongue. Teasing, laving, sucking until he felt her body tremble with the promise of pleasure.
He wasn’t going to make her wait.
Rosalin knew what she was doing—she hoped. It was the biggest gamble of her life. But the reward…
The reward would be a lifetime of happiness.
He loved her. She was sure of it. It was right there in his kiss. She’d pushed him with far more confidence than she’d felt. She’d never seen him so near the end of his rope. Yet when he kissed her, instead of rough and punishing, his lips had been soft and gentle. Did he realize how he cradled her against him? How his big, battle-hardened hands caressed her skin as if she were a delicate piece of porcelain?
She had to make him see the truth before it was too late. She’d already offered him her heart, so she’d gambled with the only thing she had left: her body.
On some level she knew it was a fool’s wager, that she should value her virtue more highly, and that if he truly cared for her, she would not need to prove her love. But on the other hand, nothing had ever seemed more natural—or right. And somewhat brazenly, she admitted that she wanted the experience for herself. That no matter what the result, she wanted to know what it felt like to be joined with the man she loved.
And from the moment his mouth fell on hers, hungrily and with purpose, she knew there would be no turning back. The knowledge was a little overwhelming—frightening even. She was a virgin, and although she knew the basics (she’d seen more than one couple mating under a blanket in a crowded, dark Hall), she also knew there would be pain. But Robbie would have care for her innocence. She trusted him without reservation.
He would make it good for her. And she hoped she would make it good for him. She wanted desperately to please him.
But as she’d neglected to take advantage of the potential tutors she had at her disposal at camp, she had little knowledge of how to do so. All she had was instinct. She gave over to the desire, holding nothing back, and returned his kiss with all the passion he’d awakened inside of her.
She ran her palms over his arms and shoulders and down his back, the way she’d dreamed so many times of doing. He growled at her touch, the muscles flexing under her fingertips. His body was a thing of beauty. Sheer masculine perfection. Smooth skin pulled tight over rock-hard muscle, lean and chiseled. There was not an inch of extra flesh upon him, just slab after slab of perfectly delineated muscle. His arms were bulging with strength, his stomach flat, and his waist narrow. He was so hard. So solid. And so hot. His skin was practically burning under her fingertips. Fevered. And the fever infected them both with its scorching heat.
She sensed the change that came over him when he lifted her toward the bed. His kiss became rougher and more carnal, leaving her no doubt of his intentions.
His big hands covered her body, her breasts. And then his mouth…his mouth was sucking, and she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Tiny needles of pleasure shot to her toes and heat rushed between her legs. She felt the same hot restlessness she’d felt last time, right before he’d touched her with his fingers.
She desperately wanted him to do that again, so she arched against his mouth on her breast, lifting her hips with a gentle press.
He made some kind of tortured sound. It might have been an oath, but she was too lost in the haze of pleasure to notice.
Cool air washed over the skin of her legs as he tossed up her skirts. His mouth ravished her breasts, the scratch of his beard burning—marking—a trail on her sensitive skin.
He lifted his head from her breast. When he sank his finger inside her, she cried out. The damp skin of her breast prickled in the cool air.
“God, you feel good.”
Her half-lidded eyes fluttered. But then he stroked her again, and any response she might have made was lost in the wave of sensation that crashed over her.
His voice was tight and strained. “Damn it,” he growled fiercely. “I can’t wait much longer.”
Neither could she. She arched into his hand with a cry as he stroked her again. And again.
Then suddenly his hand was gone and he was holding her by the hips. If she’d had any inkling of what he intended to do, she was sure she would have objected. She would have locked her thighs tightly together and refused the wicked kiss. She would have been properly shocked and traumatized for at least a full minute. At least.
Certainly longer than the two seconds of stunned stiffness she’d managed before dissolving like a complete and utter wanton against his mouth. His glorious mouth. There. Between her legs. Kissing her. With his warm, soft lips and his tongue. Yes, with his tongue. His incredible, talented tongue that made her arch and moan, and then shudder and cry out in pure sinful delight. It came over her in molten wave after molten wave, flooding her body with heat.
