by Eliza Knight
Graham tucked her impossibly closer, wanting to remove the barriers of clothes between them.
“I’m honorable, Clara, even if I’ve been a rogue in the past. I’m no’ wealthy, but I’m a good man, and I’ll worship ye until the day I die.”
She sighed and kissed him gently. “A lady could never ask for anything more.” She slid her hands down his chest, pressing her palms over his heart. “Make love to me, Graham, as though tonight were our wedding night.”
He let out a low growl and swept her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed in the center of the room. Laying her down gently upon it, he stared down at her. Wide green eyes gazed up at him, cloudy with passion and a little bit of fear.
“Dinna be afraid, Clara. I will see only that ye enjoy tonight, that pleasure is the only thing on your mind.”
She smiled, a small, nervous tilt to her lips. Graham covered her body with his, a leg pressed between hers, holding his weight on one elbow while he used his other hand to stroke the hair from her face. They’d bother with clothes later when she was begging him to tear them away.
The candlelight gave a golden glow to her pinkened cheeks. The bow shape of her mouth was redder, swollen from their shared kisses. She was beautiful, mesmerizing, and he could have stood there all night watching her, admiring her.
This woman was his? Forever? How was that possible? What had he ever done to deserve her?
He would be spending the rest of his days trying to prove that he deserved her. A surge of emotion lodged firmly in his chest—love, deep and fierce and eviscerating. He’d never felt this way before in his life.
Graham kissed her, just a soft brush of his lips over and over, holding back the primal need to claim her, to taste her. Tonight, he was going to go slow, savor her; there would be plenty of time later for carnal claimings. Right now was the time for wooing. For easing her innocence into… He swallowed hard, trying to force his thoughts away from all the very unchivalrous ways in which he wanted to position her, to sink deep into her depths.
Clara shifted her leg, her knee resting on his hip, the heat of her core pressing more firmly to his thigh. So hot…inviting. Even through the fabric, he imagined what she would feel like, soft and wet.
His hand went to her knee, instinct bidding him to glide her gown up over her leg to touch her skin, but he stopped himself. Graham felt like an untried lad. There were so many things he wanted to do, and he couldn’t figure out which one he wanted to do first. Which one wouldn’t scare her? For a man who’d made love at least a thousand times, who knew exactly how to make a woman moan, he was suddenly feeling very inadequate, for he’d never taken a woman’s virginity.
There was a lot of pressure in that. This was not only her first time but their first time, the first time of many… what was he to do?
“Are you all right?” she asked, concern in her voice.
“Aye,” he croaked.
“Are you nervous?”
He almost laughed aloud. “I want ye to enjoy it.”
“I am. I like it when you touch me. I like it when you kiss me… with tongue.”
Those words alone were enough to fuel him forward. She liked it when he touched her; then, he was going to just keep on touching her. And she liked it when he kissed her using his tongue… Good God help him…
Enough prancing about, it was time to get down to business—and making love was one of his specialties.
Graham swept in, claiming her mouth in the kind of passionate, carnal kiss that she liked, that made her moan and wriggle beneath him. Aye, what had he been waiting for? His Clara liked his kisses. His Clara was curious. His Clara wanted him to touch her, to be wicked with her.
He traced a path over her ribs, palming her breast, the taut peak of her nipple practically piercing the fabric. When he’d tongued her nipple through the fabric days before, it had taken every ounce of his control not to rip away her gown, to press his mouth to her bare flesh, and now he could. He trailed his fingers over her collarbone, skimming them beneath the fabric until his fingertips brushed her sensitive nipple and she gasped.
“Ye like that.”
“Oh, aye.”
With a gentle tug of the fabric, he freed her nipple to his view, taking in the soft, pink, round tip. “Gorgeous,” he murmured and flicked his tongue over the top.
Clara gasped.
“And that, love?”
“More.”
