Page 106 of A Scot Is Not Enough
Alexander stared at her slick pink flesh, a man enslaved.
The world was her bedchamber. Nothing else existed except him watching her.
He strode across the room, his cock stiff. “Is this new torture? Denying me?”
Blond wisps fell across her eyes. Her breath tripped louder, in and out. She was weak and she was strong. The erotic balance of a woman caught in the throes of self-indulged passion with the man she wanted watching her.
Alexander moved behind the chair and played with her nipples. Arousal arrowed hot and needy from his featherlight touch. The ache exquisite. Soft twirls, then cupping her breasts and teasing the barely-there curve at the bottom.
His talented hands coaxed sweet begging moans from her.
“Please—please . . .” Her bottom rode the edge of her seat. “Now. Please. Now!”
His husky laugh was diabolical. This was what happened to the woman who took an intelligent man to her bed. He took his time, learning her body. Alexander stroked her back while her fingers stroked her nub. He came around and cuffed her wrists with his hands. The denial shocked her.
Lust burned in his eyes. “Come with me.”
His pressure was light and guiding, urging her up. When she did, her belly brushed his cock and the world exploded. He snatched her close and she grabbed him, careful with his bandaged arm. Their mouths met in a cataclysmic kiss, scorching and testy. As if enough was enough.
“Blackberry,” he said against her mouth. “My favorite.”
She cupped his face above hers. He was beautiful, shadows and light, regal and accomplished. She dragged her thumb across his sculpted mouth.
“Take me from behind and spill your seed on my back.”
“I’ve a French card—”
“No. I want to feelyouinside me.”
Knowing flickered in his eyes.
“Nothing between us,” he said.
“Nothing.”
Their noses were inches apart, a secret world curtained by his hair. A new intimacy in their bridge of trust. She rubbed his jawline, his raspy whiskers tickling her palms.
“Can you manage it?”
She might as well have asked,Can you manage what grows between us?
Alexander’s eyes softened.
“For you, I will.”
Deep affection trimmed his voice. It should’ve frightened her, but he trailed fingertips down the sides of her breasts to the indent of her waist. A caress, a promise. The torture was split equally between them. She was asking for his self-control, a sacrifice for the pleasure of their skin touching in the most intimate way.
She reached for the empty pistol box on the mantel. It’s height, width, and sturdiness would serve. She stepped on it and positioned her legs. Holding on to the mantel, she bent down and thrust her bottom up.
He hissed. “You’re killing me.”
Alexander touched one finger to her nape and began a dawdling trail down her spine. Obedient goose bumps followed. She watched him over her shoulder, lost in the moment. He looked like an ancient king of yore, toying with her. With his hair loose, the arm bandage, and the bruise at his hairline from the cricket ball, Alexander could be a warrior-king home from battle. A man enjoying his spoils.
He caressed her bottom, his touch barely there. Featherlight and gentle. His thumb drew a line through her cleft; his hands felt the shape of her thighs. She shuddered. The carnal anguish inside was brutal. Shehadto touch herself.
She burrowed one hand between her legs and groaned.
Relief was sweet. A quick peak, another building behind it.
