Samantha’s vision blurred as he began a gentle assault upon that place so excruciatingly sensitive, she couldn’t keep her hips from flexing and twitching in time to his measured movements.
She tried to keep quiet. To keep control. To enjoy it, but not too much. She gritted her teeth against the pleasure, but the soft notes climbing her throat became harsh when they escaped her lips.
Dear God. It had never been like this. Not ever.
She moaned when he replaced his finger with his thumb, circling the pliant flesh with sweetly abrasive motions. She sobbed in an inhale when a finger slipped inside of her, rubbing and curling, eliciting unspeakable sensations that struck her mute.
The pace of his dual stroking increased, along with her heartbeats, until she was clutching the sides of the bath with white knuckles to keep from writhing or lashing from side to side.
He controlled his thrusts with absolute precision, his long fingers working together to create a wash of pulsating bliss that seemed to rise from somewhere deep, deep inside her, until suddenly every muscle in her body tensed and arched. It broke through her like a tidal wave, brimming over her veins and washing her flesh in a crescendoof effervescence. The peaks of the pulsing waves lingered, the valleys only a momentary respite before she was barraged again.
Samantha kept her neck arched, her eyes fixed on the sky above and, even through the heavy storm clouds…
She saw the stars.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Gavin thought she looked like a water goddess, draped half out of the tub, arching in that lithe, sinuous way of hers. Riding his hand with that same rolling grace with which she rode a horse.
Even like this, spread open and helpless, she was a wild, unattainable thing.
God, but he wanted to train her to his hand. To respond only to him, ever.
When she began to tremble with a sudden and intense exhaustion, her movements more of an escape attempt than a come-hither, he reluctantly pulled his fingers away from her softness. She sank back down into the water, as though she’d become a part of it.
He couldn’t describe this ferocious, possessive welling of instinct that had seized upon him. All he knew was that it began the moment she’d reached for him in front of Liam. The moment she’d chosenhimin a room full of people who thought she ought not to.
A sensation of unprecedented wonder had seized upon him, and not let him go since.
It intensified with every steady, uncompromising answer she gave to the frightening Mackenzie Laird. In the past, Gavin was among a very small handful of people who’d stood against the Demon Highlander and lived.
His bonny was certainly the smallest.
In the innumerable empty nights he’d spent with countless empty women, he’d never wanted inside anyone with such desperate intensity.
Not even Colleen…
Surging to his feet, he gathered her up and tried not to enjoy the feel of her slick, thin arms around his neck as he retrieved a drying cloth woven for a man of his size. Lord, she felt like a scrap of nothing in his arms. He could carry her like this for a whole day and not tire of it.
For a lifetime, perhaps.
Shoving that disquieting thought aside, he set her on her foot and steadied her until she found her balance. “Hold fast to my shoulders,” he directed gently as he wrapped the plush towel around her shoulders and bent to dry her.
Though she looked a bit dazed, she didn’t stand passively beneath his attentions as he’d expected her to.
The hands on his shoulders slid up his neck, then seized his jaw and pulled his lips the rest of the way to meet hers.
She made a sound he’d never heard from a woman before. There was nothing coy or teasing in it. Nothing seductive or husky or practiced in the least.
It was pure. Honest. Need.
And he was lost.
Maybe he’d been losing himself slowly since the moment she’d barged into the Highlands, guns blazing, eyes snapping, and tongue lashing.
Now these were lashes he could give in kind.
He fastened his mouth to hers, pouring all his skill into the kiss, and greedily drinking all the pleasure he could.