Page 24 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Nick?”

“I’m sorry,” he huffed. “I can’t. I just . . .”

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to make love to you.”

Wasn’t that what they’d been doing? She wriggled her hand free and stroked the skin at the nape of his neck. “And?”

“And if you keep touching me like that, it will all be over too soon.”

Ah. This she understood. This was passion.

“All right. What would you like to do?”

He set his forehead on her shoulder and laughed. “God. What a question.” It took him a moment to recover himself, and then he said, “We should talk.”

Talk? Not what she’d had in mind. Not right now. “All right.” She wiggled beneath him because he was heavy, and he edged over a bit. Which put him face-to-breast.

He stared at it for a moment and then licked his lips. And then he did what she’d been wanting. He took her nipple, which was beaded and hard, into his mouth and sucked.

The contact astounded her. She knew how exciting it was to touch an aroused nipple, and how much more exciting when he had done it yesterday, but this? Skin-to-skin? His hotness against the cold of her skin? With that simple touch, she was enflamed.

“Nick,” she said, scraping her nails along his spine. She loved the feel of his body, warm now and hard against her. The scent of aroused man filled their little refuge, and it aroused her as well.

With a murmur—that might have been the full extent of the conversation he’d intended—he turned his attention to exploring her bare body. And she his.

The fire began slowly but quickly rose into a scorching conflagration, one that stole her wits. She writhed against him and he against her, both stroking, touching, kissing like wild beasts mating in the woods.

Which they were.

He found her center and stroked her until she trembled and cried out, bringing her closer and closer to completion, but holding her back as well. The frustration grew within her, her belly clenched and her muscles ached. Sweat beaded her brow.

Higher and higher he took her, closer and closer to the edge. And then he found a place that was more tender, beneath her nub, and he toyed with it until, with a feral scream, she came. Closed in on herself. Imploded.

It was resplendent.

* * *

Nick’s lungs worked like a bellows as he watched Isobel reach her peak. God, he wanted her. So much. But he had to wait. Wait until she was herself again. He still needed to have her consent. His conscience would allow nothing less.

It was hell, though, waiting.

Even if it was only seconds.

“Good?” he asked, kissing her on the forehead.

She smiled at him, her eyes dewy and sated. “Aye. Verra good. But Nick?”

“Aye, my lass?” he asked on a breath, hoping, praying that she would—

“I want you inside me.”

Jesus God.

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

“Are you ready?”