Raising Hell in the Highlands by Abbie Zanders

Author:Abbie Zanders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abbie Zanders
Published: 2016-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

“Tell me about these,” he said quietly, flicking one of her nipple rings lightly with his fingers. She moaned softly, snuggling closer against him. After his breaching, he spent the next several hours making slow, passionate love to her. He made certain that her first (and second, third, and fourth) times were memorable and wrought as much pleasure as humanly possible.

“What do you want to know?” she murmured sleepily. He loved the sated, sensual tone of her voice.

“What is their purpose?”

“Purpose?” she echoed, drawing herself up on one elbow as she considered his question. “Pride, I guess. At least at first. The guys in my unit dared me to.”

He tensed, the thought of Aislinn being around other males creating an unpleasant, clawing sensation deep in his chest. She must have felt it, because a moment later she was stroking him there, calming him almost instantly.

“Relax. It wasn’t like that. We were all soldiers, nothing more. They were damn good men, and we made one hell of a team. After a particularly bad mission, we went out and got drunk. It turned into a classic case of one-upmanship – who could handle more pain. For every piercing I got, they each had to get one too.”

Lachlan winced at that, instinctively squeezing his legs together, making Aislinn chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what they thought, too. It only hurts for a little bit, though. Then it’s sensitive as hell.”

To prove her point, she leaned over his chest and lightly bit his nipple. Lachlan sucked in a breath as she gave him a couple of soothing licks and blew cold air over the tips. “See? They say it’s even more erotic down there. At least it is for me.”

Aislinn draped her thigh over his. “I know whatever you were doing down there felt absolutely amazing.”

Lachlan cupped her behind possessively and responded with a wholly masculine grunt that reflected both pleasure and smug satisfaction.

“And yer markings?” he asked, tracing the Celtic knots with the pads of his fingers.

“They’re more complicated,” she said. “Those, I did for no one but me. I can’t even tell you why, exactly. Just that I was stationed in the U.K. and had some time to kill. I walked into an ink shop and was looking through some designs, and these – I don’t know, this is going to sound really weird – they meant something to me. After I got them, I didn’t feel quite so alone. For some reason, they make me feel like I am connected with something bigger than myself, if that makes any sense.”

“Aye, it does,” he said, tucking her close. “Do ye not ken what they mean?”

“Not with any degree of accuracy, no.”

“Then I will tell ye,” he said. “The symbols ye chose are both ancient and powerful. The series of knots here are as complex as any as I have ever seen. The knot itself is a symbol of continuity – no beginning and no end. ‘Tis a symbol of life, of nature, and of love.

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