Chapter Thirteen #2
The lass was untouched. A profound realisation. Instinct, primal and protective, made Lachlan gather her tighter to him. He fed on the sweetness of her mouth like a man starved of affection, and the sensation of her tongue entwined with his was more thrilling than he’d ever encountered.
His hand shifted from her nape to the side of her neck.
She literally took his breath away, causing Lachlan to tear his mouth from hers and inhale air.
His gaze swept over her lowered lids, lips parted and mouth once again seeking his.
When his thumb stroked her lower lip, her eyes flashed open, a window into her need for more than simply making her forget the havoc Mother Nature wreaked beyond their granite refuge.
She took his thumb into her mouth, sending Lachlan’s heart into a pounding rhythm and igniting in him a hunger not to be denied. Once again, he stroked his thumb pad, now damp with moisture from her mouth, over her lower lip.
‘Helene!’
Her name, drowned out by the storm, carried the same manner of urgency as he bent to kiss her, knowing he did so not just because she’d asked him to, but because he acted with selfish motives.
The maelstrom outside faded from his mind, replaced instead by an all-consuming awareness of the woman in his arms.
Her sweet lips were more intoxicating than the most sinful of fruits from a tree.
Helene had already stolen his soul. He knew that now.
If she were to ask for his life, he’d give it.
This was a moment to sustain him for the rest of his life.
He’d take it and gladly bear whatever punishment God saw fit to mete out consequent to his ignoble desires.
He’d take whatever liberties Helene would allow him.
Honour be damned!
*
Every part of Helene wanted Lachlan MacLanoch, and the throbbing between her thighs intensified with each wicked move of his tongue against hers. She pressed herself into his palm cupping her breast, shameless in the throes of experiencing new and thrilling sensations.
She dragged her sated mouth from his, drew breath, and then touched her lips to his neck where the blood pulsed fast and hot beneath his skin. The tip of her tongue tasted him, a mixture of rainwater and salty sweat.
The rhythm of his heart beat strong and steady against her hand upon his chest. In a bold move, she slid her hand sinuously down between their bodies to discover his swelling arousal.
Her gasp was as profound as the breath he expelled against her cheek.
Encouraged by his lust for her, Helene took his mouth with hers and branded him with her own kind of kiss, a kiss as powerful as the squall at their backs.
Pent-up yearnings for Lachlan, yearnings which she didn’t know how to name, rushed forth in a torrent as strong as the river in which she’d almost drowned.
Her fingers interlocked behind his neck. Blood surged in her veins, and she ached for something more than his kiss, more than his arms holding her tight, and more than the friction of her body moving against the growing pressure of his maleness.
Lachlan broke the kiss and stared down at her, eyes burning with need, lids heavy with desire. Desire for her. His mouth moved, but Helene heard not a word above the noise of the storm.
‘I want you,’ she said, hoping he could read her lips.
Lachlan’s hand went to her hair, his fingers spearing through the loose strands that had fallen free of their pins. His frown deepened, his expression serious, and the words he spoke were tossed about unheard in the air between them.
Helene took his hand in hers and, desperate to make him understand, placed it at the apex of her thighs.
In a swift counter-move, Lachlan cradled her head in his free hand and kissed her with the intensity of a lightning strike.
His hand between her thighs moved in a sensual, circular motion.
Exhilaration soared and the heat of her blood rushed into Helene’s face. She felt no embarrassment and no shame.
His mouth left hers, and he turned her in his arms. Helene drew strength from the hard, virile body at her back, eager to follow his experienced lead.
Large hands followed the curve of her hips, then slid lower as he bent to her ankles, before lifting her skirt up over her knees to her waist. He bunched the material in place with one hand and used the other to coax her legs wide.
Such was Helene’s heated state of arousal that she was oblivious to the draughty cool air hitting her exposed flesh.
Lachlan’s hand, warm and rough, settled on the inside of her thigh.
His thumb massaged slow circles on her skin, eliciting from Helene a moan and sending her delirious with anticipation of what was to come.
Why then did he pause?
His mouth moved against her ear, and she vaguely registered the inflection in his tone. Consent to continue? Yes, she wanted this, and to prove it she turned her head to one side, glanced up into his eyes, and lifted her chin to offer him her mouth.
His lips came down on hers at the same time as his fingers found and stroked the most intimate part of her body. Helene shivered from indescribable pleasure. One finger delved inside her, and then out again to gently flick her swollen nub. So exquisite was the pleasure that she flinched.
Her senses begged, Again. Do it again.
He repeated the pattern several times, sliding in, sliding out, his tongue working the same synchronised magic in her mouth. Instinct had her move her hips against his hand between her legs, desperate to appease the hungry ache building within.
When Lachlan broke the kiss, she drew in a much-needed breath and dragged her eyes open to see him looking down at her.
Something about him watching her fall apart beneath his touch heightened Helene’s arousal.
Her skin burned as if with fever, and she conceived only one coherent thought.
Release. Release from the storm building inside her.
Release from the fire in her belly, and release from pleasurable agony when Lachlan slipped two fingers deep into her core.
Her body tensed as a feeling with almighty force peaked and burst in wave after wave of carnal liberation.
Thrilling thunder pounded in her veins. Her senses soared, sweeping her higher than the mountain peaks and carrying her forward until slowly, like a feather falling in a lazy descent to earth, she returned to the present, her mind lucid enough to register peaceful silence.
The tempest had abated, and in its place all was calm.
‘Helene,’ said Lachlan, his mouth hot against her neck. ‘Helene.’
The deep timbre of his voice and the evocative way he’d twice murmured her name made Helene tremble. If not for his tight embrace, she’d have collapsed to the ground. If not for this scoundrel Scot, she’d never have known what was possible. This, this experience was the best pleasure of all.