Highland Warrior (8 page)
Authors: Connie Mason
Gillian wondered why his breathing should be shallow, his voice hoarse, when she was the one hurting. Just like horses, the pleasure belonged to the male while the female suffered the indignities of mating. Though she had to admit the pain was easing as she stretched to accommodate the length and thickness of him.
Then Ross began to move in and out, slowly, as if priming her for something grand, something unknown. She fought against it, fearing the loss of her soul if she succumbed.
“Stop!” She gasped.
“I can make this fast or I can give you pleasure. You choose.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “You want to give me pleasure? Is that possible?”
He rose up on his elbows and gazed down at her. “You know naught about mating, do you?”
“I’ve seen horses and ...”
He lowered himself until their bodies touched, meshed; her breath caught in her throat. She let it out in a slow hiss as his shaft drove deep inside her and one hand moved between them to a place so sensitive she lurched up against him.
“Aye, do you feel it?” Ross whispered against her lips. “ ’Tis just the beginning, lass.” Then he kissed her, a long, slow joining of their mouths, his tongue thrusting inside, searching restlessly, tasting, demanding.
She began to pant as the jolt of pleasure she felt in her nether regions spread throughout her body Was this the pleasure MacKenna had promised? She wanted naught from him, especially pleasure, she told herself. But there was no help for it. Her body seemed to work separate from her mind. She felt the slow upward spiral of something unspeakably wonderful curl through her.
“Touch me,” Ross said in a voice so raw it sounded as if his throat were bruised.
Her hands curled into fists. “Nay, I canna.”
“Touch me,” Ross asked again.
Gillian’s hands twitched and then moved without her volition. Gillian loathed her lack of self-control, but she couldn’t help herself as she touched his shoulders. His scorching heat caused her to jerk her hands away, but they soon returned to the smooth expanse of his back. Whether out of curiosity or the need to touch him, she moved her hands over his skin in a long caress.
She heard him groan, and then she lost the ability to think, overwhelmed with feelings and sensations utterly foreign to her. Her body responded spontaneously as he drove hard into her depths, and she arched up to meet his thrusts. Ross must have liked what she was doing, for he murmured encouragingly before kissing her again. His kisses became deeper, harder, more erotic, his tongue delving into her mouth, finding and capturing hers, sucking on it until she groaned wantonly.
Ross broke off the kiss and gazed at her. The fierce look in his eyes was intense, frightening. “Give it up, Gillian,” he gasped. “Doona fight it. If you fall, I will be here to catch you.”
Gillian had no idea what Ross was talking about; naught he said made sense right now. The only thing she knew was that she wanted. What she wanted wasn’t clear. An air of expectancy surrounded her; her body vibrated with it. A thrumming began deep inside her; pleasure built; her skin burned.
Gillian saw a shimmering light high above her and knew it was hers for the taking, and that if she chose not to claim it, she would miss out on something earth-shattering. But if she took what she wanted, she knew she would never be the same.
Gillian waged a losing battle as she concentrated on the primal cadence of his hips thrusting and withdrawing, until she grew frenzied with need. She cried out as a white-hot flame snaked through her veins. She arched beneath the quickening rhythm of his thrusting loins and exploded into a thousand points of brilliant light, her body quaking beneath him.
Ross collapsed against her, shuddering, gasping for breath, his staff still embedded deep inside her. Shocked by her unreserved surrender and shamed by her response, Gillian tried to push him away but Ross was having none of it. He rolled over, bringing her on top of him.
She pushed against his chest, expecting him to release her now that he’d gotten what he wanted. “You’ve had your way with me—now leave me alone.”
“I knew you’d be as wild in bed as you are out of it,” Ross replied. “We’re not done yet.”
She looked at him then, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “What more could there be?”
“You likened our loving to the mating of horses, so now ’tis your turn to ride me.”
“But ... ‘tis finished; I know that you ... You canna .. ’Tis too soon. I mean, how can you expect that of me again?”
“Once wasna enough. Doona lie; I know you enjoyed what we just did.”
“I hated it. I hate you.”
“You may hate me, but you canna deny I gave you pleasure. I heard you cry out, felt your body shudder beneath mine. I tamed you once; can do it again.”
Gillian struggled to escape and then went still when she realized that her movements were affecting Ross in a very different way from what she intended; he was growing thicker and longer inside her. “No one named MacKenna can tame a MacKay,” she spat.
Ross’s hips jerked upward, filling her, stretching her. Gillian gasped as his hands cupped her breasts and he used his tongue and teeth on them, sucking them, flicking his tongue over the tight little buds. A surge of pleasure shot through her as he pushed his shaft high inside her. The man was insatiable. If he continued like this, he would kill her before morning.
But he wasn’t killing her. The same nameless need she’d felt earlier rekindled within her. Try though she might, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing down each time he pushed high inside her.
Ross could feel her sultry softness surround him, her muscles tightening against his cock, her thighs pressing against his hips, and nearly lost control. But since their first coupling had taken the edge off his lust, he maintained strict control, waiting for Gillian to find her pleasure before he sought his.
Ross was aware of the struggle going on inside Gillian’s mind. He knew she believed that submitting her body to him was the worst kind of betrayal to herself and to her clan. He was beginning to realize that taming Gillian involved more than claiming her sexually.
Gillian’s wildness spoke to him in ways he hadn’t sex pected, ways he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
When he heard her cry out, he grasped her hips and pushed deeper and deeper, spinning away from his thoughts, away from everything except Gillian and her wild gyrations on top of him. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she had a wildly passionate nature, for which he thanked God.
