Page 106 of The Scot Who Loved Me
“Fine words for a man on his knees before me.”
His heart-melting grin slid sideways. “Seductive, teasing lasses... my weakness.”
For that, she obliged him. Yards of peacock green silk swam upward, shimmering, dancing, a pretty cloud. Behind this cloud, her legs stretched. One of her finer features, her legs.
Will huffed, an enslaved man, running his hands up and down her thighs. “What a shame to hide such fair legs.” He kissed her thigh, his fingers digging into her flesh. “It will be my privilege to worship them for the rest of our lives.”
He buried his face against her thighs.
She gasped when his big, warm hands cupped her backside.
“Keep touching yourself.” Will’s voice was ragged against her skin.
She rubbed her mons. Crinkly black hairs springing against her palm. The pressure building in her nub of flesh high in the cleft. The throbbing. The need. Will’s breath fanned her hand, her mons, her thighs.
A dark storm lit his eyes.
Its force stunning, invading. Domination of a different kind. His hands kneaded her bottom,the pressure so, so, so good. Her head tipped back. She could barely breathe. Air refused to stay in her lungs.
The pounding... in her heart, her body, her nipples tight nibs.
The ache was everywhere.
“Slide your finger through your cleft.”
Will’s order, steady this time. He was sharp and clear while she fell into murky depths. Night was velvet closing over her and her finger.
“Do it, lass.”
Three of her fingers spread delicate flesh. The wetness kissed by Will’s breath. She whimpered.
“Will... I...”
Delicious weakness flooded her limbs. She rubbed, her fingers circling while he watched. Slippery, wet snicks matched her touch.
“That’s it. Move your fingers for me. Play with your clitoris.”
“My wha...?” Her head dropped, chin to chest. She couldn’t hold it up because her three fingers controlled her body. Or the pink nub did.
“Your clitoris.” Molten gold eyes stared up at her in the dark. “It’s... here.”
Will added his finger to her three.
She cried out and clutched his shoulder. Her knees didn’t work. Will might be the one on his knees, but she was a slave to his talented finger circling her—whatever he called it—part of her body.
“Lie down, lass.”
She did, an inelegant mess of snagged silk and crushed panniers. Her shoes on, Will’s shoes on, they were clothed bodies mashing together withhis clever finger stuck between them. Need was building. She knew what it was. Powerful, aching, desire. The fuse coming for its due.
“Hold on to me, lass.”
She hooked an arm around his neck. She was desperate, her hips bumping his hand, her bared legs shaking. He kissed her. Wildly, passionately, the sadness and fury of years apart crashing in that one kiss.
Liquid silk dripped within her cleft. She was primal, animal, needy bumping hard against Will. His velvet-clad thighs rubbed hers with the sweetest friction.
“Keep going,” Will ordered against her mouth.
“I ca—I can...” Her neck arched and the fuse which hounded her so fiendishly smashed and sparkled.
