Trapped with the Devil of the Highlands (Falling for Highland Villains #3)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Well, of all the things I was imaginin’, that wasnae anywhere on the list.

Camden stared at Paisley, bewildered. “Say that again…”

“Tomorrow mornin’, I’m returnin’ to the convent to take me vows.” Her voice wavered, her eyes searching his face like she wished to commit every detail to memory. “I ken ye might nae understand me reasonin’, that ye might think me mad, but it’s where I need to be. Those nuns raised me, they care for me, and I ken it’s the closest thing to home that I have. I?—”

“Och nay, me sweetlin’,” he said, pushing up.

He moved effortlessly off the bed and padded over to the wide-open door. Turning to face her, he leaned against the wood, walking backward until the door clicked shut. His hand sought the key and turned it, a wily smile dancing on his lips.

“That wasnae the deal,” he told her, not a threat but an invitation.

Paisley sat up. “But?—”

“Ye agreed to stay here with me for a month, did ye nae? As far as I can recall, ye have a week and three days left.”

She shuffled to the edge of the bed. “Aye, but that was before. Ye got what ye wanted, and I got what I wanted. There is nay need for me to stay longer.”

“Who says I got what I wanted?” He walked back toward her as she stood up.

“Ye got yer betrothal to Kenna canceled,” she replied urgently, showing no fear as he came to a stop in front of her.

He was glad of that; he did not want to scare her. No, he had far more pleasant things in mind.

“What I want changed a while ago, and I might have had it if we werenae interrupted.” He brought his hand up to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking the rosy apple of it. “But I’ll get it, even if I have to tie ye to me bed.”

Her breaths became shallow, and her head tilted slightly, leaning into his palm. Her beautiful green eyes were glassy with a hunger that was undoubtedly reflected in his own eyes. Yet, he held back from kissing her, giving her the opportunity to knee him in the groin and tell him to take his wants elsewhere.

But I pray ye dinnae, sweetlin’.

“How can ye make an informed decision if ye dinnae have all the necessary knowledge? Ye cannae learn everythin’ from books, sweetlin’, nae even the ones in me library. Think of what ye imagined, what I whispered in yer ear when ye touched yerself. Think of what ye’d be missin’ out on,” he purred, his other hand caressing the curve of her hip and sliding around to the small of her back.

He pulled her sharply to him, and she came, pressed against him with her palms on his chest. Those enchanting eyes were feverish now, her bosom heaving against his chest, her soft hands slowly trailing over hard muscle.

“We shouldnae be so close,” she said breathily, still making no move to pull away. If anything, she pressed closer, her hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt.

“Maybe nae,” he growled seductively, bringing his lips to within a whisper of hers. “But did nay one ever tell ye nae to make a deal with the Devil?”

Kiss me. Kiss me. I cannae bear it.

Paisley could not breathe, and the lack of air seemed to be clouding her mind, making her crave what she should not. Camden was so close, his lips so temptingly near, his intentions clear as crystal, so why was he not making the decision for her? She needed him to make the first move.

Gazing up into his eyes, she hoped whatever was reflected in them was enough to deliver the message: I want to ken more. I want to understand what ye whispered in yer study. I want what I imagined when I closed me eyes.

“Ye’re a temptation I couldnae possibly resist,” he murmured, as if in answer to her silent request.

He kissed her at last, the fierce graze of his lips coaxing a soft gasp from the back of her throat, the sound of a dream made real. She gripped his shirt tighter, kissing him harder, hungrier than she had ever been before, the days of traveling and sleeping at his side drawing out a ravenous appetite.

His hand cradled the back of her neck while his other hand slid over the swell of her buttocks, pushing her hips into his as he stole a sneaky squeeze of that soft flesh. He was not gentle with her, did not treat her as if she might break, and she found she liked his roughness, his fervor. There was tremendous power in knowing that he did not think she was fragile.