Graham grinned as he teased her nipple with his tongue, drinking in her soft gasps and moans, the way she writhed beneath him, her fist shoved into his hair, back arched. He moved from one breast to the other, tugging on her gown until the next one was exposed to his view. Saints, but she was gorgeous. And her skin tasted like sweet honey. He kissed his way up her neck, back to her mouth, sliding his tongue along hers, his chest flush to her bared breasts, and then he rolled them both until she was atop of him, and he could reach the ties lacing up the back of her kirtle.
“I’m going to undress ye,” he said.
She nodded as he unlaced her, the fabric loosening until they were both tugging it down her arms, and her chemise, thin as air, was revealed. Graham slipped his hands beneath her gown, palms flat to her soft thighs, skin warm, bunching the fabric until her gown was billowing around her waist. Clara held up her arms overhead, and she lifted the kirtle over her body, taking her chemise with it, leaving her delightfully naked, straddling his body.
“And you?” she asked, sliding her hands over his abdomen.
Graham hissed a breath and swallowed hard. His gaze raked over her, taking in the slope of her shoulders, the way her perfect breasts rose and fell with her breaths, the curve of her hips and the soft flat of her belly… and the dark curls that graced the apex of her long legs. He sat up, hands skimming the softness of her hips as he moved.
“Undress me,” he said.
Clara gripped his belt, undoing it and sliding it from behind him, dropping it to the floor, her eyes on his. She tugged the tunic up over his head and tossed that too, then ran her hands over his naked chest, and he thought his heart would stop beating. The little flutters of her heated touch were enough to undo him forever.
“Your skin is so different than mine.” She touched his chest with one hand and then her own chest with the other.
It was almost more than he could bear, watching her trail those delicate fingers over her skin and feeling her do the same to him. His cock was hard, surging against the fabric of his hose, and he shifted, gripping the roundness of her arse and pulling her slightly forward, so his arousal pressed against the heat of her sex.
Clara’s eyes widened, and she looked down between them. Her fingers fell to his hose, untying them and revealing his cock at full tilt.
“Oh, my,” she murmured. She reached forward, touching the tip, and Graham thought he might die.
He took her hands in his and drew them back to his skin as he tucked her closer, flattened his chest to her breasts and captured her mouth for a kiss. If she touched his cock again, he was going to spend before he’d even had a chance to touch her himself. But having drawn her closer, he’d momentarily forgotten there were no fabrics separating their bodies, and his cock fit so perfectly, wickedly, thrillingly against her wet heat.
Graham growled and rolled them both back over, needing to take control before he forgot all of his plans about easing into her tightness, the pleasure lasting, and instead let primal need take over.
He kissed his way over her breasts, drinking in her moans, his fingers tracing her waist, her hips, her thighs. A flick of his tongue around her belly button had her hips instinctively rise, a silent, unknowing invitation for him to continue southward. Graham massaged one of her thighs, his mouth still at her belly, while his other fingers trailed over her cleft, teasing the wet flesh until she gasped. He eased a finger inside her tight channel, the slick heat quivering around his invasion.
Ballocks…
He had to taste her.
Graham slid off t
he edge of the bed until his knees hit the floor and pressed her thighs wide, revealing the pink petals of her sex to his view. Stunning…
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Right here,” he murmured, hooking his arms beneath her knees and tugging her forward as he dipped his head to the crux of her thighs.
“Oh…” she moaned, falling back, trusting his every move, which only served to make him harder.
She tasted of honey, spice and bewitching sin. Graham slipped his tongue through her folds until he found the tiny pulsing nub of her pleasure, and then he circled the knot of flesh, again and again, flicking his tongue over the top. As he kissed her, devoured her, he massaged her thighs, spreading them wider. He eased a finger inside her heat, then two, stretching her as he pleasured her with his tongue, wanting to feel the way she tightened around him with her release.
“Is this good?” he murmured.
“Aye,” she moaned, fingers tightening in the coverlet. “I… I…” But she didn’t say anything else, just moaned as he kept up his ministrations.
