She was sweet as a peach and ripe f

She was sweet as a peach and ripe for the plucking, her skin silky smooth and pliant beneath his hands. As he savored each kiss and caress, the reckless urge to take this coupling to its completion assailed him. He had sought to woo her, to gently introduce her to the ways of sin and sacrament, but her body was primed, slick with want as she twisted against him. She was as eager as he to take this journey onward. He could tell by the flush of her skin, the pant of her shallow breath. Awash with need, he felt the last of her resistance give way to invitation.
He caught up the back of her knee with his hand and found his mark, piercing into her tender flesh and claiming her as his own. ’Twas a swift move, meant to make the initial pain pass quickly, but Fiona gasped at his intrusion, pushing against his chest as he tore through the delicate barrier of her virginity. He felt a moment’s remorse, for he would have spared her that discomfort, but it could not be helped. ’Twas the cost for maidens. Soon he’d soothe her with his touch and show her all the pleasures of this union. He moved against her, slowly, hoping to carry her with him, but she was hot, surrounding him with such tight sweetness. He’d been weeks without a woman, and his will evaporated in a misty haze of desire.
His pace increased. She moved upward, her legs pressing against his own in glorious surrender. She was with him, his bride, ready to receive his full measure, and soon his senses overtook reason. He plunged with his full might. She rose up again, a willing partner. His mind went blank as instinct and need claimed sovereignty over patience. Fast and bold, he thrust, until his taut nerves reached their zenith and he erupted into her, spilling himself in joyful release.
He collapsed in utter relaxation, breathing as if he’d run to the crest of Ben Nevis and back. But this summit was so much the sweeter. Closer to heaven than the tallest mountain. She had welcomed his attention, sending through him a jolt of bliss. He’d left her behind at the last, true enough. But he’d make it up to her. She was untutored after all, and surely maidens required more guidance. Still, this woman, his woman, might not make such a bad wife after all.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her, his body gratified, his soul content.
Fiona lay motionless, stunned. Confused. Was that it? She felt suddenly bereft and uneasy, as if she’d been struggling to remember something that was very nearly there, but then dashed away again. Myles had set her body afloat, tingling in the most delectable manner. But then he’d speared her with his manhood, crushed her with his bulk, and shouted in her ear.
She couldn’t breathe. He was too heavy. The hair on his chest and legs, which only moments before had been so enticing, suddenly chafed against her skin. Their legs were tangled, his hands twisted in her hair, pulling even now.
But worse than that, he’d made her forget herself. He’d made her wanton. He’d made her a Campbell.
She shoved against him.
“Get off me,” she croaked, for want of air in her lungs.
He lifted his torso, grinning down at her like an idiot.
Dear Lord, they had married her to a simpleton. She filled her grateful lungs with air and then pushed at him again, kicking at the back of his legs with her feet. “Get off me, you hulking brute.”
His smile faded, and he let her extricate herself from the jumble of their bodies and the bedding. Once free, she scuttled to the farthest edge of the bed.
“Fiona? Did I hurt you?”
Tears popped from her eyes, and she swiped them away. “Of course you did. You are Cedric Campbell’s son. Your very existence hurts me. God, how I despise you.”
His expression traversed from confusion to anger, the angle of his jaw hardening, his eyes going black in the dim room.
“You have no right to be angry, woman. I took care with you. If you weren’t ready, you should not have spurred me on so.”
“Spurred you on?” she spat. “I did no such thing, you conceited boar. I just wanted it over with.” She pulled the covers around her. “Give me my shift. I can’t reach it.”
He glared at her for another moment, and she thought he might refuse. But at last, he reached down and plucked it from the floor, tossing it at her face.
“Women!” he said, and then flopped over on his other side, done with her.
Fiona stared at the thick muscles of his back and fought her tears. He hadn’t hurt her, in truth. It was her own traitorous nature that caused her pain. How could she have found delight in his kisses? What type of woman was she, to fall over on her back for the fiercest enemy she’d ever known? She could not betray her parents in such a way. It was one thing to submit to one’s husband, but quite another to relish his caress. Self-loathing overwhelmed her.
Myles’s breathing steadied. When it was rhythmic and deep, she gathered a blanket and went to make a bed down by the fire. She’d not rest next to him if she had an ounce of will to resist it. She laid her head upon the cold floor, certain sleep would never come.
But come it must have, for after a while, she felt herself being lifted up in strong arms and tucked into a soft, warm place. A gentle voice whispered in her ear, “Come sleep in the bed, you silly girl. You’re safe from me.