Page 90 of For a Scot's Heart Only
She grabbed his hand and guided it to the apex of her legs. “Touch me.”
His lust-dark eyes flared in surprise.
“I’m not wasting another minute with you,” she whispered, desperate.
His ravenous mouth swooped onto hers, and she eagerly dug both hands through his hair.
Thomas’s fingers were tender and imaginative, stroking her curls, parting her cleft, while he kissed her. His tongue was velvet on hers. When he drew a line through her inner folds of skin, she bowed off the bed, need shocking her.
Wet snicks matched the sweltering heat inside her.
Thomas strummed her flesh—so, so thoughtful.Her head was heavy, falling back. Her legs spreading wide. How could he be this intimately acquainted with her?
Her moans increased. She was writhing against him. Soft touches vanished. The beauty was gone. Their kisses were fierce. Imperfect. She couldn’t get enough.
Thomas grunted when she grabbed his shoulders and held on tight. The storm’s fury expanded, tightening her spine until she groaned an animal sound.
“Please!” she cried.
Her legs were shaking. Her skin sheened. Thomas rolled onto her, growling unintelligible words. He was heavy, but not forceful enough. She had to have him.Now.Brass buttons pressed her thighs. The bed squeaked and rattled. Her needy hips were rocking against him.
She was breathless. “I need you inside me.”
Thomas unleashed salty words, bracing a forearm on the bed and reaching frantically inside his breeches.
“Doing my best.” His voice was as ragged as his smile.
Knuckles and fingers grazed her slippery flesh. Thomas and his urgent fingers. There was smooth pressure between her legs. Thomas was panting, touching his forehead to hers. The crown of his penis slipped against her.
And then—sweet heaven—he pushed.
“Yes!” She arched into him.
He slid deep inside her. Eyes wide open, she whimpered. Him filling her was exquisite. She understood the savagery queens would commit for their kings. To sate this craving. To chase it ruthlessly andgorge on it. Thomas buried his face in her shoulder, his body shaking as though he, too, couldn’t fathom the depths of their joining.
Euphoric stillness didn’t last.
Mutual hunger demanded to be fed, a hot base pursuit with Thomas leading the way. They were desperate and fast. Skin slapping skin, she met his fervor, her hands reaching for terra firma. She found the bed linens, scratching and clawing them. Forgetting herself.
Her hoarse groans escalated. Her peak was coming. The force of it stunning.
Thomas’s hands bracketed her face. “Remember what this feels like.”
Memory had no hold on her. She was soaring through erotic clouds. Beautifully lost yet found. London and Scotland, the past and present blurred. Feeling was all she could do—the utter cleaving of body and soul. She was vivid and burning. A sensualist to the bone. And Thomas—handsome, brutal, and wrecked—fixated on her. His impossible green eyes searing her.
He was part of her. He always would be. This was the ferocious message in his eyes.
Mary tipped her head and let go. There was nothing else but to ride the brutal freedom ripping through her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mary tiptoed to the door after dressing hastily. She’d fought the drug of sleep, barely. Thomas, however, slept like the dead, sprawled naked as one does after a sound tupping. Two of them, actually. Near the end the tenderest bed sport took place. Gentle games, sweet touches, and explorations as though both knew they had to ride the rough storm before finding tranquil seas.
She looked at him fondly. Half his face in a pillow, sun-streaked hair falling. Firelight painted his arse gold, the taut muscle scooped at the side—the sea wolf transformed to a sea god at rest. All of him was golden.
There’d never be another night like this.
She pinched her medallion, the metal warm. Some treasures could only be touched once. This night was one of them. During their time together, Thomas had removed every stitch of clothing except her choker. He’d said a woman dressed in nothing but jewelry was alluring, which had her wondering.
