His heart stilled as she lifted herself enough to tug the gown from beneath her. It snatched free of their bodies and she drew the gown up, slowly, teasing him. The wench. His heart hammered fiercely. He dared not look away, wanting to miss nothing as she tugged the gown up and over her head. She flung it aside, and with it came free the gold braided binding from her hair. Like strands of silken thread, her beautiful tresses cascaded down to cover her exquisite breasts. It was all he could do not to reach out and brush it aside, expose her to his hungry eyes once more.
Ah, but Christ, it was the look in her eyes that made his heart quicken painfully. Pleasure. There was no mistaking it. She took immense pleasure in revealing her body to him—though no more than he did in watching her do so.
She was beautiful.
Exquisite.
And God, but he wanted her... now... this moment... madly.
Reaching out, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her from his body, eager to take her. She gasped softly, and then again when he settled her over his shaft. His body trembling, he guided her down over him. “Ride,” he bade her, his jaw taut with savage pleasure as he watched the rapturous expression come over her face while she sheathed him fully.
Her head fell slightly back, her eyes closed.
The sight of her drunkened him.
“Marchaich mo ghradh,” he murmured, lapsing into the old tongue as he cast his head back against the bed to savor the feel of her body enclosing him. “Ride, my love,” he whispered.
For an instant Page was too overwhelmed by the feel of him filling her body so completely to hear, much less understand, his behest, and then he spoke so passionately in his guttural tongue—some strange endearment that prickled her senses and made her bold. Warmth flooded her from within, flowing there from that region where they were joined.
And then he repeated his wicked demand, and a shudder shook her. Sweet Jesu, scandalized though she might be by his bawdy request, followed by those words... my love... she knew she would do anything at all... if only he asked.
She wanted to please him—that was all that she wished. Nothing more.
His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, gently at first, and tentatively Page began to move with him. She was rewarded with a deep moan of satisfaction from Iain MacKinnon’s sensual lips.
“Aye, lass,” he whispered. “That’s it.”
Page continued to move atop him, marveling at the power of her woman’s body. Her breathing belabored and her heart pounding madly at the sight of him lying so powerless beneath her, she took immense satisfaction in every groan of pleasure she elicited from his lips. Every sigh.
And then he suddenly abandoned her to her own pace. His head cast to one side, his jaw taut, he allowed her to move at her own will, while his hands slid upward, exploring her breasts, her sides, her shoulders... her face. He drew her down and kissed her deeply, and dear God, wanton though she might feel, she closed her eyes and abandoned herself wholly to carnality.
His hands left her face. Like flittering butterflies they explored her shoulders once more, moved down to cup her breasts, kneading them gently, his fingers masterful in their stroking, and Page thought she would die from so much pleasure.
And all the while, he kissed her deeply, the most exquisite, heartrending, tender kiss...
She was passion incarnate.
Iain marveled at the way she embraced loving him. She moved with complete abandon, gave him everything unabashedly, kissing him back with the slow, erotic cadence they shared together in other regions.
He wanted... God, he craved... madly... to turn her about and bury himself deep within her body, spend himself violently and furiously within her. Wholly. Completely. Irrevocably.
Ending the kiss, he let her rise, one hand still upon her breast as he lifted his hips, following her movement, undulating beneath her.
Withholding his own release was the most painful pleasure he’d ever experienced, but he did so, wanting to feel her, intending to withdraw. Clenching his jaw, he lifted his head from the bed, watching her, mesmerized by the artless beauty of the woman loving him.
When she opened her beautiful eyes, glassy with passion, and gazed down upon him, he thought he would lose his resolve completely, so disarmed was he by what he saw within them.
There, in the fathomless depths of her eyes, he spied everything he’d ever yearned for.
Everything.
Christ, and she was right here within his arms—all he needed to do in order to know she was real... was to feel. And God, did he feel.
A shudder shook him as he slid his hand back down, his fingers skimming her belly. Like a mistress of the loch calling out to him, her body’s sinuous movement was like a siren’s lay, coaxing his seed from his body.