Spurred on by him, Paisley smoothed her hand up the side of his neck and let her fingers run through his hair, before tugging his head down, urging him to kiss her harder.

He smiled against her lips, and to her shocked delight, he grazed his teeth over her lower lip in a teasing bite. There was no pain, only a shiver of excitement, quickly rising to feverish heights as he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

If anyone had described such an act to her, she would have pulled a face, thinking it sounded awful. But it was anything but, the caress of his tongue against hers making her melt into him, needing more of him, needing all the knowledge he could give in order to make an informed decision.

He was right—books only went so far, and while she had a creative imagination, there were gaps in it that she could not fill alone.

“I kenned it from the first moment I saw ye in the woods,” he murmured, his hand gliding up the curve of her waist and over the swell of her breast. “That ye’d be perfection. That every bit of ye would fit every bit of me. That ye’d be the best kind of trouble.”

She clung to him as he tugged aside the neckline of her dress and dipped his head, trailing searing kisses down the valley between her breasts. Another tug on the top line of her stays freed her bosom, though her bare flesh had no time to feel the cold draft in the bedchamber.

His mouth closed over her erect pink nipple, drawing it into that sweet warmth with a startling, wondrous suck. A bolt of pleasure struck her unawares, crackling down into her belly, where the sparks leaped onto the lightly smoldering bonfire of her ecstasy, building up toward that inferno she had experienced with his guidance.

His hand caressed her other breast, his thumb teasing the eager nipple, coaxing sounds from her throat that she would not have dared to make before. It was as if what happened in the study had been her first lesson, and this was her second, more advanced than the last.

A yelp chased the tail-end of a shuddering moan as Camden suddenly hoisted Paisley up into his arms, his lips drawing away from her breast to explore the curve of her neck, and the peak of her collarbone.

Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist for fear of falling out of his embrace, and as he held her there, her eyebrows rose in quiet surprise. Between her thighs, she felt pressure that had not been there before. A hard length straining against Camden’s kilt.

A moan rumbled from deep within her when she remembered what she had seen just before he had instructed her to touch wherever the feather touched her. That bulge, a sight that had urged her to touch and explore, though she had resisted.

“Ye’re the most delicious torture,” Camden growled, tilting his hips slightly, letting her feel more of that hidden flesh.

The friction was explosive, her neck arching as though, if she just stretched in the right way, she could ignite that wave of pure euphoria and shudder, satisfied, in his arms.

Says ye… I’m the one who cannae resist temptation.

Holding her to him, Camden climbed into the bed and pressed her down into the mattress. Her skirts fell back, and his hand caressed the underside of her thigh as his hips rolled slowly, tortuously, tormenting her with the friction of that hard length against the heat of her sex.

All the while, he kissed her fiercely, as if he relished capturing and quietening every gasp and moan that slipped past her lips. As if her pleasure fed his carnal appetite.

Suddenly, to her dismay, he pulled away from her, leaving her panting and starved of his touch. She searched his grinning face with worry, wondering if she had done something wrong, or if allowing so much had dampened his desire for her.

“Dinnae move a muscle,” he instructed.

She lay back, her hand on her chest, unable to steady her breathing as she watched him. He padded over to the armoire and searched through a few of the gowns before he found what he was looking for. He threw velvet cords around his neck, stolen from the waists of four gowns.

What is he doin’?

He bit his lower lip as he came back to the bed and gazed upon her for a moment, clearly savoring what he saw.

“I wish ye could see inside me head, sweetlin’,” he said, his black eyes gleaming with longing. “What I’d do to ye if I could. How I’d ease meself inside ye, lose meself in ye, have ye screamin’ me name so loud that half of the Highlands would hear it. But let’s see if we cannae make that last part happen, eh?”

As she lay still, her curiosity greater than her concern, Camden removed her shoes and slowly rolled her stockings down. The brush of fabric and his fingertips chased away the last of her worry, her lips pressed together to stifle a gasp of want.