And then he felt it, that first fluttering around his fingers, teasing him of an impending climax. He quickened his pace, teasing that tiny bud, pressing his fingers in and out of her, mimicking what he was going to do with his cock until her entire body bowed upward, and the tight channel squeezing his fingers pulsed and quivered. Clara cried out, the sound enough to make him moan.
He continued his ministrations, riding out her pleasure on the tip of his tongue, and when her body had barely subsided, he stood, leaning over her and slid them both back up the bed, his cock notched at the entrance of her sex. His fingers anchored on her hips, he thrust inside her still-pulsing heat and stilled.
The waves of pleasure had left her weak and delirious, but the sharp pinch of his massive invasion shocked her from the euphoria. Clara stared up at Graham, thinking it was probably too late to say this had been a mistake.
“Are ye all right, love?” he asked, his voice soothing, gentle, worried.
In that instant, she took in the concern on his face, the love, and she knew it had not been a mistake at all. She also knew to expect the pain, and already it was easing.
“Aye,” she smiled up at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Will it… be like…” She chewed her lip.
“Like when my tongue was on ye?”
Heat filled her face, and warmth flooded her insides at the memory. “Aye.”
“Och, aye, love, and it will get better every time.”
She relaxed beneath him, anticipating pleasure, trusting that he was right. “Kiss me, then.”
Graham leaned down; his kiss soft at first as he shifted inside her. Clara wrapped her arms around him and surrendered completely, pleasure building at her core in the same pulsing way it had when his mouth had been on her. Slowly, he withdrew and pushed back in; a rushed primal exhale from his lips, sending a shiver through her. His hands went beneath her, gripping her arse, tucking her closer. She lifted her legs up around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he withdrew and thrust forward again.
The sensations whipping through her were intense, perhaps even more so than when he’d kissed her there. The sensation of being filled, of being claimed, of knowing that this man was hers, and she was his, that they were sharing this incredibly passionate, intimate moment sent her head and heart spiraling along with the thrumming in her limbs.
Graham tore his mouth from hers to kiss her neck over toward her ear, where he nipped at her earlobe.
“Is it good?” he moaned into her ear.
A delicious shudder went through her, and she lifted her hips higher to meet his thrusts. “So good.”
“Aye, so good,” he agreed, kissing his way back down her neck to her collarbone, then lower until he tugged her nipple into his mouth and sucked.
Clara moaned at the sharp but pleasant sting. Between her thighs, pleasure mounted reaching for the precipice he’d already carried her over. She clung harder to him, kissing his neck, massaging his back, her roving fingers going lower until she gripped the round muscles of his buttocks. Beneath her hands, the erotic movements of his hips as he thrust in and out of her were mesmerizing and only seemed to heighten her enjoyment. Everything—his breath on her skin, his mouth, his heat, his hardness, the withdrawal and thrust. The sound of their panting, moans, their flesh coming together… All of it swirled up overhead and slammed into her at once as her body broke apart.
Clara clamped up around him, her nails pressing into his buttocks as her body shattered, the climax coming in wave after wave. She cried out, the sounds of her rapture echoing off the walls.
Graham murmured words of encouragement, his thrusts growing more rapid, his mouth claiming hers. And then he groaned against her lips, his entire body shuddering violently overtop of her, and a warm rush of liquid filled her channel. He continued to move, slowing as he went until the final shudders subsided from them both.
Elbows braced on either side of her, he remained still, their bodies connected. Neither of them moved. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay like this forever. Wanted to do it again.
But eventually, he did roll to the side, a cool blast of air chilling her sweat-slick skin where his hot body had been.
Graham tugged her into his side and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and when she tilted her face up, to her lips. She lay in the crook of his arm, her leg draped over his.
“That was incredible, lass,” he whispered. “Ye are everything I dreamed of.”
She smiled against his skin. “I cannot believe we get to do this as much as we want for the rest of our lives.”
