“From screaming at you!” I say, logically.
“So if I parted those sweet thighs of yours, I wouldn’t find you wet?” He tickles my side and I actually giggle.
Giggle.
Like a little girl.
“Stop. Don’t you dare make light of the fact that you just whipped me with your belt.”
“I did,” he says soberly. “And I’d do it again if you deserved it.”
Zing.
What the hell is happening here?
He traces his fingers down the side of my face, his eyes intent on mine. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m lifting my face toward his, like a flower seeking sunlight. I want him to kiss me. I need him to kiss me.
My eyes flutter closed when his lips brush mine. My pulse races and my arms encircle his neck. We’re entwined together, holding onto one another. Our spat forgotten, the punishing lashes of his belt stoking a deep, abiding desire for him low in my belly.
My head bends back when he deepens our kiss. My lips part as his do, and my moans are swallowed by his. He maneuvers me onto the bed and cages me in, his large body framing mine as he kisses me. He presses his body against mine, the hard ridge of his cock at my pussy.
He pulls his mouth off mine and whispers in my ear. “I want you, Fiona. I want you so badly I can hardly think of anything else. The effort it takes to hold myself back makes me ache.”
“Lachlan —"
His mouth’s at my neck, kissing down the length to my collarbone. “Hush,” he whispers. “And listen.”
I hold my breath. I close my eyes. I don’t just listen.
I feel.
His chest pressed up against mine, his heartbeat racing. His fingers laced through mine above my head, my arm stretched upward, welcoming him in. His kiss on my cheek, my chin, my neck, and lower still to the fullest swell of my breast.
He braces himself above me so he can look at me. “I need to claim you, Fiona Hurston.”
I think my heart actually comes to a stuttering halt.
This… this is not what I expected tonight.
Claim you.
I know what that means. I may not know the intricate details of Clan life, but I’m good friends with the women, and we know what claiming means. Still, I want to hear him say it. I need to hear him explain exactly what he means.
“Tell me,” I whisper. “What you mean when you say you want to claim me.”
He runs his fingers through my hair and brushes it off my face. “Like burnt gold,” he says in admiration. He holds a lock between his thumb and forefinger and inhales deeply, then releases a sigh. But he doesn’t answer the question, not at first. His brow furrows. I want to kiss him there and ease that worry.
“Tell me, Lachlan. Please. I want to hear you say it.”
“Claiming you makes you mine, to anyone outside the walls of this room. It grants you Clan protection, for anyone who touches a hair on the head of a claimed woman pays dearly. It will grant you protection and guidance, financial and physical security all the days of your life. It means… it means I’ll wed you. Put my ring on your finger and a baby in your belly. It means that my sun rises with your needs and sets with your dreams.” He kisses my cheek. “It means you finally become my everything, as I’ve wanted.”
I blink, so overcome with emotion, I can’t speak at first. He looks at me hopefully, an almost boyish expression written across his features.
“I suppose it’s a bit more than dating, isn’t it?” I ask, unable to prevent myself from teasing him.
He narrows his gaze and growls at me, and I melt beneath him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “God, yes, Lachlan. So much yes!”
His face breaks out in a roguish grin that makes lightning zing through me once more.
“I love you, Fiona.”
My heart comes to a stuttering halt. I cup his face with my palm. “I love you, Lachlan. I want you to claim me.” My voice breaks. “Please.”
I’ve wondered what it was like to be claimed by a man of the Clan. When he does, when he makes me mine, he’ll have to go back to the others and stake his claim. Nolan might kill him, and Sheena most certainly will, but Keenan’s the Chief and he sent Lachlan here for me. We’ll deal with Nolan and Sheena.
We’ll deal with everything.
Will it hurt? Will it change things?
Can I trust him?
I open my mouth to speak, and my lip begins to tremble, but he presses his thumb to steady it. “Shhh, sweet girl,” he whispers. "Is breá liom tú. An mbeidh muinín agat asam?"
I love you. Will you trust me?
I nod my head and whisper back, “Go hiomlán.”
Fully.
His gaze grows heated as he holds my eyes with his. “You’ve saved yourself, lass?”