Page 84 of The Scot Beds His Wife
Suddenly an extremity of exhilaration and anxiety stormed through her. She was no untried blushing bride… but this man had famously fucked more women than Casanova and Lord Byron combined.
She’d only ever had Bennett and, from her experience, sex, like everything else in her life, was a whole lot of work.
She thought back to her first wedding night with a distasteful wrinkle of her nose. They’d spent it drinking and carousing in the local inn which doubled as a saloon, and then Bennett had whisked her upstairs, much like Gavin had just done.
They’d been laughing, and her world had been spinning on its axis, more from whisky than Bennett’s kisses. He’d dropped her on the bed and tossed up her skirts. She’d been giggling and willing when he’d climbed on top of her, confused when he licked his hand and reached between them. She’d been shocked when he’d shoved inside of her. He’d been done before she caught her breath, and asleep before she’d a chance to clean away the blood and such.
It had gotten better after that, but only because she’d been the one to take the reins, as it were.
You’re such a good little horsewoman,Bennett would say as he stretched his sinuous, aroused body onto his back.You can mount me, and gallop away. It’s better for a girl, anyhow, if they’re on top. Then I don’t gotta figure out how to give you what you want, you can just take it.
He’d been right, in a way. The handful of times he’d been in control of their lovemaking had been disappointing at best and catastrophic at worst. When she was on top, she could sometimes reach that peak that eased the deep ache of arousal.
Most of the time, the whole act just made her feel put upon and empty, and she’d climb off him burning and sweating and unspent.
Samantha puffed out her cheeks. She really didn’t have that in her tonight, neither the energy nor the strength. Itwould hurt her leg too much. Maybe he’d take that into consideration and just let her lie there while he stood at the foot of the bed or something. Upon inspection, the bed seemed tall enough for a good tumble like that. Then neither of them would have to work that hard and her leg would remain unmolested, at least.
She glanced back up at him, ready to suggest just that, when all words died on her lips.
He was beautiful enough when applying his calculated charm. But like this, somber and dangerous and regarding her like a secret he was about to uncover…
She was in grave danger of forgetting that this marriage was a farce.
That he didn’t care for her.
That she didn’t want this. Want him.
Groping for something to break the sudden potency between them, she said, “I’m sorry your brother was such a horse’s ass.”
One shoulder lifted, and he prowled toward her, his chin dipped to his chest, low and lambent, like a stalking puma. “It matters not, he did what needed doing. The rest is up to us.”
“Still, it had to hurt. The things he said, they had to have made you angry—”
“Liam doesna hurt me, and usually I doona get angry anymore.”
“Bullshit,” she scoffed. “You get angry at me plenty.”
“Well,” he rumbled, nearing her with infinite, patient steps. “Ye’re a particular case, bonny, but believe it or not, I am a man who is usually difficult to infuriate. What does a temper get ye but enemies? What is anger but unfulfilled expectation? If ye need no one, ye fear no loss. No one truly angers ye. If ye expect nothing, no one disappoints ye.”
“If you love no one, no one can hurt you,” she whispered, her heart suddenly thumping to be free of its cage.
He stopped in front of where she sat, and Samantha did her best not to notice the ridge of his arousal against the seam of his trousers. Swallowing profusely, she arched her neck up to look at him.
“It seems we understand each other,” he said gravely.
“It seems we do.”
The flash in his eyes warned her of his hunger. Samantha knew exactly what he wanted, and how he wanted it. His lust had teeth. And darkness. The storm had made him wild. He was about to hammer her into something with his hips. Hard.
She tensed, readying herself for it. She was tough. She could take him.
Probably.
So when he turned from her, she almost allowed a sound of protestation to escape.
He whipped his suit coat off one arm at a time and threw it on the high back of the chair facing the fireplace. That finished, he went to work on the buttons of his vest.
Nearly panting with equal parts apprehension and an unexpected anticipation, Samantha lifted her fingers to her own blouse and began to do the same.
