Page 83 of All Scot and Bothered
She rested her other hand on his thigh. His legs, long and thick and corded with strength, had always enticed her, and she loved the feel of them twitching and straining beneath her palm.
His intrusion into her mouth caused it to ceaselessly water as she feasted on his hard flesh. Sensuous liquid sounds permeated the night as she tended to him. They each fought to stay as silent as they could, aware that others slept in different parts of the house.
Cecelia found a curious saline drop of slippery liquid at his tip. She laved at the slit, seeking more.
A raw groan escaped him.
Her answering sigh of appreciation vibrated against his cock, causing him to buck and swell inside her mouth.
Gasping, he curled his hips back, seeking to withdraw. But Cecelia didn’t let him. She, too, could be relentless, and was determined to see this through to the end.
She employed the strength of her jaw, sucking him in,taking him as deep against her throat as she could. Her tongue flattened to make room for him, rubbing at the underside of his rod as she pumped faster.
“Nay,” he gritted out. “Ye canna.”
Yes, she thought.I can. You’re mine. This is mine.This wicked intimacy they would always share regardless of the outcome of their current nightmare. At least she’d owned him with her mouth. And he was the man whose lips she would never forget.
A sound the cross between a snarl and a whimper forced its way out of him as he swelled inside her lips impossibly larger, releasing a slippery warm pulse of moisture. The illicit substance tasted both musky and sweet as it slid down her throat.
Cecelia finally opened her eyes, glorying in the sight of him locked within his own skin and strength. Helpless and vulnerable inside her mouth. Arching with a pleasure that looked very much like pain.
This was the beast. This untethered, unselfconscious thing.
This beast was hers. This beast wanted to lay claim to her, as well.
No matter what the man might have to say about it.
Ramsay was lost. Lost in her generous mouth. In the miasma of pleasure she liberally gave.
His humanity retreated behind this creature of carnality she’d tempted out of his past, and all sense of civility was locked away behind throbbing muscles and veins pulsing with explosive delight.
Never had he experienced such bliss. Never had he hungered so drastically that he feared it would take a lifetime to sate him.
The bone-shattering pulses of his climax finally dimmedenough to lend him back his reflexes. He’d thought he’d be drained. Exhausted by the sheer unparalleled heights he’d experienced in the depths of her mouth.
However, his body recovered splendidly, the animal lust still rippled beneath his flesh, a hunger of his own clawing through him.
She wasn’t the only one who needed a taste. There was so much left to do. To discover.
And the night was young.
A growl of delight rumbled through him as he bent to drag her to her feet.
She gasped, “Wha—?”
His mouth hungrily captured hers, cutting off her protest. Plunging his tongue within her mouth, his essence mingled with her singular flavor tasted of ambrosia.
Of course it did. She was a goddess, after all.
He lifted her from her feet without breaking the contact of their lips and again split her legs to encircle his hips. The delicious weight of her was a delight. Her ass in his hands, her thighs soft and strong around him.
He crossed the room in a few long strides and lowered her to the rocking chair. Dragging the generous mounds of her bottom to the very edge with a smooth motion, he hooked her knees over the arms of the chair, imprisoning them open with the width of his torso.
All this he did while distracting her with his tongue swirling inside her mouth.
Suddenly it mattered not how many men had tasted her before. He didn’t care.
She’d just claimed him with her mouth. He’d felt it with every instinct he’d honed in this cold, feral, inhospitable place.
