Highland Conquest Read online

  Nineteen

  The heat was all-encompassing. From her toes, which pressed back against Lachlan’s shin, his top leg thrown over hers, her backside firmly in his lap, his arm around her waist, and his chest glued to her spine, to his breath that warmed the curls on the top of her head.

  He surrounded her, enveloped her.

  She tried to lift her eyelids, sensing the light had changed, but after an exhausting night of little sleep, her body wouldn’t cooperate. They’d touched all through the dark hours, but not in a carnal way. Nay, they’d lain together, skin to skin, soaking each other in, and in Amber’s case, fantasizing about and wishing for his hands to move. She’d been overwhelmingly aware of him, too wound up to sleep, and if the stiff rod nestled along her arse was any indication, he’d been overly aware of her too.

  They’d slept, or not slept, in tandem. When she shifted, he did too. When he rolled over, she did too—their bodies aligning to stay together no matter what position they chose.

  She sighed sleepily when he dropped his head to nuzzle in the crook of her neck. Then his heat, lips, hands, and soft skin retreated, and she felt him slip out of his side of the bed. She automatically turned toward him, nestled into the warm spot he’d left behind, and pressed her face into his pillow.

  She inhaled…and smelled her husband.

  The sound of splashing water penetrated her sleepiness, and she dragged open her eyes to a feast of maleness. Lachlan stood on a linen in front of a washbasin in all his muscular glory, cock still standing up in front of his belly, cleansing himself. Pressing her fist to her mouth so she wouldn’t make a sound, she watched him, aroused to the point of needing to touch herself under the covers.

  She squeezed her breasts with her hands, and pulled up her knees and pressed her fingers into her damp center. An inarticulate sound escaped her throat, half growl, half moan, and he looked over at her.

  What was she doing? He was her husband, and she needed him.

  He hadn’t attacked her in the night, despite the pressures of his body—he’d suffered as much as she had, and never once after he’d climbed into bed with her had she felt unsafe. Tears sprang to her eyes as she felt a physical letting go in her body. And she sighed.

  She could trust him.

  She sat up and let the covers fall away, eyes saying everything she couldn’t put into words. His gaze dropped to her breasts, to the hand still clutched between her thighs.

  “Amber?”

  Pushing up onto her knees, she raised her hand to him. He dropped the cloth he’d been holding and reached the side of their bed in two long strides. He wasted no time, kneeling on the mattress in front of her and wrapping those big hands around the sides of her head.

  “You’re certain?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  She barely got the word out before he kissed her, their lips melding together, tongues stroking and sucking, invading and retreating into each other’s mouths. She melted into him. Her eyes closed, arms snaking around his neck. Her need for him was palpable. A living thing that squirmed within her.

  His hands slid down her spine to her backside and kneaded her flesh, pressing her closer. She rocked against him, moaning, aching to feel his mouth and hands everywhere. Wanting to be as close as she possibly could.

  “Lift your legs and wrap them around my waist,” he commanded.

  She did, her ankles linking in the small of his back, shuddering as her wet center pressed against the hard ridge of his cock and rubbed.

  He groaned and held her hips tight so she couldn’t move.

  “Lachlan,” she whimpered, and bit his chin in protest.

  “You canna move on me like that, love. Not yet. I need better control. I’ll either lose my seed or I’ll enter you by accident.”

  “But I need…”

  “Aye, you need. I’ll take care of you, Amber.”

  He laid her back on the bed, his hips pushing her thighs apart, heavy between her legs. Kissing her again, one hand stroked the sensitive skin of her neck while the other found her breast. She moaned into his mouth and arched her spine for more contact, feeling like the world was spinning away and Lachlan was her anchor.

  He squeezed the rounded flesh and lifted his head to feast his gaze on her. “I have ne’er seen anything as beautiful as you. I could stare at your breasts all day.”

  She laughed, a puff of air on his cheek. “Isna that what you’ve been doing the last several weeks? I’ve felt your eyes all o’er me.”

