Page 104 of Filthy Lovin Heroes

“I don’t think I should go.”

“Why?” He opened the massive front door and we stepped out into a flurry of snowflakes.

An old-fashioned sleigh with the ducal crest and four white horses waited for us.

The horses stamped their feet impatiently. Fergus tipped his cap to us. “Good afternoon, Your Grace and My Lady. There’s a foot warmer for you.”

We greeted Fergus as Malcolm helped me into the back seat of the sleigh. He settled in close, sliding the foot warmer over for me. I didn’t think my feet were cold, but the foot warmer was a little slice of heaven.

Around us, steady snow fell like it did in those holiday movies I always thought were cheesy. Now, not so much.

I watched it accumulate this morning from Malcolm’s study window. Heavy snowfall wasn’t common, he said, but to me, it looked just like what I imagined. I was here with Malcolm. New York and my problems there felt a million miles away. Nothing seemed real here, just one big fairytale.

“Back to the topic of tea. I don’t think I should go because your mom won’t understand us.” I continued as we started off.

“I don’t understand us,” Malcolm pulled the pile of blankets over us. “Maybe she can explain it to me. Us,

” He offered.

“Be serious, Malcolm.” The horse’s jingle bells made a merry sound as we glided down the driveway before turning onto an open field. It was like being in a magical snow globe.

“I am serious.”

“We’re just messing around. Your family needs you here, and my life is in New York.” I couldn’t keep the regret out of my voice.

“Giving me your virginity was “messing around”?” Malcolm’s gloved fingers made air quotes around the word, but he didn’t meet my eyes. He was absorbed studying the wintery wonderland before us.

“Shh! Do you mind lowering your voice? I don’t think Fergus needs to know that much about me.” What was the matter with Malcolm? He knew why I was here.

“Don’t worry about Fergus. He’s made a career about not hearing things.”

We pulled away from Lachlan, heading across open fields. The snow fell fast and thick. The sharp cold air and the smell of fresh evergreen filled my senses. Malcolm and I were tucked under a thick pile of blankets cozy as could be.

It was truly magical.

His ungloved hand warmed from all the blankets slid around my waist and migrated lower, until he slid effortlessly inside my waistband.

“Malcolm,” I stirred, half excited and half worried since we were not alone.

I accepted that what happened between us in bed—and before the fireplace and in the shower—was something I didn’t want to stop. Except for his mother barging in on us, the sexual nature of our relationship was private.

His hand snaking down my waistband during a sleigh ride was not private.

“You’re wearing panties. I told you not to.”

“You don’t own me.”

“No, I don’t.” He thumbed my clit, and I widened my legs, granting him greater access. From the corner of my eye, I witness a flash of possessiveness sweep across his expression.

He leaned in. “You don’t like me touching you?”

“It’s not a matter of like, it’s a matter of timing.” Still, I could feel that my argument was about as useful as holding back a tidal wave. My body wanted Malcolm’s touch at every opportunity.

He slid a thick finger inside me and I won’t lie, it felt amazing and so filthy. Forbidden.

“Slick just like I knew you would be.” He whispered into my hair.

“Malcolm,” I said going for stern but it came out like a plea.

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