A scant second after asking the question, his mouth covered her breast. She reacted as though she'd just been struck by hot, white lightning. She sucked in her breath, groaned low in her throat, and dug her fingernails into his shoulders.
She squeezed her eyes shut and breathlessly answered him. 'Oh, yes, that makes me happy.'
He nipped the skin above her navel, causing the muscles to flex. Her indrawn breath told him she liked that too, and so he did it again.
'Then this is going to make you delirious,' he said, using the promise she had often used on him. He slowly moved lower, caressing and kissing her intimately until she was writhing in his arms.
Never in her wildest fantasies had she ever imagined making love to be like this. She never could have believed she'd completely lose her control either, but she did just that. He wouldn't let her hold back, and as he made love to her with his mouth, she arched up against him, screamed his name, and scored his shoulders with her nails.
Her response fueled his own. He couldn't wait any longer to make her his. His hands shook, and he wasn't at all gentle as he pushed her legs apart and positioned himself between her thighs. Covering her mouth with his, his hands gripping her hips, he tried to enter her slowly, thinking that it would be less painful for her, but then she moved ever so slightly, and that was all it took. He was lost. Thrusting deep, he penetrated her completely and captured her soft cry with another hungry kiss. His tongue delved into her sweet mouth to coax a response and make her forget the pain he had caused.
He stayed completely still, his discipline in threads now, and burying his face in the crook of her neck, he took deep, ragged breaths to try to make himself slow down. She needed time to adjust to his invasion, but damn, it was killing him not to move. She was so hot and wet and tight and perfect. He knew he'd hurt her, and he hoped to God that the pain would soon be forgotten. Damn, she felt good.
The pain had taken her breath away, but it receded almost immediately. The feel of him inside of her thrilled and frightened her. He made her throb with desire for more, but Brodick wasn't moving, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. She began to worry that she hadn't pleased him at all.
'Brodick?' she whispered his name, letting him hear the fear in her voice.
'It's all right, love. Just don't move… just let me… ah, hell, you moved…'
She had shifted slightly, then gasped, shocked by the incredible sensation the movement caused. A burst of raw pleasure coursed through her body so intensely she cried out. She tried to lie perfectly still, but she couldn't control the fire burning inside her now. She moved again and the pleasure intensified.
He groaned in reaction. He was planted solidly inside her, yet still he tried to temper the ravenous demands of his body. Then she moved again, and the battle to take it slow and easy was lost. His discipline vanished. He slowly withdrew, then sank deep inside her again.
She thought that was the most amazingly wonderful thing he had ever done. She became wild, for the erotic feelings controlled her movements now. Instinctively she drew her legs up to take him deeper inside. The more aggressive he became, the more uninhibited she became until she was mindless to anything but finding a release to the burning sensations. Sobbing his name over and over again, she clung to him when the first tremors ignited, squeezing him tightly inside her.
Terrified by the magnitude of her climax, she tried to stop it, but he wouldn't let her retreat. He stoked the fires of passion with each hard thrust. She screamed his name as wave after wave of ecstasy poured over her, and only then when he knew she had found her fulfillment did he give in to his own. With an almost violent shudder, he thrust deep and poured his seed into her.
He didn't move for long minutes. The only sound was harsh panting as each tried to recover. Gillian was overcome by what had just happened. She continued to hold on to him as she tried to calm her racing heart.
Brodick wanted to kiss her and tell her how much she had pleased him, but he couldn't find the strength to move. He heard her whisper, 'Good Lord Almighty,' and he laughed, but he still couldn't make himself move, and so he kissed her earlobe and stayed where he was.
'I knew you'd be good, but damn, Gillian, I didn't know you'd kill me.'
'Then I made you happy?'
He laughed again and finally lifted his head and looked at her. Her eyes were still misty with passion, she looked thoroughly ravaged, and he suddenly thought it might be a good idea to make love to her again.
'Yes, you made me very happy.'
'I didn't know… when you… and then I… I didn't know we could do… what we did… I didn't know.'
His hands cupped the sides of her face, and he kissed her lazily and thoroughly. When he shifted his position ever so slightly, his chest hairs tickled her breasts, and she sighed in reaction. He kissed her again then rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms.
He felt an overpowering possessiveness. He didn't know how he had managed to capture her or why she loved him, but she belonged to him now. She was his wife and for the rest of his life he would protect and cherish her.
She stroked his chest as she snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes. She was just drifting off to sleep when a sudden thought jarred her wide awake. 'Brodick, what am I going to tell Father Laggan tomorrow?'
In graphic detail, using every lusty word he could think of, he described what they had just done and then suggested she simply repeat those words to the priest.
She told him she'd do no such thing, and after mulling the matter over in her mind for several minutes, she decided she wasn't going to tell him anything at all.
'I don't want Father to remove the blessing,' she worried out loud.
With a yawn, he answered, 'He won't.'
'You tell him.'
'All right,' he agreed. 'Now you tell me.'
'Tell you what?' she whispered.
'That you love me. I want to hear the words again.'
'I love you.'
She fell asleep waiting for him to tell her that he loved her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Loving Brodick was exhausting. She didn't get much sleep that night, unaccustomed as she was to having a man in her bed, a big man at that, who took up most of the space. Every time she tried to move, she bumped into him. She finally slept pinned under one of his hard thighs.
Brodick wasn't used to sleeping in a bed, and so he had just as much trouble. It was too soft, and he much preferred the ground outdoors with the brisk wind cooling his body and the stars to gaze at until he drifted off, but he wasn't about to leave his bride on their wedding night, and so he stayed where he was and dozed off and on. In between he made love to her. He tried to be gentle because he knew he'd hurt her the first time he'd mated with her, and Gillian was too sleepy at first to resist him; then she was too caught up in the magic of his touch to care if he hurt her or not.
She was dead to the world when he finally got out of bed. He was late meeting Ramsey on the field-dawn had already come and gone-and after kissing Gillian on her forehead, he covered her with the plaid blanket and then quietly left the cottage.
The training session went well in spite of the fact that he was in such a good mood. He really didn't want to hurt anyone. Ramsey did most of the damage and impressed the MacPherson boys in no time at all. Brodick did accidentally break the nose of one of the MacPherson soldiers with his elbow, but he snapped it back in place with his hand before the soldier could regain his feet and told him he'd be as good as new once the bleeding stopped. It wasn't an apology, but it was damned close, and Brodick began to worry that marriage had already turned him into milk toast.
Ramsey of course noticed his cheerful disposition. He took great delight in ribbing him about showing up late and yawning every other minute until Brodick seriously considered breaking one of Ramsey's bones.
When the training session had begun, Proster, the leader of the faction, refused to use a weapon against the laird. He was being honorable, and foolish, for though he was vastly superior to the other MacPherson soldiers in skill and technique, he wasn't by any means Ramsey's equal. After his laird had knocked him to his knees a couple of times, Proster's cloak of arrogance began to shred. All of the other soldiers reached for their swords, thinking that would give them the advantage, but Proster still stubbornly refused.
