Page 45 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
She swallowed a breath, overcome with a feverish heat. “I have.”
“Are ye goin’ to continue to be?”
“Aye,” she lied, for if she did not feel his tongue again, she would leap off that desk, grab his face, and kiss him with all the desire that thrummed and crackled inside her.
He leaned in and kissed up her thighs once more, sending her anticipation to maddening heights. And as he reachedher mound for a second time, the waiting became the most unbearable torture, for now she knew what was coming. He seemed entirely aware of that, pushing her to the limit of what she could bear before she had to disobey.
She had almost reached that point when he drew his tongue in a long, slow stroke through her wet folds and over the bundle of nerves that was ready to explode.
The sensation rocked her, seizing her entire being. Her neck arched back, and her hips bucked, her back bowing and her heart threatening to pound right out of her chest.
“Oh… Doughall…” she panted, her breathing ragged as he tasted her again.
It was unlike anything she could have imagined, his tongue a gift from the carnal gods, teasing and thrilling and controlling the current of pleasure that pulsed through her. He circled her swollen bud with his tongue, curled his tongue around that potent spot and sucked lightly, brushed his tongue across that center of absolute bliss, keeping her guessing but never letting the intensity ebb.
And as something began to build inside her, surging upward from the foundation of delirious anticipation he had elicited, his fingertips slid between her folds. They came to a pause at the entrance to her sex, one fingertip slowly circling that gateway, before easing inside her.
Her hips bucked, her arms trembling as she continued to grip the edge of the desk, though all she wanted to do was lie back and entirely submit to everything he was doing.
With a tantalizing touch, he slid his finger slowly in and out, adding another finger on the third stroke. The sensation was new and overwhelming, stoking the fire that raged through her, prompting her to gasp and moan and cry out and pant, utterly transported from the mundanity of her life to a realm of pure bliss.
He curled his fingers, finding another bundle of nerves somewhere within the depths of her. And as he pumped those skillful fingers and continued to lavish her swollen bud with all of the attention of his gifted tongue, she soared. All of the missteps and dangers and dismissals she had received up to that moment no longer mattered. She felt… powerful, the intensity of her pleasure pouring strength into every part of her—mind, body, soul.
He was making her feel like she could take on the world and win. Still, she would not remove her hands from the edge of the desk—as if it might break the spell if she did.
“Oh… Oh God… Oh!”
All of a sudden, the earth shattered, or Freya shattered—she could not tell which.
That fierce current of pleasure within her became a thrashing ocean of untold ecstasy, her body tossed and pulled throughwave after cresting wave of near-violent euphoria. Her legs shook, her arms wobbled. Her lungs were on fire, unable to squeeze out anything other than a strangled cry through her throat, while every muscle clenched tight as she rode the storm of her conclusion.
Her head swam with pleasure, her eyes fluttering shut, her back arching, her hips bucking, and though Doughall did not stop, hedidslow the strokes of his tongue and the pulse of his fingers. It felt like he was somehow throwing her a rope, guiding her back through the maelstrom of her bliss to reality, letting her luxuriate in it while keeping her anchored.
If this is how patience is rewarded, I’ll never be impatient again… unless this is what I’m impatient for.
Exhausted and still shaking, the potency of her conclusion began to ebb, leaving gentler pulses and softer sparks in her veins. She managed to catch her breath at last, opening her eyes and straightening her neck as Doughall slowly withdrew his fingers and turned his head to kiss the inside of her thighs.
There were so many things she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask, but nothing would come. It took all the strength she had left just to keep holding the edge of the desk.
Doughall stood up, and Freya met his eyes, bracing for him to turn and leave as he had done before.
“A lesson well learned,” he said quietly, his arms sliding underneath her, picking her up as if she weighed nothing.
Still holding her, he took a blanket—not the one she had arrived in, but one of his own—and draped it over her. Wordlessly, he carried her out of the room, wielding her through the night-silent hallways of the castle and up to her bedchamber.
She curled into his chest, too relaxed and sleepy to question the gentleness of the act, and too warm in his embrace to risk him making her walk.
Reaching her bedchamber, he kicked the door open and glanced around, likely to make sure that there was no one else in the room. That done, he carried her over to the bed and pulled back the coverlets, setting her down so carefully that she wondered if he had been switched for a different man somewhere on the stairs.
“Rest now,” he instructed, pulling the coverlets and furs over her bare skin and the torn remains of her nightdress.
He brushed a lock of hair from her face and stared at her for a moment. Was he about to give her a goodnight kiss, or was he going to leave without a word again?
He got up and walked to the door, confirming the latter.
Tired as she was, delirious as she was, Freya could not have that.
“Dinnae,” she called, reaching out a hand. “Please, dinnae go.”
