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"Och, lassie, I'm no’," he said softly. "I wear that scar proudly. Ye marked my body just as ye marked my heart. You've branded me as yours forever."

Whenever he said such breathtaking things, her heart did giddy cartwheels. "Aye, you're mine." She nipped his skin to remind him.

He gave a short, startled laugh and pushed her down onto her back. "And you’re mine."

"Matching scars." She touched the raised red line on his arm. "There's proof we belong together."

"Och, we dinnae need scars to prove that."

At last he put his hands on her breasts. Heat burgeoned inside her as he squeezed and stroked her. When he gently pinched her nipples until they beaded into points, the jolt of sensation made her cry out and arch up toward him.

"Callum…"

It was her turn to lie trembling beneath his hands and mouth. Another jagged stab of sensation jolted her when he took one nipple between his lips, touching it with his tongue then drawing hard. The secret hollows of her body turned hot and liquid. He set her alight until she writhed against him and dug her fingers deep into his shoulders.

Restless eagerness kept her shaking and moaning as he began to discover each curve and dip that formed her body. Every brush of his mouth, every caress of his hands, built her craving until she was half mad with wanting him.

He kissed a burning path across the pale curve of her stomach where the long graze was nearly healed. Then shockingly, he shifted to lie between her legs. That seeking mouth brushed the feathery hair covering her mound.

"Callum!" Mhairi cried again, torn between embarrassment and pleasure. She definitely remembered she was naked now. Her hands fluttered downward but stopped short of pushing him away. "That's…"

"Wonderful," he murmured, catching her hips between hard, powerful hands and angling her up toward his face.

At the first flickering touch of his tongue to her cleft, she cried out in protest and dug her hands in his thick black hair. Jean had warned her that some of the things that a man did to a woman would strike her as strange. Her imagination had never stretched as far as him licking her between the legs.

She wasn’t disgusted. She was…intrigued. Then she was trembling with a rising delight as pure as a beam of sunlight.

After a dazzling interval, he concentrated on one particular place until lightning sizzled through her and stole the last of her objections. As shuddering sensation built upon shuddering sensation, the tension flowed out of her body and her legs flopped open, inviting him to do whatever he wanted to her.

Apparently what he wanted to do was torture her with pleasure until she was lost to every reality except his hot mouth on her slick cleft. Her muscles clenched in a sensual dance as she strove toward some unknown end.

The sound of his tongue lapping at her was disturbing and arousing in equal measure. An uncontrollable rush of moisture greeted his explorations, and she shifted under his mouth. But she couldn't quite gather the will to move away.

By the time Callum rose to kneel away from her, she was breathing in great gusty sobs and her heart was thundering. He’d shown her a world of sensation reaching beyond anything her virginal dreams had ever dared to encompass.

Mhairi was so dazed that it took her a minute to realize that his shaking hands now tugged at the silver buckle fastening his kilt. The belt fell to the floor, and the red and black plaid soon followed.

The mist of sensuality evaporated in a flash. Her eyes focused on the daunting column of hard flesh rising against his belly.

"Oh, my dear Lord above," she whispered. "Will that fit?"

"Aye, mo chridhe." He laughed softly and slid over her. "Trust me."

"If you're sure," she said doubtfully.

She'd won

dered what was beneath his kilt. Now she knew, and that knowledge revived all her earlier nervousness.

"I'm sure, ye daft wee lassie."

"You'd better kiss me again," she said unsteadily. "I cannae think about anything else when ye kiss me."

"That’s what a man likes to hear." His voice was husky.

When his mouth sought hers in a desperate kiss, it took her a few seconds to realize that he no longer tasted of whisky. He tasted salty. He tasted of her. At some deep level, this idea thrilled her, and she kissed him back with all her newly aroused passion.

Callum went back to stroking her between the legs, his fingers sliding smoothly in the satiny heat. She trembled with longing under his sensual attentions. Then she felt a new pressure.


Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical