“I’m not?” She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been that.
“You are my wife, mated to the Chrechte pack leader by ancient and true rite.”
She didn’t understand why he referred to his clan as a pack. No doubt it was one of the many new Highlander ways she would have to grow accustomed to. Regardless, if this rite had given her a place other than unwanted English bride, for however long, she was grateful.
“I will do my best to live up to the honor you have done me.” She wasn’t sure why she said that, only that she knew they were the right words to say.
His genuine, approving smile affirmed her choice.
Then he kissed her. At first the caress of his lips was like the brush of butterfly wings, the soft touch at odds with the power of her warrior husband. Her reaction was not gentle, however. The barely there caress of his lips lit the fire of passion that had banked during the Chrechte marriage ceremony.
It made her want the things he had promised. It made her crave the pleasure he had already shown her the past two nights in their tent.
This oddly gentle touch was like a benediction on the wanton woman clamoring inside her soul for release.
Placing both her hands on his chest, she felt the rigidity of his muscles beneath her fingers, his increased breathing and quickened but strong heartbeat. Each small detail evidence that he liked kissing her as much as she enjoyed him doing so.
The knowledge filled her with a fierce and unique pleasure.
Right here, right now, she could and would be a normal woman. A whole woman. His angel. Her lack of hearing did not matter when their lips were too busy connecting to speak.
She did not know how long they kissed, but little by little, his lips grew more demanding. Until there was no question that they required her total surrender. And she gave it, wanting nothing more than to know the reality of being a true wife to this powerful laird—at least for this one night.
Chapter 8
Her own breathing became shallow and she saw the pinprick of stars behind her closed eyelids.
Somehow he managed to maneuver her onto her back though his hands never moved from their tenderly possessive hold on her face.
His mouth moved over hers, deepening the kiss with his tongue as their bodies aligned in instinctive need. Growls vibrated in his chest as he claimed her mouth with wild strength, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and carefully nipping it. He did not draw blood, but she knew instinctively not to pull back, not to attempt to assert independence in any form in this moment.
Her spirit rejoiced in the sensations. She had no desire to separate herself from him at all. She kissed him back just as fiercely, if not more so, nipping at his lips and dueling with his tongue to enhance the intensity of the kiss. For once, the cocoon of silence caused by her deafness only intensified sensations she more than craved.
The wildness she sensed in him called to a part of her she had not even known existed—animalistic desires and untamed cravings beyond her ability to comprehend.
Blanketing her, his big body pressed hers into the soft furs. Their skin touched intimately, and yet it was not enough. She hungered for more. More of his touch, more of the sensations swirling through her. She needed a deeper connection. She wanted what he had promised her on the morning of their wedding.
To join their bodies so perfectly that she would feel him inside her soul.
She did not know what to do to encourage him toward that pinnacle, but he had taught her one thing thus far. He enjoyed her touch with unabashed pleasure.
So, she touched him. Everywhere she could reach. Over bulging shoulders and biceps, along a back corded with muscles that felt like rock under his satin-smooth skin. Her hands glided down over his buttocks, cupping the hard, round globes. Yet rather than satisfying her, the movement of her hands over his body only increased her need.
She wanted to urge his hips forward with her hold on his backside, but when she tried, he did not move. His stubborn strength spoke a silent message of control that both frustrated and delighted her.
His possession of her mouth did not abate and his body moved over hers while she writhed under his weight.
But none of it was enough.
And yet, it was almost too much. She wanted more. She wanted to stop. Her mind warred with her body while her heart sang a song she tried to tune out. One thing they all agreed on: she craved deeper connection. And yet the connection she felt already scared her stupid.
She tried not to think as she moved her hands up his body and then traced the lines of his face with her fingertips. It was an intimacy as profound as the feel of his hardened male flesh pressing like a stone against her thigh.
At the first soft brush of her fingertips along his jaw, Talorc’s body went rigid with the need to claim Abigail fully. He did not understand why that simple touch acted as such a siren’s call to his feral nature when a similar caress along his flank had only fed the fire of his sexual need. It had not turned his desire into an inferno he was in danger of not controlling.
However, control it he must.
He would not hurt his sweet wife. Despite his wolf’s nature, he was no beast to take what he wanted without thought or consideration. The Chrechte were not animals, but humans with the enhancement of animal natures. Nevertheless, it was easier to mate in kind. Humans were often too weak to face a Chrechte’s full passion.
Abigail was more gentle than most, definitely too gentle for his wolf, but she responded to him blithely oblivious to her peril. She touched him with wanton carnality he would never have believed a gently bred Englishwoman capable of. While he could not read her thoughts, she broadcast her need with every move of her small, silky body.
And she kissed with the hunger of a Chrechte woman claiming her mate.
As soon as the thought formed, he banished it with an angry growl. For all that she looked like an angel right out of Heaven, she was human. She had been born and raised English. She was not his mate, but she was his wife.
This night their bodies would consummate that truth.
He grabbed both her wrists and placed them by her head. “Keep them there.”
Her soft brown gaze was dark with desire, and she dared shake her head at him.
“Obey me.”
This time it was her eyes that spoke denial, though her lips remained immobile.
“I mean it.” He caressed her wrists with his thumbs. “Your hands are to remain in this exact position.”
Her sensuous, bow-shaped lips twisted in mutiny. “I would touch.”
“Your touch incites my lust, angel.”
“Is that wrong?” She paused, looking at him with an unfathomable expression. “Between a husband and wife?”
“If it is the wife’s first time to hold him within her body, it is dangerous. I would not hurt you.”
“I know you will not.” Again a pause as if she searched for words. “At least not more than necessary. Some pain is inevitable.”
He wished he could deny it, but she spoke truth. Nevertheless, there was a difference between carefully breaking her maidenhead and rutting on her like a beast. Which he was in danger of doing if he did not maintain control. “Obey me,” he repeated.
“What will you do if I do not?”
He could not believe his shy wife had the temerity to ask that question. He glared down at her, his passion making him more ferocious. “I will assure compliance.”
She licked her lips, her eyes dilating with increased arousal, but she did not reply.
There was no need. Her reaction was as clear as his favorite loch. His angel liked the idea!
Without thought, he stretched her hands above her head and grasped both small wrists together with his left hand. His wolf howled in approval while Abigail gasped and then moaned, her eyelids dropping to half-mast.