There might nae be a book about this, but there ought to be.

Easing his hands beneath her skirts, he drew her drawers down and tossed them over his shoulder with a grin. Her dress and stays came next, his undressing of her slow and sensual and deliberate, evidently still conscious of giving her time to refuse him.

He could not have known that his respectful pauses, his innate concern for her comfort, only made her desire him more.

When her stays had joined the rest of her garments on the floor, she began to wonder what he meant to do with the velvet cords still hanging around his neck. Was he going to guide her as he had done with the feather?

“I’m a man of me word,” he said slyly, flashing her a wink as he closed his hand around her ankle and tied the velvet cord around it loosely.

“What? What are ye doin’?” she gasped.

He laughed huskily. “Keepin’ ye from bein’ tempted to touch. Gettin’ what I want, as I promised. Teachin’ ye what ye’d be missin’ out on.”

He certainly knew his knots, for her ankle was bound to the corner post of the bed in what felt like half a second. Her other ankle was tied next before he climbed back into the bed and kneeled between her thighs for a moment, holding her gaze as he trailed his fingertips through the molten heat of her sex.

A cry tore from her throat as his fingertips settled on the pulsing bundle of nerves, the source of her greatest bliss.

Och, ye wretch!

A moment later, she nearly cried out in frustration as he drew his touch away again, moving over her to tie her wrists to the bed posts, smiling that beautiful, sly smile the entire time. Yet, it was that smile—not threatening, not smug, not a warning of danger—that kept fear at bay, allowing anticipation to thrum in her veins instead.

Sitting back on his haunches, between her legs, he gazed at his masterpiece with fire in his eyes. His gaze trailed over every limb, every freckle, every rise and fall of pale skin, every part of her that she had been taught to be ashamed about. But there was only reverence in his dark eyes, his observation as thrilling as his touch, making her wriggle with impatience.

“If ye leave me like this for yer own amusement, I—” she began to say, but he cut her off with a kiss, pressing himself against her, tormenting her with the realization that she would not be able to touch him. She would not be able to feel him, satisfying that craving once and for all.

Who does he think cannae be trusted nae to go too far? Me or him?

She did not have the answer to that question either, nor did she care as she kissed him back, straining against the cords in her longing to hold him to her.

Camden took his time, his hands exploring as he kissed her deeply, as though he was delaying his satisfaction. And though she still wished she could touch him and explore him in return, there was an undeniable thrill to having one sense taken away, heightening the rest.

Paisley did not realize just how heightened they were until Camden’s lips began to edge away from hers, trailing fluttering, grazing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. His tongue tasted her skin, sending shivering filaments of pleasure to the core of her, where that bonfire of ecstasy was crackling merrily, heating her blood, heating all of her from within.

At her breasts, he split his attention between kissing and sucking and caressing until she bucked against her restraints, arching her back and writhing with the need for more.

He granted her her wish, trailing his tongue down between her breasts, his kisses igniting a chain of tiny fires across her abdomen that pooled into the greater flame of her pleasure. Meanwhile, her secret, swollen bud called to his touch, the anticipation overwhelming as he continued to take his delicious time, careful to ensure that no part of her went unkissed or unattended.

He lay down on his front as he crested her hipbone and kissed his way down her thigh, tasting her sweet flesh with his tongue. His arms slid underneath her thighs and curved back over her hips, his kisses edging higher, closer to the bundle of nerves that begged for his touch.

She had expected him to strum that sensitive spot the way he had taught her to do, so it came as a shock when he rolled his tongue against that powder keg of pleasure.

“Oh… Oh, Camden…” she panted, tugging on her restraints.

He rolled his tongue again, flicking it against that pearl of constrained lightning… and when he sucked gently, she truly thought she would explode.

Her back arched off the bed, her hands grasping fistfuls of the coverlets as she moaned his name, overcome with awe and wonder, and furious that no one had ever told her about such things.

