Page 108 of All Scot and Bothered
He captured her lips with his in a violent kiss as he grappled with the fastenings of his trousers.
Cecelia’s hands landed on each side of his massive jaw, but it truly was too late for all that. She’d reap her just deserts, and something inside her told her it would be the most delicious experience yet.
Once the final barrier between them had been stripped away, he wrenched her beneath him, a creature of frenzy and lust, pushed her thighs wide, and angled his hips between them.
There was a moment of fright. A single, breathless knowledge that once he’d claimed her this night, neither of them be the same. His weight was both a comfort and a burden, and she did the only thing she could think of to release a sudden rush of anxiety.
She bit the muscle between his neck and his shoulder.
He snarled and drove forward, pressing inside.
She cried out and, heedless of her claim, her body bore down against his intrusion, but to no avail. He sank deep into the tight heat of her, nearly spearing her in two.
The stinging of tears in her eyes was more pervasive than the stinging pain in her core.
He stilled. Froze. Staring down at her with eyes both inhuman and alarmed.
“Christ,” he hissed between a jaw locked completely shut. “Christ. Fuck. Christ.” He was quaking. Sweating. And his eyes threatened to burn a hole into hers.
But he didn’t move.
Cecelia closed her eyes and pulled him against her, breathing deeply, needing his strength flush against hers.
He scooped her close to his body, enfolding her in his warmth and strength. Crooning a lyrical language in harsh, throaty groans.
She splayed her fingers down the brackets of his spine, tracing the flexing muscles as her own finally accommodated his intrusion.
The moment her body accepted him fully, his hips moved. They rocked slowly for a few tender moments, before everything accelerated. His breath, his heart, the wet glide of his shaft inside of her.
Lord, it was lovely. An aching sort of delight coiled within her. Lighter and less intense than what she experienced beneath his tongue. There was something unparalleled about this act. The rhythm of it. The wild impatience. The fierce gleam of possession in his gaze as he took her again and again, pushing deeper each time.
She was undone. Unraveled. Completely thrown open and bared to the world.
Who’d have suspected that all this time, she’d been a lock and he was her key?
She shaped to him as though they were made for each other. Not just sex to sex, but their bodies as well. Her curves and swells gave way for his cords and planes as they fused to each other in a singular motion.
Cecelia kneaded his flexing back, glorying in his strength and bulk, in the sheer magnificence that was this man.
“Christ,” he blasphemed in time to his intensifying thrusts. “Sweet. Sweet. Too sweet.”
He swiped his thumb against his tongue before reaching down between them and thrumming at her little bead once. Twice.
On the third time, Cecelia lost herself to the night.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Cecelia’s mewls of pleasure ripped him apart.
Ramsay had always paid homage to religion, because he was supposed to and all that, but he’d never truly believed heaven existed. Not until he found it.
Between Cecelia Teague’s thighs.
It was there he lost his soul, his heart, nay, every part of himself. He poured the very essence of life into her in long, paralyzing pulses. Throwing his head back, he realized if there were gods, they were the pagan, bacchanalian kind who would only be appeased by blood and sex.
Deep down, he longed to pay homage to both.
Locked in the most intense bliss he never could have conceived of, Ramsay began to fear the loss before it had even begun to fade.
