Highlander Most Wanted: The Montgomerys and Armstrongs Page 21

  “I would undress you as well,” she said huskily, but she hesitated, because she didn’t want to seem overbold.

  He took her hands and guided them to his tunic, to the lacings securing the neck.

  “Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to have your hands upon me.”

  Clumsily, she worked at the laces and then allowed her hands to glide down his muscled arms and to his taut abdomen, where she gathered the material and began to push upward.

  He helped her tug it over his head, and her gaze settled on the stitched scar curving across his chest. As he had done with hers, she leaned forward and kissed every inch of the mark, her lips lingering over the puckered flesh.

  His heart thundered against her mouth and his breath escaped his mouth in a long hiss.

  “Do you have any idea how much I’ve dreamed of this?” he asked. “Your mouth on me, the sweetness of your kiss and caress. ’Tis more than I could possibly have ever wished for.”

  She ducked her head shyly, her cheeks heating at his fervent words.

  He reached to cup her jaw, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone as he gazed tenderly at her. “Ah, lass, your shyness is so endearing.”

  She rubbed her face into his palm, aching for more of his caress. Then he slowly rose, standing before her so that she had access to his leggings.

  The ridge of his arousal was readily visible, and she swallowed nervously as she began to divest him of the last of his clothing. Finally his hands covered hers and he assisted her in pushing them down his legs, and he stepped free.

  He was a magnificent sight standing before her. All male, hard, muscled, the ultimate warrior. Scars crisscrossed his body, some old and fading, some, like the one on his chest, much newer.

  ’Twas evident that this was a man who’d fought in many a battle. He bore the marks of the most seasoned warrior, a testament to his strength and training.

  From the dark hair at the juncture of his thighs, his erection jutted upward, thick and heavy. She’d learned to fear such a sight, because she knew it meant only pain and humiliation for her.

  But this was a testament to his arousal and his need of her. Her. A scarred lass with nothing to offer him, her virtue long ago taken against her will.

  It was hard not to shrink away in shame all over again, for she was not worthy of this man or of his regard.

  Bowen eased down onto the bed again, taking in the instant change in her demeanor. He stroked her hair, allowing his hand to run the length of her tresses as he stared at her in question.

  “Why that look? As though you would turn from me in shame?”

  Her eyes were haunted. Sadness clung to them, drenching the pools with a wealth of unspoken emotion.

  “Once I would have been worthy of you,” Genevieve said in an anguished voice. “I was innocent and untouched. My parents were of noble birth, and I was fostered in the king’s court. I attended the queen herself.” She looked up, her face filled with sorrow and the knowledge of all that had been forced upon her. “Now I am no more than the lowliest whore. Certainly not fit for a warrior bearing the Montgomery name and kin to one of the mightiest lairds in all of Scotland.”

  Rage filled him. He was awash in it until it flamed his senses and burned through his veins. “Not worthy?” he said, his voice gruff and unyielding. “ ’Tis I who say who is worthy, and there was never a woman more worthy of my regard than you.”

  A look of wonder slowly lit her face. Her eyes widened and then lightened. She stared at him as if he’d just single-handedly defeated an entire army on her behalf.

  “Oh Bowen,” she breathed.

  He slid his arms underneath her legs and lifted and rotated so he could position her on the bed. He laid her out like a feast—and, indeed, she was. A feast for the eyes and the senses. He could hardly contain himself, so great was his need to touch her.

  With trembling hands, he stroked up her soft belly, just above where the dark patch of hair shielded her most feminine flesh. It beckoned to him, and the urge to delve his fingers into her sweetness was strong, but he didn’t want to rush. If it killed him, he was going to be exceedingly patient. And it very well might.

  He caressed the satiny skin over her rib cage, and then up the valley of her breasts, as he gazed at the perfection of the plump mounds. Perfect, pink-tipped breasts. Her nipples were enticingly round and erect, inviting his mouth to suckle.