  “Aye, you like me to watch.”

  He sounded so satisfied, so pleased with himself and her, that she groaned, knowing it was true and it wouldn’t be long before they did that too.

  He shifted down her body, his taut stomach sliding along her core, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe, her muscles clenching in response. The air whooshed from her lungs as her hips rocked.

  Taking the tip of her breast in his mouth, he sucked hard before laving the nipple with his tongue. She sank her fingers into his hair and held him in place, her body undulating against him.

  But then he moved again, and that hard, exact pressure was gone from the apex of her thighs.

  She wanted it back. Needed it back.

  She tugged on his hair, but instead of moving upward to her mouth again, he kissed down her belly, finding every dip and soft swell, licking and nibbling and breathing her in. He half rumbled, half sighed, a happy, contented sound, and she suddenly felt like her heart might burst. Throat tight, she pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a sob.

  Of happiness. He made her so happy.

  He bit her hip bone, and she squeaked in a sharp breath. The anticipation of where he was headed and what he’d do next was more than she could bear, and she found herself panting.

  “Lachlan,” she cried out.

  “Almost there, love.”

  He slipped his arm under her leg and positioned it over his elbow, then put his big palm on the inside of her other leg and pressed it wide. She whimpered, excited to be spread before him, at his mercy. Her hips jerked upward, seeking him.

  “Aye, that’s it.” Then he blew on her hot, wet flesh before biting her thigh.

  She mewed, that was the only word for it—like a kitten—wanting his mouth on her. Instead, he rested on his elbows and stared at her mound, mouth parted, chest heaving, like he’d run to her cottage and back. She bit her lip and tried to stop her hips moving, but she felt feverish, delirious with longing, and her body wouldn’t listen.

  God’s blood, she needed him now!

  He pushed his fingers up through her curls and down into her slick folds, finally touching her. She groaned, beyond any control now as her belly clenched, and she almost came off the bed.

  Their eyes met as he continued to stroke her. Up and down. Up and down. He looked half-wild, his skin flushed, his lips swollen and dark red, his eyes hooded. He inhaled deeply, as if taking in her scent—the air thick now with the heady musk of their arousal—and his nostrils flared.

  “My wife,” he said, almost a growl. Then he closed his lips over her core and devoured her. His tongue, broad and heavy, swept the length of her, dragging across wet, swollen skin, the rhythmic pressure driving her toward release faster than she’d ever gone before.

  When she felt like she might burst, she pressed her arm over her mouth and bit down on the soft skin to muffle her cries. Her other hand gripped the quilts, needing something to hold on to, feeling like she might break apart.

  Then he stopped. The tip of his tongue at her entrance. His top lip over her sensitive nub—and he sucked. Hard.

  She cried out. Frantic. Feeling like she was coming apart. Her hips bucked, but he held her still.

  The pressure built. At the last second, he shifted a hand beneath her bottom and lifted her for a better angle, slid his tongue all the way inside. At the same time, h
e pushed his thumb on her engorged nub and circled it.

  She arched her neck. A mass of sensations tore through her. They coalesced in her core as he speared her with his tongue. Using her heels, she pushed her hips higher. High as she could. Seeking deeper penetration. More pressure. She jerked against him. He matched his thrusts to the roll of her hips. Again. Again. Until her whole body clenched. At the pinnacle of arousal, she released in great, long spasms that contracted down her thighs and up her belly into her breasts. She flooded with silky, wet heat and screamed around her arm.

  He kept going, slowing down, almost soothing her, then pushing harder to take her over the edge again. When she neared climax a third time, he withdrew his tongue and crawled up her body between her legs, laying on top of her, just where she wanted him, one of her legs still hooked over his elbow, so her hips stayed tilted and her thighs wide.

  “Lachlan?” she asked, too wound up to resist if he chose to push inside her and break his promise—as his position suggested he might. And she realized with shock that part of her—a big part—wanted him to do it. Was desperate for him to do it.

