Page 72 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
Was her body as much a surprise to him? It wasn’t the first he’d seen, she expected, but women came in different shapes. What would he think of her, now that she was showing him everything?
Before she had a chance to ask, he stepped closer and answered whatever she was thinking with his hands. Warm and firm, they moved over her breasts, cupping their weight. His thumb and forefinger grazed her nipples.
“Rye.” She breathed his name rather than spoke it, and he bent his head to her neck, kissing down to her shoulder and then up again, into her nape and hair.
His kisses, first tender, grew fervent—his mouth and lips and tongue eating her up and all the while murmuring endearments, telling her she was perfect, and that he couldn’t stop touching her, that he wanted to taste and squeeze and own every part.
He kissed her mouth again, long and hard, while his hands stroked the arch of her spine and the dimples above the curve of her bottom, and then he brought his lips to the top of her breasts, kissing their softness.
He covered every part of them with his mouth, drawing the peak of her nipple deep inside, then letting it free, gazing upon the bud a moment before pulling it back into the warmth for a second feasting, suckling like a babe hungry for nourishment.
Moving lower, he grazed his stubble over her belly, telling her what he wanted to do—that he was going to kiss her there and make her wet for him.
And then, he was actually doing it, without waiting for her to say no or yes.
Not that she wanted to say no—not to any of it.
He’d fallen to his knees and was breathing through her tangle of curls, his hands reaching round to caress her behind.
She pushed at his head, giggling. There was nothing there for him to kiss. It was silly. She didn’t know what he was doing.
But then he pulled her knee onto his shoulder and brought his mouth straight between her legs, and his tongue was on her cleft.
“Rye!” she gasped, wriggling. “What are you—?”
And then she knew, for his nose was buried in her curls and his tongue was pushing inside her, and it was the most terrible, wonderful thing.
With his hands firm on her behind, he was pulling her onto his face, wanting to do this to her as much as she was enjoying having him do it. She pushed her hips forward and he moaned.
“So beautiful.” He was muttering again and holding her tight, drawing the flat of his tongue across that secret part of her and then tickling her with the tip, making her writhe with exquisite, sharp-sweet pleasure.
Right there, where he was teasing her, she was growing hot and restless, melting onto his tongue. He kept pressing and circling, and clasping her in such a way that she couldn’t hope to escape from the deep, sweet ache.
Without realising it, she’d wrapped her fingers in his hair and was pushing herself just as hard, panting “No” and then “Yes”, and “Oh” and “Yes” again. Something burning bright was coming for her and she didn’t know how to stop it. It was bowling her over and tossing her and making her push harder against him.
She didn’t know what sounds she was making, only that she couldn’t prevent them. His tongue was drawing them out of her, and she was shaking and trembling. And then the burning consumed her utterly and made her cry and tug his hair so hard she must have hurt him, but he only held her tighter.
“Ursula.” Her name was rough on his lips. He looked up at her with eyes half-closed but entirely focused.
“I need to be inside you now. That part of myself that’s hard, it’s all for you. I need to bury myself inside you. It’s how a man gives a woman a child, but I won’t let that happen. I can stop before that happens.”
He was already rising, cupping his arm under her knees and carrying her.
The blanket was still on the bed from the first time.
Gently, he laid her down and kneeled above her.
She couldn’t stop looking at that part of him. Where it had bobbed half-upright before, it looked different now: thicker, longer, and wet at the tip.
In the same way that he’d made her wet, she’d done this to him.
By God,she was lovely.
She’d stripped everything away—not just her clothing but her soul, and he was so hard for her, he didn’t know where to begin. She deserved to be worshipped.
Not just screwed—which was what the prostitutes in San Antonio had given him. He’d only been a handful of times, and it had all been over pretty quickly. The women he’d lain with had seemed perfectly happy with that—a customer who paid his coin and did what he’d come to do. It had been nothing like this.
He knew what it felt like to enter a woman’s body; knew what sorts of noises a woman made when she was liking it, too. But, Ursula was a virgin. Everything that happened between them would be the first time for her.
