Page 39 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

He cupped a breast and she inhaled sharply. Desire rocketed through her.

“We are not alone.” She choked out the words.

There were men perched on the box and—panic shot to the surface—she and Taran had already played out this scene. There could be no repeat performance. Caroline commanded her body to break free of his hold but his mouth melted her.

She shifted on the seat, aware of the wetness that slicked her thighs. “My lord.”

The carriage rocked and his hold on her tightened. “This is our first day as man and wife.”

His moist lips seared a trail down her neck and his deft fingers had her dress buttons undone, revealing the swell of her breasts.

“Such things are to be expected.” He stroked his thumb over the exposed skin.

Her nipple strained against her shift’s fabric. He bent his head and took the taut, cloth covered tip in his mouth. Wetting the fabric with his tongue made the material cling to her skin. She shivered and arched into his mouth. His tongue teased and nibbled. Soft suction tugged on the raised peak and streaked into her core. Caroline pressed against the cushion as if she could sink into the velvet and escape the exquisite torture.

Taran sucked harder. Her pussy clenched. A moan escaped her mouth and she grasped the sides of his head, holding him tight to her breast. She spread her thighs, needing his heavy weight between them.

“Yes,” Taran whispered.

Caroline stilled.

His eyes met hers as he grasped the edge of her skirt and slowly inched it upward. Fear tightened her tummy while desire tightened her clit to torturous pleasure.

“Give yourself to me,” he coaxed.

Terror ripped through her. He was too close, too aware of her…of Aphrodite.

Seizing his shoulders, she shoved him away. “We cannot do this.” Her ragged breath leached the statement of power.

“Never fear,” he said, amusement still evident in his voice, “I will teach you how to please a man in a carriage.” He paused. “Or perhaps you will teach me?”

Caroline jerked her chin up in a challenge. “Making love in a carriage is not proper behavior for a lady.”

He lifted a brow and she flinched, but didn’t break from the stare. A corner of his mouth twitched in obvious amusement as he leaned past her and yanked the window curtain closed. Two nights ago, he had done this very thing on the streets of Newcastle. Her heart raced. She couldn’t think. He muddled her thoughts, drove her to irrational behavior.

He settled back beside her, his fingers tracing circles on her exposed thigh. “In my bed—or carriage—there is no need for you to behave as a lady.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I am your wife, not your mistress.”

His head snapped up. Even in the dim light of the carriage she discerned the glitter in his eyes.

“Last night—”

“Last night is behind us,” she broke in. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. How could she continue to lie to him? “We must forget the past.”

“I cannot.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

His tongue traced the seam of her closed mouth and she breathed in a strangled sob. He wanted more of what she had given him last night, the reassurance their union was not built on hate, that she could—would—accept him. How much would she have to give before he was satisfied? Too little would break her heart. Too much would drain her soul.

He lifted her dress and she whimpered, a soft mewling sound. Strong, calloused fingers grazed the flesh behind her knee. Higher, along the inside of her thigh. A shiver raced up her spine. Heat radiating from her core seemed to draw his fingers like a moth to a flame. Caroline parted her lips and glided her tongue along his, sucking him into her mouth. Taran groaned, deepening the kiss, then abruptly broke away. His breathing heavy, he rested his forehead against hers. Caroline sat frozen, until his fingers touched the damp curls covering her sex.

“You burn as I do,” he said. “Why resist?” Tracing the slick seam, he then parted her folds. “Feel how your honey flows…” He slipped a finger into her clenching passage. “For me.” He plunged deeper, stroking her internally, then easing out.

Cream coated his fingers. She couldn’t hide her response to his touch. Anywhere but here in this carriage, if they were anywhere else. “We should stop. This is improper.”

He growled, slamming a second finger into her pussy. “Perhaps I do not want a proper wife.” A third finger.

Caroline cried out, gripping the edge of the seat as she bucked her hips against his thrusting fingers. Pleasure spiraled through her center. Quivers built in her passage.