  “Trust me,” he said just before he captured her mouth.

  The hard ridge of his cock lay over her swollen flesh and nub, and when he rocked his hips forward, the broad head pushed upward on her belly. He groaned, his big body shuddering, and she wrapped her arms around his torso, trying to anchor him the same way he’d anchored her.

  He stopped, dropped his head into the crook of her neck and panted.

  “I want us to release together this last time, but I may not last. I willna push inside you, I promise, but I’ll have to hold you still lest you jerk too hard and end up taking me inside, do you understand? I’ll stay higher so I spend on your belly.”

  “You’ve done this before?” she asked, then squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. Of course he’d done it before. He’d done all of it before.

  He raised his head and cupped her cheeks, the weight and pressure of him between her legs and on her body feeling just right—despite all her insistence yesterday that she had no desire to be close to him in this way.

  “Amber, look at me.”

  She raised her eyes, feeing vulnerable and needy, but also jealous that this experience wasn’t special to him.

  When their gazes locked, he said, “I have ne’er in my life felt for anyone what I feel for you. I have ne’er worried that I might spend my seed before I wanted to, like a lad again, because I canna control my body. I have ne’er worked so hard to give someone else pleasure, solely because I craved your taste and the feel of you pulsing against my tongue. You do this to me. Only you.”

  “And you’re happy finding your release this way?” she asked. “You’ll find pleasure in it?”

  “More pleasure than I’ve e’er had. Amber, just the sight of you, the sounds of your arousal, give me pleasure enough to lose my seed.”

  Her throat tightened and tears pricked her eyes, trickling out the corners and into her hair. He leaned down and kissed them, lapping them up with his tongue before capturing her mouth again and beginning a gentle roll and thrust over her sensitive flesh and nub. She pushed her fingers into his hair with a groan and wrapped her free leg around his thigh so the sole of her foot rested on his calf. It felt good, so good—the weight of him on top of her, his arms around her, his mouth devouring her.

  His grip on her hip wasn’t tight at first, but as the pressure built inside her again, she pulled him closer. Her breasts squashed against his chest, her pelvis thrusting upward, trying to capture him, and he held her in place.

  His own thrusts increased, became jerky as his breathing fractured, and she felt a nudging at her entrance that became a thumping, then a slamming that she could hardly wait for, the heavy, warm blows sending vibrations up inside her. She tried to arch, to get even closer, but he was relentless in holding her still, his glides along her core longer and harder and faster. The pounding on her opening had her clenching and releasing her muscles, trying to catch whatever was there. Her sheath longed to be filled, to be stretched open. Longed to grip and milk her husband of his seed.

  God’s truth, she wanted to be tupped by this man. She wanted to hold him inside her and pump him of every last drop.

  He broke the kiss, his face tortured, his breath heavy on her cheek. And still the thumps at her entrance continued, driving her wild.

  “More,” she cried. “More.”

  He responded with a groan and put even more muscle and weight behind his thrusts, and she realized the pounding was his swinging sac, his stones inside making her empty flesh beg to be filled.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to tup her, but he invaded her mouth again, carnal grunts coming from him now. When he grabbed her hand and dragged it between their bodies and over his cock, the feel of his broad, slippery head thrusting against her palm sent her right over the edge. She screamed into his mouth, her leg wrapping around his waist, her toes curling, her hand fisting around his cock.

  He followed seconds later as his body stiffened over her. He pumped into her fist, releasing his seed into her hand before he collapsed on top of her.

  They lay together, spent, the breath sawing from their lungs, her body feeling boneless. Except where she clenched his cock—fist tight, muscles strong. She hadn’t released him, and she didn’t want to.

  She was fascinated by the feel of him—now that she’d finally touched him—how soft his skin had been over the iron rod beneath. How the bulbous head had powered through her fingers.

