Page 58 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“Thank you,” she whispered, though her heart was beating so fast, and she was so breathless that the words were hardly audible.

“Thank ye for putting yer trust in me. I dinnae take it lightly.”

“I know,” she said, but anything else she might have added was lost as he pressed his mouth to hers, pulling her against him. Goosebumps ran over her as the press of metal clasps and buttons touched her skin and he smiled, rubbing her arms as he felt the shivers prickle her skin.

“Get into bed, lassie. I’ll be with ye directly to warm ye up.”

Obediently, Delia climbed into the magnificent bed, pulling the covers over herself as she watched him disrobe. He certainly made quick work of it, considering the complications of the Highland dress, but soon enough he stood only in his shirt and Delia’s mouth felt dry, her heart thudding as he drew it up and cast it aside.

He grinned at her, an amused glint in his eyes and he put his arms up and turned in a circle for her perusal. “Nae too shabby, aye?” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Ye are a lucky lassie.”

“Dreadful man,” she said, smothering a giggle at his smug expression. “You are a deal too confident, I think.”

Privately, she had to agree he had every right to be. An active life led mostly out of doors had honed his body to a landscape of rugged muscle. His chest, forearms, and legs were remarkably hairy, the hair glinting gold in the firelight as he moved to the bed.

“Ye reckon I swagger a deal too much, do ye aye?” he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes as he climbed into the bed.

“Aye,” she told him. “As it happens, I do.”

She held his gaze, knowing she was asking for retaliation and eager to see what form it would take.

“Let’s just see about that,” he growled, and leapt onto the bed, stripping back the covers she had pulled up, pouncing on her and pushing her down onto the pillows. His skin blazed against hers, the temperature so fiery she had no hesitation in clinging to him, wrapping her far cooler body about his like honeysuckle climbing a tree. She held on as his hands explored, seeming to be everywhere at once as the intimacy of their naked bodies pressing together made her mind reel with sensation.

He kissed his way down her body, lingering for a time over her breasts as his hot mouth closed over her nipples, sucking and pulling and drawing breathless sounds of approval from her that seemed to please him a good deal. After a delightful interlude, he carried on down, trailing his tongue over her skin and making her squeal by wriggling it into her belly button.

“Do you think sheep kiss before they—” Delia bit her lip, wondering what on earth had prompted her to ask such a thing at such a moment.

Muir looked up, his lips twitching. “Nae lassie. That much I’m certain of.”

“Oh,” she replied, disappointed, and then squealed as he returned his tongue to its previous occupation.

He laughed at the way she squirmed away from him and held her immobile as he moved lower still and kissed her inner thighs, trailed his tongue along the sensitive skin at the apex of her sex. Delia stilled, hardly able to comprehend what she suspected he might do next. Whilst Emmeline had been quite bold in explaining what her wedding night might be like—in Delia’s opinion, at least—it appeared she might have left out a few crucial details. Delia gave a little cry of startled shock as Muir’s tongue swept over her.

“Do sheep do that?” she demanded in outrage, before she could think better of it.

Muir gave a muffled snort and shook his head. “Nae, lassie, now haud yer wheesht and let me love ye.”

Delia had no trouble complying with this demand, for any possibility of speaking a word evaporated as her brain and body dissolved into a quivering mass that could do nothing but feel.

Delia hadn’t the slightest idea if this was normal behaviour for a man on his wedding night and Emmeline had simply been too discreet to explain it, or if perhaps Muir was simply being his outrageous self, she only knew she didn’t care. His mouth was so hot against her sensitive flesh it almost burned, and the pleasure was close to unbearable. Delia whimpered and writhed even though his hands gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place. Her sanity unravelled as she made sounds she would surely remember with mortification. For the moment she didn’t care, chasing the promise of more as something hovered just out of her grasp. She arched, her body taut with eager anticipation, holding her breath as she waited for what came next. He’d shown her this before, this glittering peak, and she careered after it, desperate for it even as she never wanted it to end.

Muir slid a finger inside of her, sucking gently at her tender flesh, and the sensation she’d been waiting for exploded through her. She cried out, clutching at his hair as something primal and elemental overtook her, sounds torn from her throat she would never have believed possible until the pleasure dissipated, leaving her boneless, exhausted, and stunned.

Delia couldn’t move, her body had no substance. Indeed, she was fairly certain it had melted into the mattress. Besides which, she did not wish to open her eyes again, for if she did, she’d have to look Muir in the eyes, and she didn’t know if she could.

“Still think I swagger too much, eh?” he asked, the smug devil.

Somehow, Delia found strength enough to crack open an eyelid and gazed at him dubiously. “I think you are a very bad man,” she said tartly, to which he only laughed, settling himself between her legs. Delia gasped as his sex, hot and aroused, pressed hard against her still pulsing flesh. “A very, very bad man,” she said, sighing and giving herself over to him entirely, for her body seemed to have decided it preferred being under his control and she was not about to challenge it.

“Nae, lassie, I only know how to please ye, and to please myself, aye. Speaking of which,” he added, pushing inside her. “Relax now, mo ghraidh, and let me love ye.”

Delia tried to do as he asked, finding her body less inclined to obey him now as it tightened, remonstrating at the strange invasion as he pressed farther inside.

She gasped and Muir stilled, taking a moment to stroke her back, her sides, to kiss her and speak soft words, soothing her until her muscles responded and he pushed all the way in. At first, she could not breathe, certain she would experience pain the moment he moved, but as her body adjusted, accepting him, she relaxed further, and suddenly it was easy and instinctive and she forgot to worry, or to wonder how it would be, and simply let it happen.

It seemed they fit together, like nature had always intended one for the other, making her wonder if fate had played a hand purposefully as he had suggested. For how else could this be so perfect, if it had not been meant from the start? But she could no longer consider such philosophical questions, for her body was taking over again, her mind forced into the background as feelings and sensations arose inside her, overwhelming her senses. The realisation that he was feeling the same things, that his strong, muscular frame shook with the same pleasure, the same delight he found in her that she experienced with him, was too wonderful for words. Instead, she tried to express it in her touch, her kiss, in the inarticulate sounds she gave him to show him how well he pleased her, until the peak came, and they found it together, crying out and then laughing helplessly as she wondered at the strange beauty of such an intimate act.

They slept for a while, dozing as the dimming light of the afternoon gave way to darkness. Muir loved her again, so slowly and tenderly that she almost cried, clinging to him and promising to be everything he needed while he hushed her, assuring her that she already was. When they woke again, it was late, a slim sickle moon visible through the window.