Page 46 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
To his surprise and delight, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, spread her hands wide over his chest, her fingernails raking his skin.
She made a sound, a soft moan giving voice to desire.
He wanted to make her scream.
When her fingers trailed lower to fumble at his buttons, he bit back a strangled oath and placed his hand on hers.
“I call quarter,” he said. “Would you unman me?”
“I would mount you,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.
He moved his hands away, holding them up in a gesture of surrender.
“Then do your worst, I’m your slave.”
Her lips were full and slightly swollen. He wanted to kiss her again, but when he leaned forward, she gently pushed him back, grabbing the silk of her skirts and moving them to the side so she could see. One by one she unfastened the buttons of his trousers, and when he was free, grabbed him with both hands.
He wanted to sing hosannas when her heated palms and fingers explored the length of him.
“You are so beautiful,” she said, her head bowed to study him.
She was the beautiful one, her cheeks flushed pink, her hair flowing around her shoulders.
“Stay with me,” he said, softly against her temple. He kissed her there, noting her shiver. Was she as attuned to him as he was to her?
He knew when she trembled, when her excitement was at its peak. He knew what pleased her, from soft kisses on the inside of her wrist to long strokes of his fingertips from her ankle to her hip.
He wanted her beneath him, wanted to press his forehead between her breasts, inhale her scent and feel himself home at last.
She was his harbor, and the thought warmed him. He knew he could tell her his secrets, his fears, and she’d keep them safe.
“Stay with me,” he said again. “Stay at Drumvagen.” He hadn’t expected to be this direct. But once he said the words, he smiled into her face. “Don’t be the Countess of Barrett,” he said. “Be the American Virginia Anderson.”
Instead of answering him, she raised up on her knees, holding onto his shoulders for balance. After some rearranging of her skirts, she slowly, so slowly he ached to pull her down, lowered herself on him. Her eyes were closed, an expression of such intensity on her face he couldn’t look away. Finally, she was seated, sitting astride him as easily as if he were a saddle.
Let her mount him, then. He would give her the ride of her life.
She opened her eyes, blinked at him, a smile curving her lips. Her face was flushed, and he knew he would never forget the sight of her at that moment.
She pressed her hands against his chest, her fingers splayed to tease his nipples. He surged upward. Her eyes fluttered shut, her smile fading.
“Not too fast,” she said. “Make it slow. Make it last.”
“I’m not sure I can,” he said. “You feel so damn good.”
Her smile was back. “So do you. But I like this,” she said. “So much.”
She was going to kill him. He was certain of it. But he didn’t move. Instead, he concentrated on the row of buttons down the front of her bodice.
He wanted her breasts. He wanted her nipples in his mouth. There, a task he could give himself to forget how hot and tight she felt around him.
The buttons done, he unfastened the busk at the front of her corset, pushed it away from her rib cage and stared at the black lace trimmed shift. With a murmured apology, he tore the edge of it until he could reach her breasts. His thumbs abraded her nipples while she was driving him mad by rocking on him.
He might not survive this.
He lowered his head until he could mouth one nipple, surging upward as he sucked on her. She gasped, gripping his chest with nails as sharp as talons.
She slowly rose up on her knees until he was nearly out of her, then lowered herself again.
