CHAPTER EIGHT #3
Did this woman have entirely human DNA? Sam had thought so, but as much as she hated admitting it, Nick was usually right. Something was off, and she was good enough at what she did to leave no stone unturned. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m really sorry to bother you, but I always follow my gut.”
“That’s all right.” Kristin stood. Her smile was polite, almost friendly. There was no sign of relief in her eyes, as if she didn’t care that the brief interview was over.
If she was hiding something, she was damned good.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Sam asked, thinking about the fact that the apartment was a one-bedroom flat.
The sofa was already pulled out, which meant Kristin slept on the sleeper.
It was an old building, the only full bathroom would be attached to her roomie’s bedroom.
Kristin probably used the powder room more than she did the other bathroom.
A moment later she was inside the powder room and she knew she was right. Because there she found Kristin’s makeup, hairbrush and toothbrush.
Perfect, Sam thought.
TABBY STOOD IN THE steaming hot shower, the water pouring over her, trying not to think about Macleod.
The shower was long overdue, but her body had a mind of its own and was not quite enjoying the shower as she intended.
The drops seemed to agitate her breasts and nipples, and her belly was tight and quivering with tension.
She closed her eyes, trying to keep a grip on the desire she seemed incapable of escaping, desire for a man she hardly knew—a man terribly inappropriate for her—a man she’d already had sex with.
Images danced, of Macleod walking into the bathroom and taking off that plaid, his smile slow and suggestive.
She swallowed and thought she heard the door, but when she looked at it, it remained closed.
She needed to finish showering; she needed to think about something else.
She pushed her heavy hair back, closed her eyes and let the water pour on her face, determined to ignore the weight of her body. It was almost impossible, because she could feel him inside her, filling up every inch of her, the pressure immediate, inescapable and shattering.
Whatever was haunting her—or them—from An Tùir-Tara, she didn’t want to think about it now.
She wanted to think about him, about his courage, his strength and how protective he was of her.
Just then, she did not want to acknowledge his savagery, his barbarism or his chauvinism.
If she kept this up, she’d leave the shower, open the bathroom door and call him to her.
Come to me, Highlander.
It would be so easy.
In fact, if she spent the night with him and was as unbridled and as passionate as she’d been for those few minutes in the bathroom earlier, she might actually believe herself to be a new and different woman.
She opened her eyes, dismayed. The truth was, a part of her was afraid that she’d never experience that passion again.
That she was still the old, conservative, uptight Tabby.
But she hadn’t been uptight or conservative earlier. They’d had rough, hot, animal sex—the kind of sex only two crazed strangers could have.
She thought about everyone always saying how elegant she was, how proper and genteel, how she was held up as the perfect lady, and she started to laugh somewhat hysterically.
Was that woman forever gone? Or would she reappear when Macleod went back to the Middle Ages?
If he came to her now, which woman would climb into his bed?
She wanted some of that perfect lady back.
She wanted the grace, the good humor, the confidence, the unflappable composure.
She even liked being so preppie! But she really, really wanted to be able to continue to enjoy a man in bed.
If she could hold on to one thing, it would be her newfound passion.
She never wanted to fake it again.
She slowly turned.
Macleod stood on the bathroom’s threshold.
She hadn’t locked the door. Of course she hadn’t, because she had wanted him to come to her.
Without turning, not taking his eyes from her, he closed the door behind him and pulled the plaid away from his tense body.
He tossed it aside. “Be careful what ye wish for.”
She inhaled.
He started forward, stiffly aroused. “Ye dinna need to pleasure yerself, Tabitha, when I am here to do it fer ye.”
She dropped her hands, aware of her resistance crumbling, and whispered, “Macleod…I’m frightened.”
He took her hands in his, and his long, strong fingers closed over hers. For an instant, as he looked into her eyes, she thought that there was something possessive in the action. She thrilled but her fear increased.
“Maybe I can’t do it again.”
