"Aye," she gasped, seeking more kisses.
His wet finger slipped inside her and she thought she would go off like a cannon. She wriggled, trying to find relief from the sensual torment. She again craved the thickness of his large shaft inside her, stroking deep as he had done before.
"Take me," she whispered, locking her arms around his neck.
"Damnation, Isobel. You drive me mad."
Surely 'twas madness she felt inside right now too.
He tugged more of her clothing out of the way. The firm tip of his shaft slid against her most sensitive flesh, then prodded into her.
"Aye, Dirk." She was near delirious with need, her body craving his.
He growled and gently pressed deeper. Withdrew and slid in again, challenging her with each slight thrust forward. She knew he was being a considerate lover now. The first time he hadn't taken it so slow.
He gradually eased his way deeper with each inward lunge, and she appreciated every inch as he drove further, testing her limits. He'd fit the first time so she knew he would again. Finally, he ground his hips, forcing himself in that last inch. He growled a curse and she felt possessed by him, conquered. She was his now. And he was hers. That knowledge consumed her. She didn't know if she alone felt it.
He held himself still, their bodies joined in a most primal, soul-stirring way, his lips brushing over hers, his darkened heavy-lidded eyes staring into hers. Somehow she felt he was staking his claim on her. Finally.
She licked at his lips, hungry for the taste of him. He withdrew almost all the way and plunged into her again, quickly and without hesitation. She gasped at the stunning, thrilling sensations. Again and again, the driving pleasure pounded through her, each thrust more amazing than the last. Faster and faster until she couldn't breathe. Just like last time, some unfathomable rapture exploded through her, possessing her body and mind. She screamed.
His mouth covered hers, caught her cries. Thrusting deep, he growled against her mouth. Grinding his hips one final time, he shuddered against her. A harsh groan rushed out of him along with a curse.
Withdrawing as he carried her, he staggered toward the bed. He fell to it on his back, holding her tightly to his chest. Her face was pressed to his neck and she didn't want to move.
"Saints, Isobel," he rasped, breathing hard. "You near killed me with that."
She smiled. "Nay, surely it takes more than that to fell such a great warrior."
A short laugh escaped him, then they caught their breaths in the silence.
"I have a question," she said.
"Aye?"
"I experienced an intense and indescribable feeling while we were making love each time, toward the end."
"I did as well."
"What is that?"
"The climax of the pleasure. The French call it le petite mort, the little death."
"Aye, for a moment I thought I was dying of pleasure."
He rolled her to the side and grinned. "In truth?"
"Aye, it frightened me the first time."
"There is naught to fear from the climax." He looked smug of a sudden, and proud of himself.
"I wondered if you are a skilled lover, and you are. Incredibly," she said.
His eyes narrowed. "When did you wonder this?"
"When we spent that night alone together in the cottage in Scourie."
"You were a virgin then. What did you know of skilled lovers?"
"Very little. Beitris has tried to tell me what goes on between a man and woman. I could not truly imagine it being appealing until…"
"Until?"
"You. When we were traveling, the way you touched me—helping me on and off the horse, holding me gently but firmly while Rebbie set my finger, not to mention riding behind you on the horse. This only made me want you to touch me more."
He drew in a deep breath, giving her an enigmatic look. "You know what this means, do you not?" he asked.
"Nay."
"I'll not be letting you go back to the MacLeod," he said in a possessive tone.
"I wasn't going back anyway."
"And this means war." His eyes glinted in a fearsome way.
"War? Nay. My brother would not make me marry the MacLeod with his brute of a brother in the household, abusing me. So the MacLeods have naught to get up in arms about. 'Tis their fault I left."
"Well, let's hope your brother works out an agreement with the MacLeod before he realizes I've stolen you away."
"Did you steal me?" She grinned. "Are you a bride thief?"
"I am now. Saints! I never thought I'd do such a thing."
"Because you are so honorable?"
He shrugged. "I believe in doing the right thing."
It is right for us to be together. She almost said the words, but she wasn't sure how he would take them. She hoped he would stake his claim even further and say he wanted to marry her. Not that he felt forced into it. She would only wed a man who truly wished to marry her, for her. Not for her property or her dowry. Nor because of honor.
She wanted a love match.
Dirk got up, crossed the room and poured some mulled wine into a mug. He took a sip then brought the mug to the bed and offered it to her. His delicious nude body had her too distracted to think about wine. She took a sip and gave it back to him.
After setting the mug aside, he lay down in bed beside her and covered up to the waist. He seemed distracted and in deep thought of a sudden.
She shoved down the covers, exposing him to her view again. She knew she was being audaciously wanton, but she wished to learn more about him and his body.
With heavy-lidded eyes, he watched her surveying his size and dimensions.
"That is… heavenly," she said, stroking her fingertips along his silky shaft which was neither hard nor soft, but somewhere in the middle.
A chuckle burst from him. "Only you would say such a thing about a most carnal and earthly tarse."
"Is that what it's called? A tarse?"
"Aye, that's one name. The others are too vulgar for your delicate ears."
Her face heated but her gaze slid down to the appendage in question. She sat up and stroked Dirk's tarse with her fingers. How fascinating that it was growing harder and longer with each moment that passed. She wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed. He growled, the dark blue passion of his gaze telling her he wanted to ravish her again.
Aye, please do.
Dirk could not believe what he'd done. Now that he wasn't drugged, he remembered every second, every detail of taking Isobel to the heights of pleasure. How breathtaking and lovely she'd been.
"You're the one who is heavenly," he murmured, then placed wee kisses on her lips, like taking tiny sips of wine and savoring each one. She was intoxicating, and her midnight eyes bewitching as she gazed up at him in the candlelight.
Nay, he could never let her go now.
Her hand squeezed his hard tarse, propelling keen pleasure and a rush of raw need through him. Damnation, how he loved her penchant for wantonness.
"Did I hurt you earlier?" he asked, suddenly remembering he should've been gentler since she was barely past the virgin stage.
She shook her head, giving him a mischievous grin. "Nay. 'Twas the opposite of hurt."
He glanced down, realizing he was naked but she was fully dressed. "Take off these damned clothes." He should feel abashed that he'd taken her so quickly he hadn't even given her time to undress, but she'd taunted him beyond toleration. His mind had been naught but a buzz of arousal and hungry need that had to be satiated.