Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WayWard Wind (12 page)

“Well, stop thinking, wench,” he said and used his free hand to cup her chin and lift her mouth to his.

It was impossible to think when his lips were plying hers and he knew it. His body stirred beside her, his erection thick and insistent as it leapt against her thigh. As his tongue invaded her mouth, she groaned and pressed her thigh against his shaft, reveling in the growl of hunger that erupted from his throat.

Harper rolled her over, dragged the hem of her gown up until her lower body was bare to him then moved over her, wedging himself between her legs, nudging them farther apart with his knees. His cock pulsed at her entrance, demanding access.

Peyton drew her legs up to give him what he wanted and he seated himself deeply inside her, filling her, stretching her, pushing against her very womb. She writhed beneath him then lifted her legs to trap him close to her.

His strokes were slow--withdrawing almost all the way out then thrusting deep and holding. He slid his hands beneath her rounded rump and lifted her to him, smiling down into her eyes as she sighed deeply.

“Like that, do you?” he asked and his thrusts increased a bit in speed.

“I could learn to crave it, milord,” she told him, giggling at his rolled eyes, for the servants insisted on applying the respectful title to him despite him asking them not to.

Harper ground against her and breathed in the musky scent of her honey as it coated his shaft. It was a smell that made him rock-hard and set his blood to racing. He knew he would never get his fill of it or the woman whose body created such delight.

Lowering his head to take her mouth once more, he slid his tongue between her lips even as his cock slid in perfect syncopation. He could feel her moistness clutching him, her heat enveloping him in such perfect pleasure it brought tears to his eyes.

This was his woman, his wife, and she had saved him from a fate he feared would have been an agonizing one at the hands of her father. She had journeyed through a brutal ocean voyage at his side and she had stood up to the most formidable woman in the Scottish Highlands, faced her down and practically threw her from their home. He was so proud of his woman he feared his heart would burst.

Peyton sensed his mind wandering. “What are
you
thinking about?” she asked him.

“You,” he was quick to reply and stole another breathtaking kiss before pushing into her as deep as he could go.

“Well, stop thinking, cowboy,” she said and forked her fingers through his dark curls, anchoring his head so she could plunder his mouth as he so often plundered hers.

His thrusts increased in tempo and he rolled his lower body upon hers, exalting in the hard grip her thighs had on his hips. He drank in the sigh of pleasure that came from deep within her and felt that first faint gripping that let him know he was giving her the delight she needed.

Her hands shifted to his shoulders then to his back and her nails dug lightly into his flesh, spurring him on. He felt her legs tightened and knew her passion was about to become full blown, her release only heartbeats away.

“Sloan!” she cried out, and the tremors--those precious little pulses, those wondrous, thrilling squeezes--rippled around his cock and she arched her hips up higher for his hard thrusts.

“That’s it, wench,” he said, his lips at the hollow of her throat. “Take your man. Take all of him.”

With one last hard plunge into her hot, moist channel, he spilled himself into her, shuddering with the intensity of the pleasure that undulated through his entire body. He grunted like an animal in rut and when his hips stilled, when that last spurt of fluid left his straining cock, he lay still on her, careful not to squash her with his weight, delighting to the feel of her arms enfolding him and holding him to her. As his breathing grew less ragged and his heartbeat slowed, he eased off her, rolling to his back and drawing her with him, planting a soft kiss on her brow.

“Aye,” she said. “I could really learn to crave that, cowboy.”

He chuckled softly and pushed his knee between her legs, settling her as close to him as he could get her, never wanting to ever be without this spirited woman.

As he lay there with her in his arms, her breath soft of his shoulder, Peyton stared up at the intricately wrought ceiling and smiled with utter contentment. He had set out to capture this sweet woman, and with her grace and humor and steadfastness she had wound up capturing him, incarcerating him in a velvet prison from which he never wanted to escape.

“I love you,” he heard her whisper.

“I love you, too, wench,” he returned.

“Did you get it, Sloan?” she asked him.

He shifted his head so he could look down at her upturned face. “Did I get what?”

“Your vengeance.”

He laid the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “It might have started out that way, Peyton, but none of that matters now. Dalton took everything I held dear away from me, but in the end, he gave me something even more precious.” He touched his lips to hers for a brief moment then pulled back to lock gazes with her. “I have all I could ever want right here in my arms.”

She settled her head against his shoulder again. “Good, because I’m never going to let you go, cowboy.”

“I have a feeling if I ever tried to escape, you and Snake would come after me,” he laughed.

“You can count on it,” she said and lightly pinched his nipple for emphasis.

“Don’t do that unless you want to be flat on your back once more,” he warned.

She arched her head back to look up at him and grinned saucily, her fingers tightening on his pap. When he arched one dark brow and put a hand to her shoulder, Peyton Dalton Harper knew her craving was about to be satisfied again.

The End