Page, too, savored the moment, her head falling slightly backward, though still she watched him, for she wished to miss nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to meet her gaze, his golden eyes gleaming, and he whispered, “I wish to see all o’ ye, lass...”
Page managed a nod, but no more, and he slid his hands down to clutch the hem of her gown, drawing it slowly up, and peering up at her as though he thought she might any moment refuse him.
She didn’t intend to. Sweet Jesu, but she was dizzy with desire, eager for whatever he would give her.
He drew the gown up and over her head, along with her rent undergown, and tossed the damp fabric aside upon the grass. And then he simply stared. Page waited anxiously for his response, and was mesmerized by the dazzling smile that appeared upon his face.
“Beautiful,” he whispered fervently, and Page wanted to cast herself into his arms and weep. When he leaned forward at last, she welcomed him wholly, closing her eyes, and lifting her arms in a gesture of total and joyful submission.
And then she could think no longer, for his lips closed over the peak of one breast, and he began to suckle. She thought she would die with the pleasure he wrought from her body. His kisses lifted to her face, while his hand caressed the flesh he’d abandoned with his lips. When his mouth touched upon her own, she thought the world might suddenly spin away. She clung to him desperately, wrapping her arms about his neck, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue sparring first gently with her own, and then more urgently.
She was scarce aware that he laid her down upon the grass once more. His body covered hers, his weight both welcome and cherished, while his lips and hands continued to explore and seduce her. Her torso, her breasts, her thighs.
And then his fingers were suddenly there between her legs, and she opened for him instinctively, feeling again that incredible bliss. He settled between her thighs, and she felt that rigid part of him nudge her. Welcoming him, Page lifted her legs, wrapping them instinctively about him.
The first thrust came without warning. Bracing her hips with his hands, he entered her swiftly, muffling her cry of pain with his mouth and his kisses. Her heart felt as though it would be thrust into her throat, so deep did he drive himself within her. Casting her head backward, she cried out.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her mouth, raining tiny feverish kisses upon her chin and her throat. “It’s no’ too late. If ye will it... I’ll stop, lass... Just say the words...”
A cold sheen of perspiration broke upon her fevered body, but Page shook her head frantically, embracing even the pain. She wanted everything he would give her—everything— knowing somewhere in her heart that her first time with him would be her last.
And then the pain dissipated and she felt again the sweetest ache within. He lay still upon her, filling her completely, waiting, it seemed, for her to respond. Page began to move, trying to rediscover that elusive sensation.
Iain groaned with a pleasure so keen, it was almost pain.
He didn’t intend to move so soon, but she was too insistent, too passionate, moving beneath him as though she would milk him of every last drop of his will.
And Christ... he wanted her to... want this...
He couldn’t keep himself from it.
He thrust again, and again, driving himself mindlessly, until the fog in his brain cleared enough for him to consider the consequences of his actions. He tried to withdraw, for her sake, but she lifted her legs, entwining them about his. He cried out, shuddered, and held on to his will like never before, refusing to spill himself within her. Though his heart felt near to strangling, he drew upon every last shred of will and thrust again, and again, never stopping until he felt her succumb beneath him.
When her body trembled with her own release, and she gave a soft keening cry that ended in a blissful sigh, he knew he’d pleased her well, and he withdrew swiftly, spilling himself without her instead. Sated and depleted, he collapsed atop her, savoring the musky scent of their loving that surrounded them... the cool sheen of sweat upon their bodies, and the breeze across his back.
He was grateful to her in a fashion he could never repay, and connected now in a manner he would never forswear.
Like a besotted youth, he reached out and plucked a bright yellow crocus from the grass beside her and handed it to her. She accepted the blossom, and he buried his face within the crook of her neck, embracing her.
She was his now.
He’d made it so.
And he vowed, upon his life, that he’d never let her rue this day.
While the rest of them had waited about like idiots, fiddling their fingers, the two of them had been rut tin’.
Damn but it galled.