Page 44 of Her Magnificent Mistake
By the time they pulled apart, her blood was heated and she was ready to ask him to take her, hard.
But this needed to be slower.
It had been ten years. That first time, the desperate thrusting against the door, that had been enough to take the edge off their need.
Now they needed to make sure they did it right.
This meant caresses and gentle kisses, and feeding one another the cheeses and bread Hawk found in the picnic basket. He’d spread a blanket from the bed in front of the hearth, and theylounged there as they ate, comfortable in their nudity…though Marcia had to try not to continuously stare.
He was cutting slices of apple for her, using the scarred pad of his thumb to brace the blade, when she caught the speculative gleam in his eyes as his gaze stroked her.
Suddenly self-conscious, Marcia crossed one arm over her breast to take the fruit from him, despite her hunger being satiated. “I have changed.”
“What?”
She shook her head slightly, trying to make light of the topic. “The last time we were together, I was in my early twenties.”
His brow rose. “And now ye think ye’re…what? Auld and decrepit?”
His tone made her lips twitch. She knew she was still strong and agile. Her body had done amazing things in the last decade, but ithadchanged. As she chewed, she ran her palm down her side.
His gaze followed it. Inch for inch.
Finally, she shrugged. “My breasts are no longer so pert. My hips are wider. My stomach?—”
“Stop,” Hawk growled, rolling to his feet. Her gaze followed him, and when he offered his hand, she placed hers in it without hesitation.
Hawk tugged her to her feet, then moved her to the center of the room. Standing there, completely nude, with the sound of the burn below them and the summer breeze through the open windows competing with the warmth from the small fire, caused her to shiver in anticipation.
What was all this about?
Hawk dropped her hand and stepped back. Instead of meeting her eyes, he made a show of looking at her body, examining her. He stepped around her, humming thoughtfully, as if she were a work of art and he a judgmental collector.
This was not what she had in mind. Looking, yes, Marcia wanted to look. But to become the object of the looking?
Finally, he halted in front of her. “Aye, I can see the changes.”
The fact his cock was already semi-erect told her he didn’t exactly mind them.
Closing the gap between them, Hawk reached out to cup her breasts in his hands, his attention on her body. “Yer tits are heavier.” He hefted them. “Lower. I imagine if I put ye on yer hands and knees, they would hang down and give me something to hold onto as I rammed into ye from behind.”
Marcia sucked in a breath as the lewd image caused her core to flood with liquid heat. She pressed her thighs together to hold onto the sensation.Dear God, the man had a way with words.
Hawk’s hands moved to her waist, then her hips. “And these are wider, aye. Ye’ve put on more muscle. Ye’re stronger.” His fingers dug into the flesh of her arse. “Which is how ye were able to hold onto me so well as I fooked ye up against the door.”
She couldn’t help the little moan of need that escaped her lips as he dragged his palms up her body, brushing against her nipples, before he reached for her hair. With efficient movements, he pulled the pins holding her braid up, then untangled the plait until her curls hung around her shoulders.
“And yer hair, Marcia…Christ, yer hair,” Hawk groaned, threading his fingers through it, dragging it around to fall in front of her chest. “Yer hair is longer and thicker and still just as wanton, and I want to wrap it around my cock, use it to jerk off as I imagine yer lips on me.”
Oh.
Ohmy.
Marcia was fairly certain she’d stopped breathing at imagining that erotic, completely depraved, act.
But before she could even think how to respond, Hawk had dropped to his knees in front of her. She blinked down at him, her hand falling to rest on his head as he reached for her thighs, spreading them, forcing her to shift her weight until she stood with her feet firmly planted, curls on display, moisture from his words threatening to drip.
“And yer cunny? Good God, Marcia, yer cunny must taste better than ever before.”
