Chapter 26 #2
"Is this all right?" he asked, his lips brushing her ear.
"Yes," she breathed.
His other hand came up to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head back.
He watched her face intently as he lowered his mouth to her throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the frantic pulse there.
She whimpered, her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging into the hard muscle as her knees buckled again.
He caught her, his arm tightening around her back, and lifted her easily until her legs wrapped around his waist. The sudden shift of position brought the hard length of him pressed against the most intimate part of her, and she cried out at the jolt of sensation that shot through her core.
"Shh," he soothed, his voice a low rumble against her throat. "I have ye. I will always have ye."
He carried her away from the wall, cradling her against his chest as he crossed the room. She barely noticed the movement, too consumed by the feeling of his bare skin against hers, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms, the way his breath ghosted hot and uneven across her collarbone.
Then she felt the soft give of furs beneath her back, and she realized he had laid her down on his bed.
He hovered above her, braced on his forearms, his dark hair falling to frame his face. The morning light streamed through the narrow window, gilding his skin in gold and shadow, and she thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.
"Claire," he said, and her name on his tongue was a prayer. "I am going to take off your bodice now. I want to see ye. All of ye. But if ye are not ready, tell me. I will wait. I will wait as long as ye need."
She stared up at him, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Her entire body was trembling, with anticipation, with a desperate, aching need she did not fully understand.
She had never been touched like this. She had never been seen like this.
And yet, looking into his dark, reverent eyes, she felt something shift inside her.
A trust so deep and profound it stole her breath.
"I am ready," she whispered. "I trust ye, Finn."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if her words had physically wounded him. When he opened them again, they were blazing with a fierce, possessive tenderness that made her stomach flip.
"Ye have no idea what that means to me," he said, his voice rough. "I will spend the rest of me life trying to deserve that trust."
Then he reached for the laces of her bodice.
His fingers were surprisingly gentle, working the tangled knots with a patience that belied the raw hunger in his eyes. He loosened each lace slowly, deliberately, his knuckles brushing against her ribs with every movement. She shivered beneath his touch, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
Finally, the bodice fell open. He pushed the fabric aside, baring her to his gaze, her chemise, damp with sweat, clinging to the curves of her breasts, the swell of her hips. He stared at her for a long, breathless moment, his chest heaving.
"Ye are so beautiful," he said, and the words were torn from him, raw and honest. "I have dreamed of this. Of ye. Of the way ye would look beneath me."
Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat.
Claire arched into him with a broken cry, her hands tangling in his hair. He kissed a slow, torturous path down her chest, stopping just above the neckline of her chemise. His tongue traced the edge of the fabric, teasing the sensitive skin where her pulse fluttered wildly.
"Finn, please," she gasped, not knowing what she was begging for.
"Please what?" he murmured against her skin. "Tell me what ye need, Claire."
"I do not know," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I have never—I do not know what to do."
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. The heat in his gaze had softened, tempered with a fierce, protective tenderness.
"Ye do not have to do anything," he said. "I am going to take care of ye. All ye have to do is feel. And if it becomes too much, ye tell me. Aye?"
She nodded, her eyes glistening.
He smiled then, a slow, devastating curve of his lips that made her heart stutter. Then he lowered his head again, and his mouth found hers.
This kiss was different from the ones before.
It was slow, languid, a deep and deliberate claiming that stole the breath from her lungs.
His tongue swept into her mouth with a gentle rhythm, coaxing her to respond, to follow his lead.
She did, her own tongue tentatively meeting his, and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.
His hand slid down her side, his palm skimming over the curve of her hip, and he pressed her chemise up inch by agonizing inch. The cool air kissed her bare thighs, and she shivered as his fingers traced the sensitive skin just above her knee.
"I am going to touch ye here," he murmured against her mouth, his hand sliding higher, slower, torturously slow. "Right here." His thumb brushed the inside of her thigh, so close to where she ached, and she gasped into his mouth. "Is that all right?"
"Yes," she breathed, her hips instinctively lifting toward his hand.
But he did not give her what she wanted.
Not yet. Instead, he drew his hand back, his fingers trailing up her stomach, over the thin linen of her chemise, until he reached the peak of her breast. He circled it slowly, deliberately, his thumb brushing over the straining fabric in a rhythm that made her whimper.
"Ye are so responsive," he observed, his voice a dark, velvet rasp. "Every sound ye make. Every shiver. I feel it all. Do ye know that? Do ye know what it does to me?"
"Tell me," she gasped, her hands fisting in the furs beneath her.
"It makes me want to devour ye," he said, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "It makes me want to take me time, to learn every inch of ye until I know your body better than me own."
His hand left her breast and slid down again, this time finding the hem of her chemise. He pushed it higher, baring her legs, her hips, the soft curve of her belly. She was trembling violently now, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but she did not stop him. She did not want to stop him.
His fingers found the junction of her thighs, and he paused there, his eyes meeting hers.
"Claire," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I am going to touch ye now. Here." His fingers pressed lightly against her, through the thin barrier of her smallclothes, and she gasped at the electric shock of sensation.
"This is where I am going to make ye feel good.
This is where I am going to worship ye. Are ye ready? "
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, please…"
He pressed harder, his thumb finding the hidden peak of her desire through the damp linen, and she cried out, her back arching off the furs. He watched her face as he circled slowly, rhythmically, his movements deliberate and sure.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let go for me. I have ye. I will always have ye."
The pressure built inside her, a coil tightening with every stroke of his thumb.
She had never felt anything like this, had never known her body could sing so brightly under a man's touch.
She clung to him, her nails raking down his back, her cries muffled against his shoulder as he worked her higher and higher.
"Finn, I…something is…" she gasped, her hips bucking against his hand.
"Aye," he growled against her ear. "I ken. Let it happen, lass. Let go. I have ye."
And she did.
The wave crashed over her, a pleasure so intense it blinded her, stole her breath, shattered her into a thousand brilliant pieces.
She cried out his name, her body arching off the bed as the convulsions wracked her, and he held her through it all, his arms wrapped tight around her, his voice a low, soothing rumble in her ear.
When the waves subsided, she collapsed against him, trembling and breathless. He cradled her against his chest, his hand stroking her hair, his lips pressing tender kisses to her forehead.
"Ye did so well," he murmured. "So perfect. My brave, beautiful lass."
She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy with pleasure, and saw that he was watching her with an expression of such raw, aching tenderness that it made her heart clench.
"Was that..." she started, her voice hoarse. "Was that what it always feels like?"
He laughed softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. "Nay, lass. That was just the beginning. There is so much more I want to show ye. So much more I want to give ye."
"But you dinnae…" she looked down, suddenly aware that he was still fully clothed below the waist, that she had taken nothing from him. "Ye dinnae find yer own release."
He shook his head, pressing another kiss to her forehead. "I will. When the time is right. But tonight is for ye. Every touch, every sound, every shiver, that was for ye."
A hot blush crept up her cheeks, but she did not look away. "Ye are... you are very patient," she said softly.
His smile was wry, self-deprecating. "I am trying to be. It is taking every ounce of me strength to nae lay ye down and take ye properly. But I willnae do that until ye are ready."