When it was over, she was a puddle of sensation, warm, soft, and ready. She opened her eyes as he moved himself into position over her. His handsome face was tight and drawn with something resembling pain. A thin sheen of sweat had gathered on his brow.
She looked down. Somehow he’d managed to loosen his chausses and braies, and his manhood bobbed hard between them. His very sizable manhood. Some of the flush from her cheeks paled.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said through clenched teeth.
She lifted her gaze back to his. “I know.”
The trust in her eyes nearly felled him. Robbie wanted to deserve that trust, but if the size of the erection pounding against his stomach was any indication, it was seriously misplaced. The way he felt right now—that his skin was two sizes too small and that his entire body was on the verge of exploding, that the only thing he’d wanted to do when she was shattering against his mouth was sink into her and join her, that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his damned life—if he didn’t get inside her in about two seconds he was going to do something he’d never done before. Ever. Even when he’d been a lad.
“I’m not sure…” He couldn’t finish.
Her face grew serious. “No promises, Robbie—I know that.”
He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.” Whether this was a good idea no longer mattered. “It’s just that I want you too much, and it can be painful the first time for a lass.”
An adorable smile curved her mouth and the soft pink flush crawled back up her cheeks. She gave him a shy look from under her lashes that hit him somewhere in the vicinity of his ribs. Above his ribs, actually. And maybe a little to the left.
“Well, then perhaps we should get on with this and get to the second time.”
And then she did something that put an end to talking—and just about everything else as well.
She slid her hand down the front of his chest, trailing her fingers over the flexed muscles of his stomach, and touched him. She took him in her sweet little hand, wrapped her soft fingers around him, and gave him a perfect squeeze that made him suck in his breath as pleasure shot from the base of his spine. He made a pained sound, gritting his teeth against the fierce sensations and the nearly overwhelming need to let go.
But he didn’t. God help him, he somehow managed to keep his body under control. But for how long, with her touching him like this?
She remembered too well how he’d taught her to stroke him. Remembered how to squeeze and milk with long, hard pumps that went from base to tip.
He had to make her stop.
He didn’t want her to ever stop.
His heart hammered. The muscles in his arms almost buckled as he fought to keep himself propped over her as she tortured him with her sweet stroking. It felt so good, he just wanted to…
He felt himself pulse and knew he couldn’t let it go on. The first time wasn’t the time to test the limits of his control. “Now, sweetheart,” he said tightly. “I need to be inside you.”
Their eyes met. She unwrapped her hand from around him and let him guide himself into position. He parted her legs, letting the soft skin of her thighs rest against his. They were both still half-dressed, and her skirts were bunched up around her waist. He was tempted to rip them off her once again but didn’t think he could take one more delay.
Next time, he swore. Next time he’d take his time and do it slow and easy. But right now, all he could think about was being inside her.
She sucked in her breath when the fat tip met the silky flesh. Or maybe that sound was his, since his entire body seemed to be hit with a bolt of lightning at that first incredible contact. It took everything he had not to sink into her. To just let the sensation roll over him in wave after shuddering wave.
Their eyes met, and he could see the twinge of fear creep up behind the sated haze. A fresh wave of tenderness rose in his chest. Leaning over, he kissed her. Gently, and with all the emotion burgeoning from deep inside him. From a place he hadn’t known existed. He murmured soft words against her skin. Told her it would be all right. Told her he would care for her. Told her to trust him. He would make it good.
Even if it bloody well killed him. That he said in Gaelic.
He rocked his hips against her slowly, letting her get used to the feel of him between her thighs. Letting the thick tip tease and circle until she started to squirm against him. Until she was soft and wet and breathing hard and her hips started to lift, seeking more friction.
Every second was exquisite torture. Somehow he found the strength to hold back when every instinct in his body was clamoring to sink into that tight silken glove.
Instead he turned the rocking to a slow push.
