Page 87 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“Really?” Willow drew the word out as though she didn’t believe me, and I sunk my teeth into her lobe, biting just hard enough for her breath to catch.

“I told you what I thought about your body, didn’t I?”

“Oh, um, yeah, I guess you did.”

“Do you think I’m a liar?” I shifted slightly, finding the pulse at her neck with my lips, and holding my mouth to it while her skin heated.

“No, I don’t.” Willow swallowed, the sound audible against my face, and I smiled into her neck.

“Now let me tell you what I think about you as a woman.”

“Ramsay, you don’t have to…” Willow tried to shift out of my arms, but I held her in place, kissing my way up her neck, across her chin, until I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

A thousand emotions swam in their depths, and I was drowning, drowning in the sea of her glory, gasping for her to throw me a lifeline.

“Once I got over the shock of how beautiful you’d become, I quickly learned that beauty transcended your looks. You’re sunshine in a designer dress, Willow. You care, deeply, about those around you, and always look to make their day a little better. You don’t hesitate to help, and jumpwithout looking, not caring how you land. You’re wickedly funny, surprisingly so, and I’ve laughed more in a few weeks than I have in ages since you’ve arrived. You’re loud, completely disobedient, disruptive, and yet I find myself looking for you, wondering when I’ll see you next. And when you’re gone? The shop feels empty without you.”

Willow’s eyes filled again, and I cursed myself for fumbling this.

“Do not let my piece of shite brother, or anyone, for that matter, ever let you feel like you’re less than enough.”

“Damn it, Ramsay.” Willow shuddered in a deep breath, a tear tipping over the edge of her lashes and streaming down her cheek. “For a man who never talks, you certainly have a way with words.”

“I save them up for when they matter.”

“And this?Thismatters?” Willow’s words were a whisper, a plea, which I answered with my lips on hers.

“Aye, it does.”

Willow’s hand came to my face, her fingers tracing my jawline, and I bent my forehead to hers.

“Say you want me as much as I want you.” I needed to hear it, my control tenuous at best, and when she nodded, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, I pressed a touch harder with my forehead. “The words, lass.”

“I…I want you, Ramsay. So, so much.”

“As you wish, darling.” There would be time to be gentle another time. I’d spent weeks on edge, fighting my urge to touch her, and now it was like I’d been given the winning lottery numbers. Scooping her into my arms, I carried her through the shop, Calvin meowing as I went past where he sat on his cat tree.

“You’re staying down here, you wee beastie.” The last thing I needed was a claw sinking into a delicate spot at an inopportune moment, and I didn’t trust the kitten enough not to pounce. I dashed up the stairs as Willow gasped against my neck, laughing as I careened into my bedroom and kicked the door closed behind me. The room was dark, and I found my way to the bed by memory and dropped her onto the mattress. “Don’t move.”

Stepping back, I flipped a small bedside lamp on, the light soft against the wood beams that ran the length of the ceiling. I loved this room, which was the perfect space just for me, and I’d kept the decorations to a minimum to let the rustic beauty shine. The bedroom ranged across the entire top floor, with high ceilings, stone walls, and antique wood doors on the closet. I had sourced a thick rug in earthy tones to toss over the wood floors and had somehow managed to wrangle a king-sized bed up the stairs. Which I was exceedingly grateful for now as I prowled forward to where Willow sat, a myriad of emotions running across her lovely face.

“That’s better. I want to be able to see every inch of your body, to watch you come undone under my touch, to learn what makes you moan.”

“Oh.” Willow’s lips rounded to a perfectOas I dropped to my knees in front of her. “Don’t the Scots use the word moaning to mean complaining?”

I buried my face in her lap, laughing against her thigh, as my hands worked to pull the tights down that she wore underneath that ridiculous sparkly skirt that I had a love-hate relationship with. I loved it because it curved aroundher bum so nicely, and I hated it because the shimmer drew my eye constantly.

This was also new for me. This laughing during sex. I’d always prided myself on being a focused lover, determined that the woman would find her pleasure first, and I was very good at staying focused on the task at hand. But now, as Willow’s words made me laugh into the supple skin at her leg, something inside me loosened. Maybe there could be both. An ease and an intensity in lovemaking.

With the right person that is.

Desperate for a taste of her, I put my hand on Willow’s stomach and pushed back. She fell with a gasp of laughter, and then howled when I bit the inside of her thigh as I worked her boots off her feet. Once done, I barely hesitated before ripping the tights from her legs.

“Ramsay!” Willow shrieked, struggling to sit up, but I just pushed her down again. “Do you know how hard it is to find good tights?”

“Fuck the tights. I’ll buy you a dozen pairs. I’ve been dreaming of doing this since the first time you wore this stupid skirt to my shop.”

“Eeep,” Willow squeaked, her head falling back to the bed as I licked my way up her inner thigh, loving how her legs felt under my hands. Easing them wider, I pushed her skirt up and ran a finger over her black lace thong.

---