  When he cupped one of the dainty globes in his palm, she went still, not even a breath escaping her lips. Her nipples puckered to rigid points, and tiny chill bumps broke out and raced across her chest.

  “You are beautiful, Genevieve,” he said hoarsely. “There is not a lass more beautiful.”

  For a moment, he thought he’d spoken wrongly. That he’d gone too far and that, in his effort to make her feel beautiful and womanly, he’d come across as insincere.

  But then she looked at him and her eyes glowed with vibrant light. She looked … content. It was a look she hadn’t worn until now, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d had little to be happy about.

  “You make me feel beautiful,” she said, her lips trembling with emotion.

  Her words hit him right in the chest, and he went weak all the way to his feet. He leaned over and brushed his mouth across hers, sipping at the nectar of her lips. “ ’Tis glad I am of that, lass, for ’tis the truth that you are more beautiful to me than a thousand Highland sunsets.”

  He nibbled his way down her jaw to her ear, and then spent several long moments eliciting soft moans from her as he teased the delicate lobe. He licked and nipped until she fidgeted restlessly underneath his seeking hands.

  He plucked her nipples to fullness, toying with them with his fingers. His mouth watered with the need to run his tongue over the tips. After leaving her ear, he made a line of bites down her neck to her shoulder. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin in the curve of her neck until she shivered beneath his mouth.

  And then, finally, he allowed himself to slide his mouth downward. He left a hot, damp trail over her flesh, until at last he reached the lushness of her breasts.

  He licked the tips of her nipples, and she gasped, arching her back. Her hands flew to his hair, her fingers dragging over his scalp as she pulled him closer, demanding more.

  He toyed with her nipples, licking and teasing, and then he sucked a velvet tip into his mouth and tugged strongly as he suckled at her breast.

  “ ’Tis heaven,” she sighed.

  Her fingers loosened and she stroked his hair, caressing the long strands until he closed his eyes in pleasure.

  Her touch was wondrous. He would be content to have her hands upon him all the days of his life.

  “Aye, ’tis heaven,” he agreed.

  But he knew being inside her would be beyond heaven. The anticipation was killing him. He couldn’t wait to slide into her velvety softness. He only prayed he wouldn’t spend himself the moment he dived into her sweet heat.

  He continued his downward path, pressing tender kisses to her belly, and then he positioned himself over her, his arms pressed to the outsides of her thighs as he kissed his way to the wispy, dark hair between her legs.

  Her eyes went wide and she lifted her head, a protest forming on her lips when he parted her thighs and pressed a kiss to the soft curls.

  “Bowen, nay!”

  He chuckled low. “Aye, lass. Lie back and let me love you.”

  He slid his fingers over the silken folds and found the taut nub of her woman’s pleasure. As soon as he touched her, she jerked and let out a sharp cry.

  He doubted any man had ever given a care for her pleasure. She’d been used as a vessel for the pleasure of others. Her needs and wants had never been considered. He was determined to change all of that tonight.

  Lowering his head, he nuzzled through the warm, moist flesh and tasted the essence of her femininity. It was a heady sensation. She filled his senses. She overwhelmed him.

  He ran his tongue over her entrance and u
pward until he lapped at the little nub of flesh above her opening. She shook uncontrollably, the muscles in her legs jumping and spasming as he continued to lavish attention on her woman’s flesh.

  “Bowen!” she cried out.

  He glanced up to see her eyes wide and almost frightened. She was as taut as a bowstring, and her expression was a mixture of pain and intense pleasure.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, her voice bewildered.

  “ ’Tis your woman’s pleasure,” he said gently. “Let me give it to you, Genevieve. Trust me. Just let go. Don’t fight it. It will be wondrous.”

  She sighed and relaxed, her muscles going lax. He returned to his task, determined now more than ever to bring her the ultimate pleasure.

  He wanted to ensure she would be prepared for him, because the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He was a big man, and she was a tiny lass. He’d not use brute force and cause her pain.

