Page 48 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Declan exhaled slowly, tasting the tension, letting it build, the fire between them almost unbearable. His mind wrestled with the need to dominate and the thrill of her defiance, each tug-of-war stoking his desire.
“Ye’ll learn, Isabelle,” he muttered, his grip unrelenting, “that I take what is mine and when I do… when I make ye tremble and gasp under me touch, ye shall ken that I am yer master.”
Her cheeks burned.
Declan’s eyes darkened as he studied her, every line of her face etched with stubborn pride.
“Aye, that is what I thought. Ye’ve a tongue like a blade, Isabelle, but ye are nae wise to what happens between man and wife under the sheets,” he growled, his fingers tightening around hers again, dragging her closer. “That is where true power lies, and once I give ye a taste of it, ye will be me slave.”
She tilted her chin, daring him, the faintest spark of a smile teasing her lips.
“And how do ye ken that it will nae be I that wields such a power, merely by allowing ye to lay with me? To do these things ye wish to do to me?” she shot back, her voice low but unwavering, and he felt the heat of those words burn through him.
He pressed a little closer, his chest brushing hers, the fire of his desire igniting at her defiance.
“Ye think ye’re clever, challenging me?” he said, teeth clenched, every word vibrating with command.
“I am clever, and I’ll nae be cowed by a man who thinks he can dictate me thoughts through his rigid member,” she hissed, her gaze locking with his.
A slight smirk appeared on his face. For the first time ever, a woman was on the verge of truly making him laugh. The sheer force of her spirit made his pulse race, his body aching with need to claim her, yet he held back, testing the limits of their battle.
He fought the rising hunger that clawed at him. He wanted to seize her, bend her to him, imprint the truth of his ownership with a kiss that would leave them both breathless.
“Ye’ll pay for tempting me so, Isabelle,” he said, voice low and dangerous, the warning clear in every syllable.
She pressed back slightly, defiance blazing in her eyes, and he felt the exquisite torment of wanting and waiting all at once.
Her hand slipped free briefly, and she smirked, “Perhaps I like a man who thinks he rules me, me Laird , but ye have promised nae to consummate this marriage until I am ready. I expect ye to honor yer word.”
The words hit him like a spark, and he had to resist the urge to crush her to him in a fierce, possessive kiss.
“I will honor it, lass. But when the time comes, ye’ll regret that bold tongue of yers, mark me words,” he said, voice rough, yet there was an undercurrent of longing he could not hide.
He watched Isabelle’s chest rise and fall, her defiance mingling with a warmth that made him ache to pull her to him.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, though his hand trembled slightly with the effort to restrain himself.
“Ye push me beyond measure, Isabelle,” he whispered.
“Then perhaps ye should learn to control yerself, me Laird ,” she murmured, her voice teasing, a spark in her eyes that dared him.
Declan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides for a heartbeat before he seized hers again, strong and unyielding.
“Control isnae for women who tempt me so,” he growled, the dominance in his tone as sharp as a blade.
She laughed softly, bold and reckless, “Then perhaps I should tempt ye more, me Laird , and see if ye can resist me.”
He pressed a fingertip lightly under her chin, tilting her face toward his, close enough to feel the rapid beat of her pulse.
“Ye would be wise to remember who commands here,” he warned, his voice low and throaty, yet every fiber of him wanted to cross that line.
Isabelle met his gaze unwavering, her lips parted just slightly, “And ye would be wise to remember I’m nae so easily commanded.”
The words ignited the tension further, every inch between them crackling with the promise of inevitable surrender.
Declan’s resolve wavered, his desire almost unbearable, yet he forced himself to step back a breath. He felt the blood rushing to his manhood, his member throbbing.
He let go of her hands though his eyes never left hers, smoldering with hunger and warning.