He tasted her, feasted on her, sliding his tongue from the thrumming heart of her sex and back to the bundle of pulsing nerves. He stroked her lazily, his tongue circling her bud, caressing it, teasing it until she was a trembling vessel for bliss, no longer feeling quite mortal but someone temporarily blessed with a glimpse of the divine.

Then, just when she thought her bliss could not soar any higher without bringing on that crashing wave of ecstasy, his fingertips paused at her entrance.

Paisley held her breath, her body urging her to raise her hips a little, to give him permission.

“Oh, Camden! Aye… aye, Camden!” she half-screamed as he slid a finger inside her, while his tongue continued to drive her toward her conclusion.

Her breath caught in her throat as he eased another finger inside her, the pressure, the sensation unlike anything she could have imagined. He paused for a moment, no doubt allowing her to grow accustomed to the feeling, but in that pause, her imagination swooped in.

A moan tore out of her as she imagined the hard flesh between his thighs pushing into her as his fingers had done, filling her up, conjuring a blaze of pleasure that no book she had furtively devoured had dared to describe in detail.

His fingers curled slightly, subtly stroking a new bundle of nerves concealed deep in that molten well that they were exploring together. Somehow, he was awakening parts of her that she had not known existed. Somehow, he knew her better than she knew herself, knew the language of pleasure and how to listen well.

If her previous climax had been like soaring from a mountaintop, the climax that struck her then was like soaring through the heavens themselves. Between the roll of his tongue, the pulse of his fingertips, and the tingling grip of his other hand on her thigh, the rush of bliss was a torrent, intense and immediate, taking control of her entire body.

“Aye, Camden… Oh… Oh!” she screamed, thrashing and bucking and writhing against her restraints, hating them and relishing them in equal measure, desperate to touch him but delighted that all of her other senses were so alive.

Her head swam, and her eyes closed as the wave crashed through every part of her, holding her muscles tight, making her sawing breaths burn. A cry lodged in her throat as the shuddering vibrations had her shaking on the bed.

Even as the sensation ebbed and her body relaxed out of the glorious grip of that pleasure, sparks were left behind, smoldering contentedly, pulsing here and there in an echo of what she had just experienced.

As her breathing returned to some semblance of normal, Camden slowly withdrew his fingers and pressed a last kiss to her swollen bud. Kissing his way down her leg, he unfastened her restraints before kissing his way back up the length and breadth of her body, taking pains to leave no inch of skin untouched, not stopping until he reached her wrists and set her free.

She sagged on the bed, and his arms slid under her, pulling her close, rolling them both onto their sides. He held her like that until the final spark of her conclusion stopped smoldering, and even then, he did not let her go.

To think I might’ve missed out on this…

Camden dipped his head and pressed a slow, smiling kiss to her lips as if he could hear her thoughts.

“Now, are ye nae glad ye didnae stick to yer books for learnin’ of the world?” he said quietly, holding her closer, kissing her glistening brow.

She shook her head, nuzzling him. “If there ever was such a book, they’d have burned it long ago. Might give lasses notions of what’s possible.”

He chuckled. “It’s nae everythin’ I could teach ye, but I’ll let ye decide if there’s more ye want to learn. At least now, ye can make a more informed decision, with just a morsel of the necessary knowledge.”

“Just a morsel?” She peered up at him, her stomach flipping with imaginings of what else he could do.

“Och aye. What I can do is a feast for the senses,” he told her, smiling. “Just depends if ye’ve developed an appetite.”

She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, safe in the warm strength of his arms. The safest place she had ever felt, bar one.

She held onto him as sleep weighed her eyelids, the heat of his body and the comfort of his embrace pulling her toward slumber. But her mind had one last question as she drifted off —what’s better, to be a nun, havin’ kenned a secret glimpse of paradise, or to be a lass livin’ in sin, never to be a wife?

After all, Camden did not want a wife, and she would not be just a brief amusement.

Heaven help me.