His Bonnie Bride by Hannah Howell (the beginning after the end read novel .TXT) 📕

ever found beneath the skilled touch of others. His strong hands upon her slim hips to hold her steady, he eased into her, met the obstruction of her innocence and shattered it, his mouth swallowing her startled cry of pain. His teeth gritted against his body's urges, he lay still, letting the pain subside and her body adjust to his intrusion.

"It hurts," she whispered a little tearfully. "Can ye not leave now?"

"Nay, 'tis the sweetest haven I have e'er known." His lips moved gently over her face as his hands stroked her body, easing away the tension. His hand on her thigh, he said, "Wrap these slender beauties around my waist, sweet Storm. Cradle me to ye. Hold me close atween these silken thighs."

With a passion-induced obedience she did so, and shuddered along with him as he deepened his possession of her. Her eyes locked with his where he hovered above her, raised up on his elbows. A soft gasp escaped her as he began to move slowly; what was left of her pain was forgotten as a nearly painful pleasure grew within her. Unaware that her eyes had turned to a deep molten color, she was held in the fierce light of his gaze. After a moment she began to move with him in nature's own rhythm.

"Aye," he groaned in a voice trembling with passion as his lips teased at hers. "That is the way of it. Parry my ilka thrust. Take me so deep inside ye that I cannae find my way out. So sweet. So verra sweet," he rasped, and took her lips in a greedy kiss as he began to move faster.

Storm met his growing fierceness with an equal one of her own. Her slender arms joined her legs in holding him close while her tongue played with his as their kiss matched the growing frenzy of their movements. She was only dimly aware of his husky mutterings, his voice thickened by passion nearly beyond her comprehension. Suddenly the feeling within her grew to a point that alarmed her. She felt balanced on the edge of some precipice, her body drawn back like a bowstring ready to be released. Despite her growing fear she could not bring a halt to things, and that only increased her agitation. Suddenly she was an unwilling passenger on a journey she did not know the destination of.

"Tavis, I ... oh, God, please, something ... Tavis, I fear to shatter. Help me, please. I am afraid."

Cupping her face in his hands, he strove to articulate clearly so that he might ease her fears before they dimmed her passion. "Dinnae fight it nor fear it, sweeting. Give yourself to it. Give it to me. 'Tis the glorious ending of our journey. Savor it."

He held her gaze and read her release there even as his ears heard her impassioned cry. His body luxuriated in her tremors of inner delight. With one fierce thrust he sought his own escape, seeing in her face the way her body greedily accepted his passion's tribute before he collapsed in her arms. For a moment they lay intimately entwined, letting their minds and bodies slowly return to normalcy.

With her return to sanity, Storm found herself caught in a growing sadness. She knew some of the reason for her tears was the sense of loss, the realization that she was no longer innocent, her childhood irrevocably put aside. The greatest cause of her depression was the knowledge that something so beautiful to her was simply the use of a woman to the man she held. Though not one given to weeping and fully aware that it was mostly self-pity, Storm found herself too caught up in her crying to stop.

Leaving her arms, Tavis fought to quell the guilt that had swiftly grown from a small twinge at the start of her weeping. With a damp cloth he washed them both clean of the signs of her lost childhood. Returning to the bed, he took her into his arms, ignoring her slight resistance.

"Dinnae greet, lass. I cannae give it back. E'en an I could, I would just take it again."

Storm hoped he would never gain a full accounting of what he had stolen from her. " 'Tis easy for ye to speak so. It matters not how many women a man has. They can even find a pride in their conquests. 'Tis different with a woman ere she wants to wed. A man expects his wife to be pure, untouched by any man. Ye have ruined my hopes for marriage and a family."

" 'Tis not quite as bad as all that," he said quietly, although he thought it might be.

"Nay," she snarled, wrenching free of his gentle hold, " 'Tis always easy to find those who will take me for my fortune. Men such as Sir Hugh or mayhaps another of Lady Mary's past or present lovers."

It was not a pretty picture. Tavis grew angry, for she was stirring up his guilt again, a feeling he was not overly fond of. The cynicism he had so often brought to the fore failed him. He could not say it mattered not to him and mean it. Then, too, the thought that no other man might want her now was fleetingly pleasant, but only fleetingly, for he knew it was not true.

"The bride gift may not be so sweet, but ye'll nay be left to wither on the vine."

"Would ye take a wife that was no virgin?" she snapped, already sure of his answer.

Tavis smiled slightly when she registered open-mouthed surprise at his answer. "Aye, an I kenned 'twas nay her fault. A lass is no match for a man. 'Tis wrong to blame her for what she couldnae prevent. There'll be enough men willing to overlook your lack of a maidenhead, for ye be highborn, pretty and wealthy. Just dinnae tell them how much ye enjoyed it." He laughed softly and easily parried her blows, pinning her beneath him on the