Page 54 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
Erica gasped, one hand fisting in the grass beneath them.
The first wave had left her trembling, but this… this was something else. Her nerves were already raw, and every pass of his tongue made her twitch, made her thighs clench around his shoulders. He growled against her, the sound vibrating straight into her core.
His hands pinned her hips down gently when she began to squirm.
“Lachlan,” she moaned again, barely coherent. “I… I cannae…”
He didn’t stop.
She sobbed his name as her body clenched, legs quivering, heat spilling over her like fire.
Only when she went limp did he finally ease back, pressing soft kisses to her trembling thighs, her belly, the curve of her hip.
She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. But she reached for him—still on her side—pulling him up beside her with what little strength she had.
His face was flushed, his hair wild, his lips damp from her. He looked at her like she was something both sacred and feral.
She ran her fingers over his jaw, then down his chest, following the fine trail of dark hair to where his desire for her strained thick and full between his thighs.
“Ye’ve touched every part of me,” she whispered. “Let me… let me touch ye now.”
He hesitated, just a beat. Then gave her the smallest nod.
Erica sat up, still flushed, still breathless. But she wasn’t shy. Not anymore.
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her lips. Then lower—to his ribs, to his navel. When her hand wrapped around him, he let out a sharp breath, his hips twitching.
He was so hard. Hot. Heavy in her hand. She watched his jaw tighten as she began to move, slow and curious, stroking from base to tip just as he’d shown her.
“Ye’re beautiful,” she murmured, amazed by the way he twitched under her touch, the way a soft groan escaped him when she squeezed lightly at the base.
She bent her head and brushed her lips across the tip, tasting the bead of salt there. Lachlan’s hand fisted in the blanket beneaththem, but he said nothing. She could hear his breath catch, feel the tension radiating off his body.
Encouraged, she opened her mouth and took him in.
He was too thick to take fully, but she did what she could—slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue while her hand kept the rhythm at the base. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked gently, and was rewarded with a low, strangled sound from above.
His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “Sweet gods, Erica…”
She couldn’t help but smile around him, her confidence blooming. She loved the way his thighs flexed, the way his breath stuttered every time she twisted her wrist or dragged her tongue just so. He was shaking now, his hips twitching, fighting not to move.
She felt powerful. Desired. Bold.
“Lass… I’m close…” he rasped, but she didn’t stop. She wanted to see him undone.
She bobbed her head slowly, sucking, letting her hand match the motion. When she flicked her tongue beneath the crown and swallowed around him, he gave a deep, guttural moan. His whole body tensed, and with one sharp gasp, he spilled into her mouth.
She took it all, swallowing as best she could, her eyes fluttering closed at the heat and salt of him. His fingers tangled in her hair, not to guide her, but to hold on.
When he was spent, she pulled back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
Lachlan opened his eyes slowly, face flushed, chest rising and falling.
“Ye’re dangerous, woman,” he said, voice like gravel. “And I’ll thank the saints every day for it.”
She laughed—a breathless, wicked little sound—and curled beside him again.
“I wanted to make ye feel what ye made me feel,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his chest.
