Page 96 of What a Scot Wants
“I’ll no’ last,” he said.
“Then we shouldn’t tarry,” she replied, once again reaching for the ribbon at her bodice. Ronan had interrupted her before, but now, he watched, entranced, as she pulled the ribbon and loosed the front-fastened bodice. Imogen tugged down each shoulder and let the gown slide into a pool on the floor. Ronan stood immobile, watching her as she peeled off each stocking with shaking fingers, unlaced her chemise and stays, and then untied her thin linen drawers; his eyes roved from the points of her breasts to the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.
“My God, ye’re stunning,” he breathed. And then, as if something inside of him snapped, Ronan surged to life. He tore at the buttons of his shirt and, with one motion, pulled it over his head and tossed it to the floor with his cravat. She barely had time to marvel at his expanse of bare, brawny chest before his trousers and smalls were gone as well.
Imogen lost her breath as he sprang forward, every magnificent inch of him. She stared at the erection she’d just stroked, that part of him appearing to have grown in size.
He dragged her against him, his skin so hot he practically seared hers. There was little in the world Imogen cared about right then, beyond the exquisite sensation of her bare breasts crushed against his chest, the friction of their mouths as he kissed her and shifted her onto the bed. The cool satin of his bed covering against her back, the wet clasp of his lips on her nipple as he took it, suckling and licking and wringing her into tight coils. She arched into him, wanting more. Wanting all of it. All ofhim.
“Please, Ronan,” she moaned, her bare foot running along his muscled calf and hitching over his hip. Opening to him, she felt the thick weight of his staff brush against her core. With wanton need, she ground up against him.
Ronan raked his teeth over her breast, the vibration of his answering grunt shivering through her.
“Imogen, lass,” he groaned. “Ye’ll undo me, and I want this to last.”
The desire was at odds with what they were doing, though. This wasnotgoing to last. Them, this coupling, this rough exploration of each other’s bodies. This one time together didn’t have to be perfect or lengthy. It just had tobe.
“I need you, Ronan. Please, I need…I need…”
He trailed kisses between her breasts and unhinged her leg from his waist. “I ken what ye need, love,” he said, dropping more kisses along her stomach and moving lower still. When she realized where his lips were going, Imogen sucked in a breath. She went rigid, uncertain, no matter how much she wanted to know the pleasure of his mouth on that part of her body. Oneverypart.
“Trust me, Imogen,” he said, his tongue darting out on a tentative lick. She felt it straight to her bones and clutched at his hair.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I trust you.”
Ronan adjusted her leg over his shoulder and set his mouth to her. Imogen couldn’t breathe as he nipped and licked, the coarse stubble along his chin rasping against her sensitive flesh. She twisted her fingers into his hair, rocking her hips to the rhythm of his tongue. He dragged his thumb against the bundle of nerves at her apex, and Imogen cried out, pulsing and shivering as pleasure spilled through her, dragging her under. She willingly went, her limbs gloriously slack as Ronan climbed up her body, worshipping her with heated, openmouthed kisses. Her navel, her hip, her breasts, her clavicle, the lobe of her ear—no part of her was too unworthy to nuzzle and caress.
“I had no idea,” she sighed, unable to finish her disjointed thought when his swollen arousal rubbed the inside of her thigh.
“Do ye wish to stop?” he asked, voice strained.
He would, she knew, if she asked him to. Even as unsatisfied as he clearly was, Ronan would abandon the bed, if it meant she would not be frightened. But she wasn’t. Not in the least.
“Not even if the house was on fire, Your Grace,” Imogen said and then boldly reached between their bodies. His thick length slid into her hand, and she heard her own moan as well as his.
“Fuck, Imogen.” The crass word only made her more slick. She could feel her own desire sharpen between her legs as she stroked Ronan. He was like granite sheathed in silk, and she wished she could put her lips to him the way he’d done to her. But that desire fell away the moment he aligned himself at her entrance. The first, soft nudge stole away every last thought in her brain.
She met his eyes, and he held her in their blue grip as he made small rocking motions with his hips. He was being so gentle.Toogentle.
“Yes, Ronan,” she said, thrusting to meet him. He hissed and pushed deeper, the pressure of him so different from that of his fingers or tongue. It filled her, stretching her until a sharp, burning pain threatened to change her mind.Holy hell.
“I’m hurting ye,” he noticed, beginning to withdraw. Imogen held him to her.
“I know how this works, Ronan. I’m not an innocent.”
Imogen hadn’t meant to bring up her past. She hadn’t even been thinking about it. The black spots in her memory widened. Oh God,whycouldn’t she remember? Surely she wouldn’t forget a man touching her so intimately.
Ronan frowned, his brow furrowing as he held himself above her, arms straining. “Imogen, are ye certain of that?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. Silas had claimed he’d ruined her, so it was only his word, given her state. But hewasa liar. Perhaps McClintock had interrupted before anything had truly happened. If only she could remember! Imogen closed her eyes in silent shame. “I don’t know.”
“It doesnae matter, love. As far as I’m concerned, this is both our first times.” He kissed her, rocking forward and scattering her uncertainty. “There’s only ye and me here. No one else. No past, no future. Just us.”
“Just this moment,” she agreed on a gasp, meeting his next thrust and feeling him come full hilt.
It was perfection, this feeling of wholeness as Ronan retreated and returned, filling her again and again. His tempo increased as she dug her nails into his back and buttocks, gripping him tighter as they came together and apart, his eyes never once leaving hers. They turned sooty and serious as his thrusts became harder, faster, more reckless, one moment’s pleasure topped by the next. Imogen cried out as the spiral of rapture shattered. The muscles along Ronan’s back tensed under her hands, and then the sublime pressure of him was gone. He’d withdrawn, a hand wrapping around his length as he spent himself on the bed between her legs.
He rolled them both onto their sides and held her as the last ebbs of pleasure racked her body.
