Mena’s fingers blindly gripped the stone behind her as frantically as she grasped for her sanity.
Then he dropped to his knees.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, reaching for him, meaning to pull him back against her.
“Doona touch me, lass,” he commanded, sliding his hands up beneath her dress, his calluses rasping against the silk of her stockings with a delightfully wicked sensation. “I’ll not be able to stop myself from taking ye.”
Her brows drew together in bemused consternation. “But I told you that you could take me.” She was almost panting now, as though she’d run a great length.
“Aye.” He chuckled, his clever fingers stopping to toy with a garter, effectively rendering her witless. “I give before I take, lass. It’ll always be thus.”
“But I don’t unders—” The rest of her breath left her on a rush as his hand found its way inside of her drawers and sifted through her damp curls. Pleasure spiraled through her as his hand found the flesh that had been causing her such aching distress. Her breath became nothing but broken gasps as he rent her intimate garments and delved within the swollen folds, his fingers becoming instantly slippery with the abundant wetness he found there. Any thoughts of embarrassment disintegrated into the stunning pleasure he expertly coaxed from her with the slightest of movements.
His head dipped below the mists and disappeared. Her skirts lifted. His hair grazed the tender skin of her thighs for a shocking moment before he made a fluid, magical movement that buckled her knees and eased her thighs apart.
Then he was there between them, settling her thighs against his shoulders.
In all her life as a married woman, she’d never experienced the brutish, straining satisfaction she’d glimpsed on her husband’s face as he attained his climax on her. And though she’d been forced to submit to any indignity he could devise, he’d never even considered her pleasure.
Touched, scandalized, apprehensive, and unbearably aroused, Mena opened her mouth to protest when his wicked, sinuous lips nudged against her closed body, and then licked it open, delving into her sex.
His moan vibrated against her, driving little tendrils of bliss through her core before letting them escape to her limbs. His tongue was at once lewd and unutterably sweet as it glided against the swollen nub that throbbed with torturous need.
Incredible agony slammed into her as he parted her folds with his fingers and suckled the aperture. He breathed only in moans as he tasted her, and the hedonistic pleasure conveyed in the sounds brought her to the edge of madness.
“I can’t,” she cried, feeling her knees melt.
His lips left her with a wet, wicked sound. “Ye will,” he breathed against her most intimate flesh.
“I’m going to fall,” she warned weakly, her hips undulating toward his mouth with mortifying wantonness.
“Fall apart in my arms, lass,” he soothed, his hands caressing around to fill his palms with the flesh of her backside, making a cradle of her hips. “I’ll not let ye go.”
Then he burrowed his mouth inside her slick folds once again.
Mena shivered with carnal bliss, then tensed with the building, aching pulses as each glide of his swirling tongue elicited sensations she’d not known herself capable of. A cataclysm of pleasure seized her with such force, she truly did feel as though it unmade her.
Distantly, she heard the low, lurid sounds that ripped their way out of her as she shuddered and pulsed with unparalleled, unfathomable bliss. Tension rushed from her, released with slick pulses of rolling, cresting delight. She whimpered and arched, strained and bucked, and still he pressed against her with that gentle, hot tongue, ever the conqueror, until she pleaded with him for mercy.
He finally relented, his wicked mouth reluctantly leaving her. But as he again rose from the mist, his sinister features were anything but merciful. Dark eyes glittered at her from a face etched with animalistic hunger.
Mena was too boneless to be afraid. Too drugged with pleasure to either anticipate or hesitate until the moonlight briefly reflected off the storm that had gathered in his onyx eyes.
This was the Demon Highlander, and he was about to take not only her body, but her soul. The force of his passion seemed to reach her a moment before his lips did. He backed her fully against the stone, devouring her with lips that tasted of sweet musk and intimacy.
Her gown was suddenly above her waist, and he pushed his kilt aside before seizing her thighs and splitting them around his lean hips, supporting her with his shocking strength. The smooth head of his cock caressed the still-pulsating flesh of her sex, becoming instantly wet with the evidence of her release.
He was large. So devastatingly thick that a flash of fear speared her just as he slid into her with a swift, desperate stroke. There was pressure, there was even pain, but as soon as she would have cringed away, he withdrew. As though understanding her dilemma, he feathered kisses over her clenched eyelids, crooning low words to her in that indescribably beautiful language of his before plunging forward again. Even though he moved even deeper, she felt her body open to accept him, enclosing him in warm, slippery flesh.
Pressure morphed into pleasure, radiating from where their bodies joined in such a way that she felt awash in a pool of wet desire, held together only by the warm, hard masculine flesh around her.
And inside her.
“Can ye take more of me?” he panted.
Mena’s eyes flew open. How could there possibly be more? He withdrew yet again, gazing down at her with dilated eyes as he surged forward. He touched a place inside her she’d not known existed, and Mena tossed her head from one side to the other, letting out a high cry of ecstasy.