He chuckled. “Aye. And I plan to love ye morning, noon and night.”
“That many times? We can?”
“More if we want.”
She giggled. “I should like never to leave our bed.”
“I think we can manage that for a little while, but then my brother may demand we rouse.”
He slipped from the bed and wet a rag in the basin, bringing it back to wash between her thighs. His ministrations were soothing and sweet. When he was finished, he climbed back into the bed and tugged her into his arms.
She stretched her arm across his chest, hugging him closer. “I cannot wait to get away from Rose Citadel, to go to Scotland with you and begin our life.”
“Tomorrow. We will do it tomorrow.”
“I love you,” she murmured, placing a kiss to his heart.
Graham tilted her chin up and pressed his lips to hers, soft at first and then growing harder, filled with passion, and she felt her body answer his demand as pleasure and passion thrummed through her again.
“Can we…?” she asked against his mouth.
“Och, are ye no’ too sore?” His fingers danced through her curls, gently probing her folds.
“Not at all.”
Graham grinned down at her. “Then aye, lass, we can.” And he kissed her again, his hands roaming over her body, making her moan in delight once more.
11
Dressed in full armor Graham was mounted on his horse beside Cormac, their two men Duncan and Lachlan, and the rest of the men on the away team. Across the field facing them were those of Lord Yves's team, which included Baston and Brodie Ross, their three brothers and another seven or so of their men. The battle would start on horseback, then descend into hand-to-hand combat as knights were unhorsed.
Though the melee was supposed to be Lord Yves’s team against the away team, after their conversation and agreement the day before, the Sutherlands would be focusing on the Rosses and vice versa.
Four against a dozen seemed like terrible odds, except that it wouldn’t be the first time Graham and Cormac had gone up against that many men and all week they’d been honing their fighting skills to win matches against the Ross men.
The Sutherland knights knew the Ross moves, and now was time to take advantage of that. Graham’s biggest concern now was not wheth
er he could win, but how many of the weapons in the Ross's hands went against regulations. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were all of them.
Anticipating that, the Sutherland men had prepared for the melee with heartier weapons that could do maximum damage, rather than their swords, and each of them had daggers stuffed in their boots in case it came down to a fight to the death. Graham and Cormac were armed with maces while their men carried pikes that were longer than a man’s height and could easily ward off the enemy at a longer distance.
Bloody bastards were about to get what was coming for them—a sound beating, and then Graham and Cormac would hightail it back to Scotland with their women and their coin, and the best part about it was that he and his brother were damned happy. Men in love. That made them all the more passionate about the fight, all the more determined to win.
The Ross brothers only had hate and treachery on their side. Today, honor would win.
Graham tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. He rolled his shoulders, preparing himself to kick some bastard arses. His horse pawed the ground excitedly.
On his platform, Lord Yves stood and called out for the melee to commence, followed by the sound of the horns that blew them all into action. A surge of battle lust roiled through Graham’s veins, and he had to rein it in before he called out a war cry and galloped his horse into the action without thinking.
Aye, he wanted to beat the Rosses, but he wanted to beat them smart and not spontaneously.
“They’re coming,” Cormac said.
Graham nodded and raised his bladed mace. “To victory,” he replied, but his brother was already past him. His heart pounded as he went into a full charge.
Brodie Ross went straight for Cormac, but Graham was confident his brother could hold his own. Duncan and Lachlan bellowed battle cries as they slammed their pikes into the guts of advancing Ross men, and then arced for second blows to the next set.
With his eyes on Baston, Graham grinned and swung his mace in a powerful arc, blocking a blow from the whoreson’s war hammer. Baston had come prepared to beat Graham into a pulp; the bloodlust in his eyes was clear through the slits of his lion’s helm. But Graham was not about to cower. In fact, knowing that this man wanted to kill him and take Clara away from him only seemed to give Graham more strength and reinforce his determination.
