Page 47 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
“Me name,” he growled against her throat, lightly nipping the skin of her collarbone so she wouldn’t forget.
“Hunter.” She swallowed loudly. “Hunter…”
“That’s better,” he purred, pressing her into the obelisk, rocking his hips in a slow rhythm with each graze of his mouth, listening for the catch of her breath as she felt him.
There was no way she could avoid or ignore it. He’d never been so hard, and with her legs around his waist, her skirts had gathered at her hips of their own accord, leaving nothing but the fabric of his kilt between him and that sweet, tempting heat between her thighs.
At least, that was what he suspected and would soon confirm—if his restraint and discipline didn’t get in the way again.
“Oh…” Grace’s breath shuddered. “Oh, Hunter…”
He smiled against the frantic rise and fall of her bosom, savoring that delicious sound. She’d felt him; he heard it in the change of her breathing, the pitch of her stifled moans.
Ye cannae go too far,his sense of discipline partially relented.Just enough.
He tugged down the top edge of her bodice, seeking out her ripe breasts, eager to taste the sweetness of her nipples, to savor a bite of that perfect flesh. But, goodness, how he hated her fancy English gowns, with all their complicated parts and intricate fastenings—though therewassomething to be said for the anticipation they created.
She bucked against him as he found her erect nipple and drew it into his mouth, sucking gently as he tilted his hips upward. Her thighs squeezed tighter around his waist. Her neck arched once more, while her hands slid over his shoulders and her fingernails raked over his back.
“Hunter!” she moaned, breathing hard. “Yes, Hunter… oh… oh, yes!”
He sucked harder, relishing the sound of his name on her tongue.
Kissing his way to her other nipple, his hand skimmed over the swell of her breast and up the curve of her neck before he slid his fingertips into her long, dark hair.
Every buck of her hips tipped him further toward the point of no return, where his desire would overwhelm everything else. Every gasp and moan and breathy sigh stoked an inferno of need within him. And as she ran her hands through his hair and pulled herself closer, dipping her head to kiss his neck, grazing her teeth across his earlobe, and tilting his head up so she could kiss him hard on the mouth, he wondered if he would have the strength to not let things go too far.
A reprieve… A moment to gather meself.
Kissing her soft lips, he slowed the rhythm, transforming ravenous hunger into a sensual burn, savoring instead of rushing. His tongue danced with hers as his hand slid down her outer thigh, and he gripped that soft, smooth flesh.
She responded in kind, taking her time to explore, running her hands along the ledge of his shoulders and over his chest, smoothing her palms over the muscles of his back… until inspiration seemed to strike.
Grasping his shirt, she began to pull it upward, but the material caught in the belt of his kilt. Pressing her into the stone, smirking against her mouth, he tugged his shirt free and let her do the rest.
Within a moment, he was freed of the hindrance, and his skin was bared to the warm wind that drifted across the meadow. Her touch seemed to follow the breeze’s guidance. Her fingertips caressed the muscles of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the lines that joined his chest to his stomach, and the harsh lines of his upper arms.
“You’re so warm,” she murmured, bending her head to press a kiss to his chest, right above his heart.
It was more than he could take, reigniting the urgency for a brief reprieve, or he would surely claim her before they even stepped across the threshold of any church together.
With that in mind, he tilted her chin up and kissed her slowly on the mouth as he pushed her thighs apart. The grip of her legs loosened, and with his hands beneath her, he set her back on her feet.
For a moment, she seemed confused while peering up at him.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
Grace trembled as she obeyed, slowly turning to face the tall expanse of solid rock that had been behind her. The pillar was cool against her palm as she touched it, so she rested her brow against it for a moment. Her skin was feverish with desire, and she smiled as she imagined the stone steaming at the contact.
Just then, she heard an oddly familiar sound: the hiss of a blade being drawn.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Remedyin’ a problem,” he replied, a note of amusement in his voice.
Her heart lurched. “What problem might that be?”
Is it me? Am I the problem?
