Page 45 of Quinn, By Design

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Lucy sashayed up thestairs, swinging her hips in an invitation as old as time.

“I also like the way you walk, lass.” His hand landed on her backside as he followed behind, half-rubbing, half-squeezing her butt and generating a different fire.

Lucy slowed her speed to savour the weight of Niall’s hand on her backside.

“Is there anything you don’t like?” She smiled over her shoulder.

“Nothing that comes to mind.”

Lucy had told Niall the truth. She was lonely. He was too. She fancied him. He fancied her, and a horizontal two-step was a lovely way to finish the evening. He wasn’t pretending this was a stepping stone to some happily ever after. His honesty was refreshing after a life caught between her mum’s memory and her grandparents’ wealth. Caring for this perceptive man who served her tea out of mismatched cups, who made a cradle for his brother’s child, and who bought her a beautiful, expensive scarf when he spent nothing on himself was an unlooked-for bonus.

At her bedroom door, he put his other hand on her shoulder, turning her into his arms. “Wait a minute.”

“You’re kidding?” She was dazzled by the affection in his gaze.

“I haven’t kissed you standing on this landing.” He returned to the spot between her shoulder and neck, where the warmth of his mouth on her bare skin raised goose bumps.

She bundled into him.

“We don’t need to hurry.” He was upending rules she’d learned before she’d wanted to know them, creating spaces for closeness rather than hunger.

“I thought we did.” Lucy cupped his balls, revelling in the sheer female power of knowing her desire was reciprocated.

He groaned, turning his head to nibble his way up Lucy’s throat, stopping to tend the sensitive spot behind her ear. A trail of havoc so delightful, she stopped thinking. She shivered, and he shaped her breasts through her sweater. Heaviness dragged low in her belly, and Lucy moaned, her hand loosening its hold.

“Parts we hurry, and parts we take really slowly,” he drawled.

Lucy knew how to please a man. And please herself. In cramped accommodation, sex education had been unavoidable. She’d been bombarded with the sight, sound, and smell of sex. Hard and fast was her mum’s preference. Her mum had also peppered Lucy with blunt warnings.You’re responsible for your own pleasure. Men are selfish.

Her mother had never met anyone like Niall Quinn.

Neither have I.

“Show me something fast.” Lucy covered his hands with her own, anticipation fizzing through her bloodstream like the finest champagne.

He moved lightning fast for a big man, bunching her sweater high on her chest. His mouth closed over her left breast, drawing the nipple deep into his mouth until Lucy rocked helplessly against him. A fair man, he lavished attention on her other breast, waiting until the nipple peaked against the damp fabric, before tugging gently with his teeth. She was panting with need when he stepped back, his warm palm replacing his mouth at her breast, soothing her with his change in tempo.

“You show me slow, Liùsaidh.” He scooped her into his arms, nudged her bedroom door open, and stood with her on the threshold. “Tell me about this room, starting with the bed.” He slid Lucy down his side, keeping her within the circle of his arm, while he arranged pillows against the bed head. Releasing her, he toed off his boots, before settling against the pillows, making himself comfortable against her crisp white sheets and gum-tree patterned doona.

“What are you doing?” This was like no other lovemaking she’d ever known.

“Waiting for you to join me.” His cock strained against his jeans. His grin was sinfully innocent.

“What if I don’t?” She crossed her arms, her nipples still tingling from his touch.

“Then I fold my tent”—he patted his erection—“so to speak, and go home.”

“There was a cream brass and iron bedstead in McTavish’s window the day I arrived.” She undid the back zipper on her green trousers and let them fall to the ground in a silky puddle. His sharp inhalation of breath told her he approved of this move. Stepping out of the trousers, Lucy bent to collect them and place them on a nearby chair, ensuring he got a clear look, both front and back, at the white cotton bikini briefs she was wearing. “Gran said I could choose one item from the shop for my bedroom. I asked for the bed.”

“Join me?” He patted the spot beside him.

Moving closer to his side, Lucy gripped the bottom of her sweater and pulled it over her head. With her arms in the air, she paused, her body at full stretch—bra, panties and high-heeled boots. When she tugged the sweater free, he leaned close enough to press a work-toughened forefinger to her skin. She sucked in a breath. Tracing a line from the valley of her breasts, he dipped into her navel then slid down to rest on the elastic band of her panties. A summer heat haze sizzled through her.

“I don’t want you to get cold.” He caught her around the middle and tumbled her onto the mattress beside him.

“I don’t think cold’s going to be a problem.”

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