  As his mouth found the tiny bud and he gently suckled it, he slid a finger inside her opening, testing her wetness. She tensed around him, clamping down on his finger. She was small, her passageway narrow, and it sucked greedily at his finger.

  He eased it deeper, plunging through plush, satin walls as he worked his tongue over her most sensitive parts.

  She twitched uncontrollably. She sighed and moaned, becoming more verbal with each lap of his tongue. Her hips bucked upward and her hand slid over his hair as if she were begging for more.

  He would take her to the very edge. He wanted her desperate for release. Then and only then would he take her and possess her. They would find satisfaction together.

  He eased his finger from her passageway and then slid both hands under her rounded buttocks, lifting her so that he could feast more easily on her feminine flesh.

  He savored every taste, every swipe of his tongue. He swirled the tip around her opening and then slid his tongue inside, delving as deeply as he could and then sealing his mouth over her entrance and sucking.

  She let out a cry and clamped her thighs tightly around his head. She twitched beneath him, and he could tell she was close to release.

  Anticipation licked up his spine. He was so eager to be inside her that his movements were clumsy as he eased her buttocks back to the mattress and removed his hands.

  Parting her thighs, he positioned himself between them and maneuvered himself in place atop her. Their bodies were flush, a perfect fit, her softness a perfect foil for his hardness.

  “I want to be inside you, lass. I ache to be inside you. Hold on to me and set your gaze on me. I want you with me the whole way. If you want me to stop, say the word. I’ll stop even if it kills me.”

  She smiled, her eyes soft with something that looked like love. Maybe it was because he wanted it to be. Maybe he imagined it. But he embraced it and held it close, hoping beyond hope that she could grow to love him in time. He’d wait forever if that was what it took.

  He would have to be patient, because first she had to trust, and it might take a long time for her to overcome all the betrayal she’d been handed.

  Positioning himself at her small entrance, he pushed forward only enough to lodge himself just inside. There he paused, not wanting to rush and risk hurting or frightening her.

  He had but one chance to make this perfect, and he was determined to do just that.

  “Breathe, lass, and hold on to me tight. I’ll be gentle and move slow. I want it to feel good.”

  Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, where her fingernails dug into his flesh, marking him with tiny claws.

  He pushed forward, entering her inch by inch. Never had he taken it so slowly or been so careful. He watched her closely for any sign that she wasn’t with him. She emitted a small sigh and fidgeted beneath him as if she were as impatient as he for him to seat himself all the way inside her.

  She closed around him, all soft and sweet and lush. Absolutely lush and decadently sinful. Never had he felt such a rush of pleasure. Or contentment. ’Twas like coming home. As if he’d waited for her—and this moment—forever. And maybe he had.

  She completed him in a way he’d never imagined a female completing him. He had kin, clan, his duties to his brother. Graeme, Teague, and Rorie had always come first. He placed their well-being and needs above his own. And now Genevieve had taken over. He’d move the sun if that’s what it took to ensure her safety and happiness. Nothing was more important than her security. His focus was and had to be solely on her, for she had no other to champion her cause. If he didn’t see to her happiness, who would?

  Closing his eyes, he slid deeper, pushing inward until finally his hips met the backs of her thighs and the hair at his groin mingled with the baby-fine hair between her legs.

  Her eyes were glazed. She looked as though she was overwhelmed, intoxicated. Her hands worked up and down his arms as if she couldn’t remain still, and then she lifted them upward to dive into the hair that streamed over his shoulders.

  He withdrew, and they both groaned with the exquisite pleasure that assailed them. He thrust forward, a gentle push. He glided wetly through the tight tissues, and sweat beaded his forehead as he fought for control.

  “Bowen, I need …”

  “What do you need, lass? Tell me. I will give it to you if ’tis within my power.”

  “I need … you,” she said in a desperate voice. “ ’Tis clawing my insides, this need. I don’t know what to do. ’Tis growing and growing until the pressure is an ache within me.”

