Page 62 of A Scot's Pride
“Then might I ask for a kiss before ye leave? Is that allowed? A kiss from my soon-to-be wife?”
Freya sighed. His wife. “If my sister had not just taken us on this whirlwind journey, I’d have suggested we elope.” She glanced down at the whisky cup in her hand. Indeed, it had to be the spirits talking.
“And I’d have taken ye up on that, lass. I verra much look forward to marrying ye. I told ye before that I love ye, and I meant it.”
Freya’s heart swelled, warming in her chest. She loved him too. More than she could even fathom was possible. And to think how much she’d despised him when they first met.
“Now, about that kiss before I see ye back to your room.” He closed the distance between them, the warmth of his body so close to her own.
Bryson took the cup she held and placed it beside his on the sideboard. In a few weeks, after the banns had been read and their vows exchanged, it would be completely normal to see their two cups beside one another. The warmth of his callused palm cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. The caress was sensual and heated, and she parted her lips and leaned into him, her breasts to his chest. Hips to hips.
She should have pulled away, but Freya didn’t. She tipped her head toward his. Instead of kissing him first as she had the first two times, she waited.
“Just one,” she whispered.
It felt like a millennium until Bryson finally dipped his face to hers. The pressure of his soft lips, the warmth of his breath. Freya’s fingers curled at his chest into his shirt, while his arms went around her back, holding her tight to him. She marveled at the hardness of his body against hers, the strength of him. How safe she felt being held by him. What would it be like to touch him without the confines of his shirt, his jacket…his breeches. All corded muscle and heated flesh.
Bryson slid his mouth from hers, trailed kisses down her neck, and she sighed with pleasure, remembering how good this had felt before. She wanted him to keep following the path lower, to touch and kiss her breasts. Freya leaned her head to the side, giving him better access, and he went lower, his lips skating over the length of her collarbone.
Bryson’s hands trailed up and down her spine until he reached her bottom. There, he gripped the roundness of her, and a guttural groan came from his throat. She wondered if he felt the same flaming heat rushing through his body that she did.
Freya wanted to taste him the way he’d tasted her. So, she turned her head, her lips touching the line of his neck, the bristles of stubble tickling her sensitive skin. She kissed. Then she licked, then gave a little suck.
Bryson growled, but it was a good noise. Not like when he’d growled at Campbell. She wanted to hear this noise again, so she gave him a little bite, enjoying the momentary feeling of power doing so gave her.
She leaned up, whispering into his ear, “I know I said one kiss, but I’m not ready to leave.”
Had those words just come out of her mouth? Was she losing her mind? Just as when he’d kissed her before, she was willing to let all caution go to the wind. She understood now all the warnings of pleasure and desire. Because when at the moment, she could hardly control herself. She wanted more. All of it. Whatever Bryson was willing to give.
Again, madness. Because at any moment, his Aunt Bertie could knock on the door. Then they’d be caught for certain. But she knew there was little chance of that. Leila was a handful, and Aunt Bertie would do her best to let Freya have the evening to herself to relax.
And, oh, was she taking that for all it was worth.
Suddenly, Bryson lifted her in the air. He started toward the bed, and her heart kicked up a notch, her mind yelling, “Yes, yes, yes.” But then he pivoted and marched toward the chairs near the hearth, shifting to set her down. Then he knelt before her, his hands on her knees, the heat of his palms searing through her skirts.
Freya leaned forward, capturing his mouth for another kiss and instinctively spreading her legs for his body to lean into her. She wanted him closer, to feel the weight of him on her. This was such a tease.
Bryson pulled away, his breathing heavy as he grinned up at her with a rakish look.
“Do ye trust me?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I want…to kiss ye here.” He touched her lips, and she gave his finger a little lick on instinct.
Bryson’s eyes shuttered, and he groaned. “Aye, lass, like that. Except I want to kiss ye.” His finger trailed from her mouth, down the center of her chest, over her abdomen and hovered right between her thighs.
Freya’s mouth fell open, and a whoosh of air came out, but no words because she hadn’t even realized that kissing there was done, and just the thought of his mouth on hers made her want to cry out with pleasure.
“Will ye let me?”
Her mouth was suddenly dry, her tongue tied, but she nodded, curiously eyeing him.
Bryson grinned, then leaned up, kissing her mouth with such passion that her knees would have buckled if she hadn’t already been sitting down. Slowly, he slid her gown up, over her ankles, her calves, past her knees. The cool air from the room rushed over her skin, and the warmth of his hands soothed the gooseflesh.
With expert fingers, he removed her drawers and flung them somewhere else.
“Did you lock the door?” she asked, suddenly nervous again.