Tight. Oh God, she was so tight. That was his first thought. The second was that she was warm and wet. The third was that his head was going to explode, he was so out of his mind with pleasure. That he’d never felt anything so good in his life. That every inch, every gasp, every minute their eyes stayed locked together he was flying closer to heaven.
He paused only once. He gazed into the big, beautiful green eyes that locked on his. Some last vestige of conscience managed to seep through, and he gave her a look in silent question. He would have found the strength to pull back if she’d asked him to. But she didn’t.
“Please, Robbie,” she whispered softly.
He didn’t hesitate again. With a hard thrust, he took her.
Mine. The knowledge was fierce, primal, and too overwhelming to deny. A lightning bolt of pleasure shot up his spine, gripping him from head to toe.
Her cry of pain tore through his pleasure like a jagged knife. He soothed her as best he could, peppering gentle kisses on her face and lips and holding himself completely still—which might have been the hardest thing he’d ever done—until her shock eased.
She stared at him, trying to blink away tears.
“I’m sorry, mo ghrá,” he said, kissing the salty dampness from her eyes and lashes. “I would take the pain from you if I could.”
Her smile was tremulous at best. “It’s not so bad,” she said so bravely, he almost laughed.
“Hardly a testament to my lovemaking skills, but I promise it will get better.”
“Anytime soon?” she squeaked, her voice high-pitched.
He brushed aside a silky lock of golden hair that had become tangled in her lashes. “Aye,” he said huskily, right before his mouth covered hers. If it killed him, he would bring her pleasure.
He’d never had to seduce a woman before, but he did so now. He kissed the pleasure back into her body with long, soothing strokes of his tongue and mouth. He teased, enticed, and told her wordlessly exactly how he would love her with his body.
Slowly, he could feel her tension ease. Her fingers were no longer clutching the bedsheets at her side but were wrapped around his shoulders. And then they were clutching him. Gently at first, and then more insistently. He loved to feel her delicate fingers digging into his arms. The visceral sensation of her pleasure heightened his own.
He tried not to think about how good it felt. How good she felt. How her body gripped him like a tight, hot glove. Or how incredible it was going to feel when he could move. When he could slide in and out, hard and deep.
But she was making it damned difficult. Her body was so soft and sweet and warm. And welcoming. Aye, he could feel her opening for him. Feel the tight clamp of her muscles begin to soften and dampen around him.
When she started to press her hips against his, he knew he had to move. Slowly at first, and then faster as she responded, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. The kiss started to fall apart as their moans and groans increased in urgency, as his breathing became more erratic and took second place to the far greater need building in his loins.
But it wasn’t just his loins. Nay, the need for her was elemental. It permeated him, flesh, bone, and soul. There was no part of him she’d left unclaimed. He wanted her with everything he had—and even with things he didn’t have.
His thrusts lengthened, deepened, and quickened, echoing the breathy little gasps of surprise she was making every time their bodies slammed intimately together. Despite the erotic picture that presented, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her face.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. Her cheeks were flushed pink with arousal, her lips gently parted, and her eyes soft with an aching tenderness that bound them together in a way he’d never imagined. In a way he’d not thought himself capable of.
He’d had lots of good swiving before. Hell, even lots of great swiving. But he’d never had perfect swiving. And that’s what this was: perfect. It was the way she moved with him. The way they moved together—as one. It was a sensual rhythm unlike any other. But he knew it was more than that. He’d never felt so connected with a woman. Never had her pleasure been his own. He could feel it building in her. Feel as the heat and sensation started to gather and twist. Feel the pressure coiling and knew exactly when it was about to unwind.
He sank deep inside her and stilled.
Her eyes widened in sensual shock a moment before the soft cries of pleasure tore from her lungs and her body started to shudder under him. And then through him as her pleasure became his.
But it was her whispered words that pushed him over the edge. “I love you.”
His chest squeezed and then expanded. With a feral cry from between clenched teeth, he clutched the soft curves of her bottom, holding himself deep as he circled his hips, grinding every pulse, every spasm, every hard jolt of pleasure that crashed over him in blinding wave after blinding wave of shattering sensation.