  He eased back and then thrust a little more forcefully, setting a rhythm as he rocked against her. His hands wrapped around her hips, holding her steady as he pumped in and out of her tight clasp.

  Sliding one hand to her groin, he eased his thumb low, through the curls and into the V of her legs until he brushed over her quivering nub.

  She tensed immediately, going so tight around him that he very nearly spent himself then and there. He groaned and halted, breathing rapidly to gain control.

  Then he flicked his thumb over her again, eliciting another bone-deep shudder. She was close. Perilously close to finding her pleasure, and he wanted to take the plunge with her.

  Pressing his thumb and then working in a sensual circle, he began to slide in and out, forcing himself deep. The friction was nearly unbearable. She was so tight that it was difficult to move with ease.

  Her fingers dug into his arms. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth opened in a silent cry.

  She went wet around him, suddenly easing his passage, and he thrust harder and faster. She arched high off the bed, and then she did cry out, the sound garbled as it ended in a gasp.

  Like a wild thing, she bucked in his grasp, and he let her, riding her as she writhed beneath him. His release gathered in his cods, tightening every muscle in his body until it bordered on pain. It raced up his shaft and exploded in a tumultuous burst. He pulsed forcefully, planting himself deeply within her only to withdraw and push himself deep again.

  Finally he paused, buried inside her, his body flush against hers as he quivered and emptied the last of his seed within her.

  He gathered her in his arms, wanting only to have her as close as he could manage. She was limp and sated, her satisfied sigh purring over his ears.

  For a long moment, he remained buried inside her tight clasp. He had no desire to leave. If it was up to him, he’d remain this way for as long as he could, a part of her, connected in the most intimate way possible.

  He kissed her temple, nuzzling her skin, and murmured again that she was the most beautiful lass in the world. They weren’t just words he offered. Platitudes he didn’t mean. He cared not about the scar that marred her face. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful lass he’d ever known and nothing would change that. Not a scar. Not circumstances. She was his, and he didn’t give one damn what others thought.

  “I love you,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ll always love you, Genevieve.”

  But when he pulled away, he saw that she�
��d already drifted into a deep sleep, her mouth curved into the tiniest hint of a smile. She looked at ease, the lines on her forehead replaced by smooth skin.

  He kissed her again and gently eased himself from the warm clasp of her body. Then he pulled the covers over the both of them and gathered her close so that she would sleep in the safety of his embrace.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was in the early hours of the predawn morning and Bowen lay in bed, Genevieve resting at his side, her head on his shoulder as he stroked the softness of her hair.

  They’d both awakened but lay in the quiet, simply enjoying the intimacy and closeness of their embrace. Every once in a while, he pressed a kiss to her brow, because he was unable to keep from touching her and kissing her in even the smallest of ways.

  Her hand idly rubbed his chest in an absent manner, but he liked her touching him. He never wanted her to stop.

  “How did you become so skilled with a bow?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  She lifted her head to look into his eyes, surprise wrinkling her brow.

  “ ’Tis obvious you have great skill. You were able to fell four men in battle, and your aim is truer than that of any man I’ve witnessed.”

  “My father taught me,” she said quietly. “He oft took me hunting with him. My mother despaired of him. She told him he was trying to make a lad out of me to compensate for the fact she never gave him the son he wanted.”

  She blew out her breath softly, a look of sadness clouding her eyes.

  “I miss him,” she admitted.

  He squeezed her to him and pressed another kiss to her forehead.

  “What will happen now, Bowen? Your brother is here.”

  Careful not to broach topics that would only anger him, he responded in a manner he knew to be truthful.

  “I do not know. We did not speak overmuch on the matter. Today he’ll tour the keep and will likely decide on the future of the McHugh clan.”

  “Promise me you won’t allow me to be the cause of dissension between the two of you.”

  Bowen stiffened. Had she read more into his mood the night before than she’d let on? Was she more intuitive than he’d thought?