He began to smile. “Ye can do it, Tabitha, ye may trust me on that.”
“I was frigid, Macleod, until you. Do you know what that means?” she cried desperately.
“I ken.” He laid her hands on his shoulders. “It means ye faked it every time.”
“I’ve had, like, two orgasms with a man in my entire life. I have been dead inside!”
“But now ye’re with me.” And he tilted up her chin before running a finger down her body, from the hollow of her collarbone to the tip of her breast, her navel and then to the most swollen aching part of her pubis.
She gasped, tears forming, because she’d wanted him to touch her again so badly ever since the first time. Tabby seized his shoulders. His finger pressed low and deep, then high and she stiffened entirely, throwing her head back, the wave of pleasure rapidly building, releasing the raging torment.
“I canna bear yer pain,” he said bluntly, clasping her waist. His fingers tightened there. She tried to protest. His eyes gleaming, his face hard and determined, he pulled her abruptly forward. She gasped as the long, solid ridge of his manhood was crushed between them.
The shower started to spin.
She cried out. She couldn’t stand it. “Make me come, Macleod.”
He gave a sexual sound, seized that hank of her hair again, tilting her face upward, toward his.
Tabby couldn’t breathe. Their gazes locked.
Pleasure mingled with pain while he throbbed hotter and harder against her.
She couldn’t stand it. For the second time in her life, she did not want foreplay and she did not need it.
“You win, I lose. Hurry, Macleod,” she said harshly.
For one moment, he looked at her, his face determined, his eyes ablaze with lust and desire, his huge manhood pressing against her belly. Then he smiled and moved.
He abruptly lifted her leg and wrapped her calf over his hip.
Tabby climbed up on him and he helped her, lifting her other leg.
He spun her around as she locked her ankles against the small of his back, clawing him mercilessly and pushing down onto him.
She realized she couldn’t impale herself, not until he allowed it, and she started to weep against his huge shoulder, the friction between them mind-blowing.
Her back against the tile wall, he tugged on her hair, hard. “Look at me, Tabitha.”
She did, furiously. “Damn you…damn you.”
Anchoring her hips, holding her back to the wall, he thrust upward.
She choked as he stabbed his entire huge length into her.
She was shocked to feel so much pleasure.
She hadn’t imagined it the first time. She began to spin out of control, yet she was desperate for more.
She clawed him. Ecstasy blinded her. She soared off the precipice, into a zillion stars, shattering in more pain and pleasure than could possibly exist. “Harder,” she wept. “More.”
She seemed to climax again, blinded by him now, his mouth tearing at hers, her mouth tearing at his. Each climax was more intense than the previous one. She whirled in so much ecstasy she couldn’t stand it and she screamed in release after release. His skin shredded under her nails.
She became aware of his cries, his semen burning inside her.
She became aware that she was on the bathroom vanity, but otherwise, in the exact same position, her legs locked around his hips.
She blinked and realized she had a death grip on his shoulders, and he remained embedded within her.
Having him inside her was sheer heaven. She didn’t know how long they had been going at it, nor did she care.
He had paused and some coherence crept over her. She saw his slight, smug smile. The shower was still on. “Don’t stop.”
But he pushed her heavy wet hair behind her ear, bent and nuzzled the lobe. He whispered, “Ye’ll always have this with me.”
She did not want to think clearly and analyze that statement.
She didn’t want to consider that she was seated on the bathroom sink, sweaty and breathless, her legs still locked around him, as he throbbed hugely inside her.
She was clasping his shoulders; she saw the myriad nail marks there, all bright red.
She tightened her grasp anyway. “I don’t want to talk, Macleod. ”
His smile widened, dimples came. “I ken.” He moved away from her, making her incredulous, but then he began deliberately stroking her with his shaft. Tabby seized his shoulders and leaped onto him.
Macleod laughed.
THE PLEASURE WAS DIFFERENT this time.
It was filled with triumph as he held her.