Page 73 of One Night in Glasgow
“You have no idea,” I murmured. “Kyra, the gala queen bee who has it out for me is just nasty. And Garrett is officially being a weirdo, hiding from me.” I relayed a heavily edited version of the recent events, leaving out the most predatory details.
“I knew it,” he growled, a protective anger in his voice that made me feel ridiculously safe. “He’s a snake, Beth. Be careful around him.”
“I can handle him,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true anymore. “But I’m not thinking about him right now.”
“No?” Sean’s voice dropped, becoming a husky murmur. “What are you thinking about, then?”
“I’m thinking,” I said slowly, my breath catching, “about how your voice sounds on the phone. And how much I’d rather be hearing it from across a pillow.”
“Yeah?” he whispered. “What else are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about how you looked last night. And how I’m still wearing the same lacy black bra I had on under that green dress.”
A low groan came through the phone. “Fuck, Beth. Don’t do that to me. I’m about to go into a meeting.”
“Are you?” I teased, my own body humming with a pleasant heat. “Or are you just saying that to sound important?”
“I’m looking at scripts, but I’m seeing you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I’m thinking about your mouth. About that spot on your neck that makes you gasp when I kiss it.”
A shiver went through me. My fingers tightened on the phone. “What else are you thinking about, Sean?”
“I’m thinking about finishing what we started this morning,” he growled. “About pinning you up against that ridiculous Murphy bed, pushing those skinny legs of yours aside.”
My core clenched, a liquid heat pooling between my thighs. “Promise?” I breathed.
“It’s a fucking threat, MacLeod.”
“Then what? Now that you have me up against the wall, legs spread, and I’m only in my lace see-through panties and bra, what are you going to do?”
There was a pause, and I heard his breathing deepen.
“First,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my knees weak, “I’d pin your wrists above your head with one hand. I’d look at you—really look at you—until you squirm.”
I leaned harder against the bathroom wall, my free hand unconsciously moving to my collarbone. “I’m not known for my patience, McCrae.”
“Then you’re going to learn some,” he countered. “Because I’d take my time. I’d trace the edge of that black lace with my fingertips, watching your skin flush. I’d dip just beneath the fabric, but never where you want me most.”
My breath hitched. I closed my eyes, imagining his hands on me. “And then?”
“Then I’d lower my mouth to your breast, still covered in that lace. I’d suck your nipple through the fabric until it’s hard and aching, until you’re arching against me, begging for more.”
“Sean,” I whispered, my hand now resting on my breast, my thumb brushing over my nipple through my blouse and bra.
“Are you touching yourself, Beth?” His voice was rough with desire.
“Yes,” I admitted, heat flooding my cheeks.
“Good girl,” he praised, and the words sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. “I’d pull that bra down, not off—just enough to expose your perfect tits. I’d suck one nipple while pinching the other, just the way you like it.”
I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my fingers mimicking his words through my clothes.
“My other hand would slide down your stomach, teasing the edge of those see-through panties. I’d trace the lace, feeling how wet you are through the fabric. Are you wet now, Beth?”
“Yes,” I breathed, my thighs pressing together.
“How wet?” he demanded.
“Soaked,” I confessed, my hand dropping to press against the seam of my skirt.