  He pushed his weight off her, but she stopped him from going far by gripping her hand tighter and pressing down with her leg over his waist.

  Their eyes met. He looked sated but guilty. “You didn’t want to touch it. I’m sorry.”

  She answered by sliding her fist down his length then up again, her thumb pressing along the underside and over the slit at the top. “’Tis not an ‘it.’ ’Tis you. And I’ve changed my mind.”

  The shaft had softened, become more pliable, but he was still hard enough to be interesting. “How long?” she asked.

  His eyes widened, understanding her meaning, then he shut them and groaned as she stroked him again. “If you keep doing that, not long at all.”

  He’d rested his body on his elbows, and in the space between them, she could see the head of his cock and her hand squeezing over it, then down again. She was fascinated with the feel of him, the look of him. A deep red color, the broad head flared at the top and glistened with clear liquid. The shaft was hard underneath, her hand unable to circle all of it, but the skin covering it was soft and moved over the shaft with her hand.

  More than anything, she loved the strength in his cock. The muscles and engorged flesh excited her, and she squeezed harder, pumped faster, making him groan and rock into her hands. She remembered how it had felt to have his stones thumping against her entrance as he thrust on her belly, and she turned her hand so her fingers slid below the base of the shaft to the heavy sac. He shifted his weight and spread his knees somewhat so she’d have better access, which spread her thighs wider, the cooler air stimulating her, making her sheath clench.

  “’Tis rough down here, not smooth like above.”

  She thought he said, “aye,” but the word was strangled, making her smile.

  The tips of her fingers lightly traced the rough hair covering his sac, fascinated to feel the pouch tighten, the loose skin hardening and wrinkling. She slipped her fingers underneath and gently squeezed, feeling the stones inside. She circled and massaged one stone slowly, then the other, before looking up and seeing his face red, his mouth open, his eyes glazed. Aye, he liked that. She’d liked it when he’d tugged on her hair down below, maybe he’d like that too.

  She grasped the short hairs in her fist and tugged. He groaned hard, his neck arching back, the tendons tight and his jaw clenched. She tugged again, t
his time pulling them in a spiral. His cock twitched, and he quickly pulled her hand back up to his chest. She was amazed at the strain on his face.

  “Sorry, love, but I’ll spend soon. I doona want you surprised or…repulsed by it.”

  She weaved her fingers through his hair and brought his forehead down to hers. “I’m not repulsed or frightened anymore, Lachlan. Nay, I love your cock.” She let out a happy laugh and kissed him. “Isla was right. I want to be filled by you.” She pulled his hips down with her legs and rubbed her pelvis against him. “Truly, I want to ride you and tup you in every way possible.” Joy cascaded through her, making her laugh again, and she squeezed as tightly as possible around his neck and hips, squirming as if trying to wriggle under his skin.

  Eyes hopeful, he enveloped her too, then rolled so she lay on top of him, her legs resting on the outside of his legs, her arms still around his neck, the broad head of his shaft pulsing at her entrance. Her breath caught and she stared at him. Her heart beat faster now, and she knew he was giving her the choice.

  She closed her eyes, pressed down, and felt the heat and hardness of him spreading her soft, wet flesh. It felt so good, and she groaned, rocking around the tip, pushing him farther inside.

  But this time it pinched, and she stopped, the pleasure and desire still there but mixed with pain now.

  “It hurts a bit,” she said.

  His eyes clouded over. “If you doona want—”

  “Nay, I do want. ’Tis just…what do I do?” she asked, her eyes back to his.

  “Pull your knees higher, by my hips, and sit up. Let your weight take me inside you, if that’s what you want.”

  “Stop with the ‘if you wants.’ I’m not a woman to do something I doona want to do.”

  He grinned, grasped her face in his hands again, leaned up, and kissed her. “Aye, ’tis what I love about you.”

  Her breath stopped, and their eyes met again. “Do you?” she whispered.

  He brushed the hair back from her face. “Do I love you?”

  She nodded. Once.