His mind went black. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he might have though he passed out for a minute, so intense was the blast of sensation that overtook him. The roaring in his head was so loud that when it finally quieted—when the last drop of pleasure had been wrung from his body—the room sounded unnaturally still.
All he could hear were the heavy sounds of heartbeats and the uneven fall of breaths. Realizing he’d collapsed on top of her, and was probably crushing her, he rolled to the side and tucked her under one arm. She rested her cheek on his chest, with her tiny palm pressed right above his heart, while he let his cheek rest atop her silky head.
Neither of them said anything. What more was there left to say?
He wasn’t even sure he knew what the hell had just happened. Cataclysmic. Life-changing. Awe-inspiring. They were all too mundane to describe the experience.
It had been so much more than he’d imagined—and what he’d imagined had been pretty damned spectacular. Instinctively he’d known it would be good between them—their attraction had been too charged from the start for it not to be—he just hadn’t anticipated the rest. The feelings of tenderness that had gripped him. The feelings that hadn’t come from anywhere close to the vicinity of his groin. They’d been much deeper and much more powerful. They’d come from a part of him he hadn’t been sure existed anymore.
But he didn’t know what it meant. Or, more important, what the hell he was going to do about it.
When Rosalin was a young girl, not long after her parents had died, she’d gone chasing after Cliff and some of his friends on a hunting trip. She ran after them for miles, over hills and through valleys, as quickly as her little legs would carry her.
By the time she’d caught up with them, she’d been exhausted. Every limb, every bone, every muscle in her body felt as if it had been strained and stretched to the breaking point. Cliff had been furious that she’d followed them, and she’d been sore for weeks, but the sense of accomplishment had made everything worth it.
It was the most physically exhausted she’d ever been. Until now. But like then, it had been worth it. Every minute of it.
Well, maybe not one particular minute of it.
As she lay strewn across his chest, trying to find the energy to breathe—let alone think—Rosalin winced at the memory. That minute had hurt quite a lot. But the sharp twinge had faded quickly—thankfully—and it had been replaced by a dull soreness and a wonderful sensation of being filled. Possessed. Claimed. Primitive words, perhaps, but it didn’t make them any less meaningful or significant. What they’d just done had bound them together in a way she never could have imagined. In a way that could not be undone.
If she’d thought she loved him before, she knew it now for certain with every fiber of her very sore, exhausted, and aching being. She didn’t need to worry about it being perfect. It was perfect.
She belonged to him not because he’d taken her maidenhead but because of the connection they’d forged together. She would never forget the look in his eyes as he’d held himself deep inside her and let himself go. The sharp poignancy of the moment would be burned in her heart forever. A man did not look like that at a woman whom he did not care about—care deeply about.
A woman whom he did not love.
For a moment, the hard mask had dropped and revealed the vulnerable man underneath. The man who wanted to love but didn’t know how. The man who’d had so much taken from him that he’d told himself he didn’t need it anymore. The man who needed her, even if he might not realize it yet.
Lost in her thoughts and caught up in the sense of euphoria that had overtaken her, it took a few minutes for Rosalin to realize how quiet it was. How quiet he was.
A prickle of unease tried to worm its way through her happiness, but she wouldn’t let it. Nothing was going to interfere with this moment. He was probably just as moved by what had happened as she. And probably just as tired.
With that thought, Rosalin snuggled in closer to the warm bare chest, let his spicy masculine scent wash over her, closed her eyes, and succumbed to the exhaustion.
Long after Rosalin fell asleep, Robbie lay awake in the darkness. Part of him wanted to savor every minute he had of holding her in his arms. The other part needed time to think. It wasn’t until he’d decided what to do that he allowed himself to rest.
Just before dawn he carefully crept out of bed, dressed, and made his way downstairs to put his plan into motion. When he was done, he returned to the room to wait for her to wake so he could tell her what he’d done.