“Damn you, MacKenna!” Gillian cried, baring her teeth. “Damn you to hell!”
Lost in a haze of blinding passion, Ross watched as she broke apart, a thin wail escaping through her clenched teeth. Then she collapsed against him.
Ross no longer fought against his escalating need to climax. His senses screaming, his body vibrating, he reached the peak and tasted heaven. With a MacKay lass, no less.
When he finally found the energy to move, Ross lifted Gillian’s limp form and placed her on the bed beside him. Her eyes were closed; she was breathing hard. By the light of the dying candle, Ross looked his fill at his bride. Propping himself up on his elbow, he let his gaze travel slowly down the length of her and back to her face.
Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her body was still flushed from their lovemaking. With her red hair tangled about her head, she looked deliciously disheveled.
His gaze shifted downward. Her body was magnificently proportioned and slightly muscular, which unaccountably pleased him. While most men preferred women with softer curves, he liked the fact that his wife’s body had both softness and muscles. Instinctively his gaze was drawn to the fiery triangle at the base of her thighs, and the blood smeared there.
“Are you all right?”
She turned away from him. “Why do you care?”
Ross sighed. He hoped she wasn’t going to return to her earlier belligerence. That didn’t seem to be the case, however. Gillian seemed more lethargic than angry. He shouldn’t have made love to her that second time, since she was so new to it, but his body hadn’t been sated even though he’d reached a peak. Even now he wanted the flame-haired wildcat again. This time, however, he intended to ignore the clamoring of his body. Gillian already thought him an animal; he didn’t want to confirm her belief.
“You are my wife,” he said, remembering her question. “ ’Tisna my intention to hurt you.”
“Am I allowed to sleep now, or do you plan to abuse me again?”
Had Gillian been turned toward him, she would have seen the flash of anger in his eyes. “I doona abuse women, not even a MacKay with an acid tongue and hate in her heart.”
He climbed out of bed, went to the washstand, and poured water from a pitcher into a bowl. He washed himself first, then dampened a cloth and returned to the bed. Though Gillian protested, he spread her thighs and cleansed away blood and spent seed.
“Now you can go to sleep,” he said as he returned the cloth to the bowl and climbed into bed beside her.
Tears of shame flooded Gillian’s eyes. How could she have enjoyed mating with Ross MacKenna? Beneath his touch, her body had soared. Was she abnormal? Would another woman respond as she had? Never in her life had she felt the sensations Ross MacKenna had made her feel; she hadn’t even known they were possible. How he must have laughed at her for likening what they did to horses. But how could she have known that men weren’t the only ones capable of feeling pleasure?
Gillian must have fallen asleep, for she awakened to thin threads of sunlight filtering through the windows. She glanced over at Ross and found him staring at her. She flinched when he touched her hair, ran his fingers through it.
“Flame,” he murmured, pressing a bright strand against his mouth. “You are the flame, Gillian; I understand that now. Gizela wasna far off the mark with her nonsense
He let her hair fall through his fingers and rose from the bed. Then he padded over to the hearth to rekindle the fire. Despite her initial reluctance to look at his nude body Gillian’s gaze strayed in his direction, and she nearly lost the ability to breathe.
His body, limned in a beam of sunlight, appeared more godlike than human. His warrior’s body was honed to perfection; not an ounce of fat was visible. When he bent to feed wood into the hearth, displaying his taut buttocks, Gillian gasped aloud.
Ross rose and turned toward the sound, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Do you like what you see?”
She turned away without answering.
“I certainly liked what I saw. I couldna be more pleased with your body. You were made for bed sport, Gillian. Giving you pleasure will be no chore.”
“You mean we have to do that again?”
Aye, if it pleases me to do so.”
Gillian watched apprehensively as Ross approached the bed, bent, scooped her into his arms, then lowered her onto a bench before the hearth.
“What are you doing now?”
“Your father will be eager to return to Braeburn, but he willna leave until he knows our marriage has been consummated.”
So saying, he whipped the bottom sheet off the bed. Bloodstains glowed vividly against the pristine white. Naked as the day he was born, Ross left their bedchamber with the sheet tucked under his arm.
“MacKenna! Nay!” Gillian cried. But there was no stopping him. She knew what he intended, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Ross returned, strutting arrogantly. Cheers from those waiting below in the hall for evidence drifted into the chamber. “Did you have to do that?”
“Aye, I did. Even the priest waited below for proof. No one will doubt that we are well and truly wed now that they have seen the bloodstained sheet flying from the gallery railing.”
Gillian shrank away as Ross stopped before her.
“You’re not going to ...”
“Nay, I’m going to see about a bath and food.” He wound his plaid around his waist and strode off.
He sounded angry, but Gillian didn’t care. She couldn’t go through that again, not now and, she hoped, never. She refused to succumb to MacKenna’s passion again. It shamed her to think that she had surrendered her maidenhead to an arrogant, lustful beast who reveled in her surrender.
Once MacKenna was gone, Gillian pulled the top sheet over the mattress, lay down, and yanked the blanket up to her chin. She turned her head into the pillow, determined not to cry. She was strong; she’d let no MacKenna turn her into a cringing coward. She’d show him that not every MacKay was a weak fool. For her the feud had not ended.
It had just begun.
A knock on the door diverted her thoughts. “Who is it?”
“ ’Tis your da, Gillian. I’ve come to bid you good-bye.”
“Come in, Da.”
Tearlach entered the chamber and strode to the bed. “I had to see you for myself before your brothers and I returned to Braeburn. The MacKenna said you were fine, that he didna hurt you. Was he right? Was the MacKenna gentle with you?”
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