Page 57 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
One hand moved, brushing her hair gently back from her cheek. She stirred, lips parting on a sleepy sigh.
“Mm... Ciaran?” Her voice was soft, rough with sleep.
“I’m here,mo chridhe,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder.
She shifted toward him, the blanket slipping down to reveal the full swell of her breast. He drew in a breath, the sight stealing whatever resolve he’d clung to. She didn’t cover herself. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him.
She searched his eyes, something unspoken passing between them. Then her fingers came up to cup his cheek, and she kissed him.
It started tender, but turned fast into something deeper. Her mouth opened to him, tongue sliding against his, and he groaned low in his throat. He shifted closer, pressing their bodies together, and she felt his manhood hard against her hip.
She smiled into the kiss. “Ye’re wantin’ me.”
He gave a short laugh. “Aye, lass. I’ve been wantin’ ye since the moment ye stormed into me life wearing that mask with a tongue sharper than me dirk.”
“Did ye mean it?” she asked quietly. “Last night?”
He didn’t lie. “Aye. Every word.”
She rolled him gently onto his back, surprising him.
“Until then,” she whispered, “let me make ye feel good this time.”
She rolled him gently onto his back, surprising him.
Ciaran’s breath caught as she climbed over him, straddling his hips, her thighs warm and soft against his. He reached for her, but she caught his wrists and pressed them gently to the bed.
“Let me,” she said again, voice firmer.
His throat bobbed as he nodded.
She leaned down, kissed him slow, deep. Then moved to his neck, her lips brushing the stubble along his jaw, her teeth grazing his throat. His pulse kicked, and his hips bucked slightly beneath her.
She kissed down his chest, slow and reverent, her hair brushing his skin. Her fingers traced the lines of his stomach, then dipped lower. When she reached his manhood, she wrapped her fingers around him—firm but careful—and he groaned.
“Isolde…”
“Shh,” she said, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “Let me learn ye.”
She stroked him slowly, watching his face, noting every hitch of breath, every clench of his jaw. He was thick and hot in her hand, the veins along the shaft prominent, the head already slick.
She bent low and kissed just above where her hand held him, and he cursed under his breath.
Then she took him in her mouth.
Ciaran’s hips jerked, and his hands gripped the sheets. Her lips closed around the head of his manhood, tongue swirling softly before she slid down further, her cheeks hollowing with each motion. She moaned as she tasted him, the sound vibrating through him.
“Sweet Mary, lass…” he gritted, teeth clenched. “If ye keep that up…”
She pulled back just enough to smile at him. “Ye’ll what?”
“I’ll disgrace meself.”
She laughed softly and climbed back up to kiss him, her lips swollen and warm.
He rolled her beneath him then, unable to hold back any longer. “Now ‘tis me turn.”
His fingers slid between her thighs, parting her gently, and he found her soft folds already slick with need. He stroked her slowly, watching the pleasure bloom across her face, then eased two fingers inside her. She arched with a cry.
