Page 94 of The Laird who Craved her

His palm slid from her cheek into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he tilted her face up to his. His mouth found hers again, and this time there was no rush, no frantic claiming. His lips moved over hers with aching tenderness, learning the shape of her mouth, the way she sighed against him. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him with a soft moan that vibrated against his chest.

"Claire," he breathed against her mouth, her name a prayer. "I have waited so long to have ye like this."

Her fingers curled into the linen of his shirt, pulling him closer. "Then stop waiting," she whispered.

Finn smiled against her lips. "Patience, lass."

He guided her backward, step by careful step, until the back of her knees met the edge of his bed. The furs were thick and soft beneath her as he lowered her down, following her onto the mattress with the controlled grace of a man who had spent years learning to be gentle with fragile things.

He braced himself above her on his forearms, his dark hair falling forward to brush her brow. The firelight played across his bare shoulders—she hadn't realized he'd shed his shirt, and she drank in the sight of him. The hard planes of his chest, the scars that mapped his skin, the way his muscles tensed and shifted with every movement.

"Ye're staring again," he murmured, but his voice was warm with amusement.

"I am," she admitted, her cheeks flushing. "I cannae seem to stop."

His smile softened. "Then look your fill, lass. I am yers to look at."

He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then the corner of her mouth. Each touch was deliberate, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

"I am going to take me time with ye," he said against her skin. "I am going to worship every inch of ye. And when ye are ready, I am going to make ye mine. But we go at your pace. Do ye understand?"

She nodded, her throat too tight for words.

His hand found the hem of her dress, and he began to push the fabric upward, inch by agonizing inch. The cool air kissed her bare legs, and she shivered. He paused immediately.

"Cold?"

"Nay," she breathed. "Just... nervous."

He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips. "So am I."

She blinked. "Ye are?"

"Aye." He kissed the hollow of her throat. "I have never wanted anything the way I want ye. And I am terrified of doing this wrong."

A soft laugh escaped her. "Ye could never do this wrong, Finn."

His eyes met hers, dark and vulnerable. "Promise me ye'll tell me if I hurt ye. If anything feels wrong. Promise me."

"I promise," she whispered.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and his hand resumed its slow exploration. He pushed her dress higher, baring her hips, her belly, the delicate curve of her ribs. The fabric pooled around her waist, and he pulled back to look at her, truly look, his gaze tracing the lines of her body with a reverence that made her heart ache.

"So beautiful," he murmured. "Ye are so beautiful, Claire."

His fingers found the laces of her shift, and he untied them one by one, watching her face as he worked. When the final lace fell loose, he pushed the fabric aside, baring her to his gaze. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she did not look away.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the swell of her breast, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed. His mouth was warm, his tongue tracing a slow, torturous path around her nipple. When he finally took it between his lips, she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Finn," she moaned, the sound broken and desperate.

"Aye," he murmured against her skin. "That's it. Let me hear ye."

He lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between gentle suction and the teasing stroke of his tongue, until she was writhing beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. His hand slid down her stomach, trailing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"I am going to touch ye now," he said, his voice low and rough. "Right here." His fingers found the heat between her legs, and she gasped at the electric shock of sensation. "Ye are so wet for me, Claire. So ready."

She whimpered, her hips lifting instinctively toward his hand. He circled her clit with agonizing slowness, watching her face as she bucked against him.