Devil of the Highlands

“Nay, you cannot be the Devil of Donnachaidh,” she assured him. “He is…well a Devil. Everyone knows that. And you…” She peered at him helplessly. “You are handsome and sweet and have kind eyes. And you made me feel…” She paused and shook her head firmly. “You cannot be the Devil.”

Cullen’s expression softened at her words. She found him handsome? He could do without the sweet and kind eyes nonsense, but he liked that she thought him handsome.

“What did I make ye feel?” he growled, moving closer to slide one hand up her arm, suppressing a satisfied smile when she shivered and gasped at the light touch.

It was much nicer sitting in his lap. She was surrounded by him, cocooned by the hard lap beneath her and the warm chest and arms around her. Relaxing against the arm at her back, she slid her own arms around his neck again, careful to avoid the sore spot on the back of his head as she kissed him enthusiastically. Evelinde shuddered and pressed against him as his hands slid over her back, and then gasped and arched as his hand moved around to find and clasp one breast through her damp chemise. Clutching at the cloth of his plaid, Evelinde groaned into his mouth and held on for dear life as he kneaded the round orb, and she was inundated by a whole new swell of sensations.

His mouth finally returned to hers, and this time, she was not quiescent. Evelinde kissed him back, her tongue now wrestling with his. His hands began to move then, releasing the hold he’d kept on her head and sliding down her back until they slid over her bottom. Clasping the curve of each cheek, he lifted her off her feet and pressed her against him.

Evelinde groaned into his mouth as a hardness ground against the apex of her thighs through their clothes.

“Ye’ve beautiful eyes, lass,” he murmured, peering into those eyes now rather than at the injury he was tracing.

“So do you,” Evelinde whispered before she could think better of it.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips right before his mouth covered hers.