Page 68 of A Scot's Pride
“I dinna know what ye’d call it.”
“Probably Lady Daven’s machinations.”
“Perhaps, but lass, I…” He bit his lower lip as his hands glided over her bare skin. “I want ye. All of ye.”
Freya reached for his shirt, pulling it from where it was tucked into his breeches and sliding her hands over his torso, his chest. He sat up slightly so she could pull it off.
In the flickering candlelight, his skin glowed, revealing a sprinkling of dark hair that traveled in an arrow pattern down into his breeches—which also needed to disappear.
She plucked at the fastenings, revealing more dark hair and the swelling of his arousal. She sucked in a breath as she stared. Bryson reached for her then, his hands fanning the sides of her face, and tugged her in for a hungry kiss.
As his mouth claimed hers and issued promises of pleasure, his hands smoothed down her back to clasp her bare bottom, giving a little squeeze.
The solid feel of his body beneath her had her heartbeat kicking up, and the urge to have him do more than kiss her grew in intensity. She rocked her hips forward; the feel of his arousal gliding against the crux of her thighs had them both gasping. Possessively, he gripped her hips, holding her still.
“If ye keep doing that, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Bryson growled, his kiss deepening as his tongue took possession in heated strokes. Freya slid her hands over the wide, muscular expanse of his chest, letting her nails dig in the slightest bit as she gripped him. Her husband rippled with strength and power, and all of him belonged to her.
He cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her tingling nipples, already rigid with anticipation. With a satisfied grin, Bryson leaned up and nuzzled her breasts until she squirmed and panted for more. Then he grazed his lips in taunting strokes over the swells of her bare breasts, and her neck, then her mouth again. Finally, he ceased his torment, flicking his tongue over her nipple and then sucking it into his mouth.
Freya moaned, her head falling back, her fingers thrusting into his hair. She rocked her hips, fire searing through her. Bryson gripped her arse again, holding her tight. His arousal rubbed against the soft place between her thighs that ached for his wicked touch.
Bryson flipped her again, kneeling between her thighs, his eyes gleaming with desire. He untied her garters one at a time, fluttering little kisses to the inside of her thighs and knees as he went. With slow, methodical torment, he unrolled her stockings and tossed them aside. When his eyes met hers and he lowered his face to hover just over her sex, she held her breath until his face was buried between her thighs. He stroked his tongue on the very heat of her.
Freya’s legs trembled, her knees falling open. She grasped his shoulders, her fingers finding anchor as a whimper escaped her.
“Oh, Bryson,” she moaned in pleasure.
“Do ye like this?” he murmured, the vibrations increasing the sensations whirling inside her while his wicked tongue stroked along her folds.
Freya’s fingers curled into his shoulders, her head thrown back in pleasure as he swirled, licked and sucked. Every time she thought she was going to break apart, he pulled back until she begged him not to stop. Then, her climax descended upon her, shattering her inside and out. Her legs shook violently, and she gripped him harder as her body exploded in pleasure.
When she finally opened her eyes, it was to watch Bryson slide off the bed and practically rip off his breeches, his hard erection reaching toward her. He tossed his breeches so far without looking that they landed in the hearth, quickly catching flame.
“I hope you have another pair,” she giggled.
“I’ve go’ my kilt, and that’s enough.”
“Oh, yes, I can’t wait to see you in your kilt.”
Freya climbed onto her knees and beckoned for her husband. “You told me before that on our wedding night, I could give you the same pleasure you’ve given me twice now.”
Bryson blew out a breath, his eyelids lowering, and she could swear his arousal twitched. He sauntered forward.
“Are ye certain?”
She nodded eagerly, scooting to the edge of the bed, her feet on the floor. Freya took his rigid shaft in hand, feeling the velvet softness and his weight against her palm.
Bryson sucked in a breath, his hand threading in her hair. She leaned forward and kissed the tip, surprised again at the silky softness compared to the rigidness. She flicked her tongue out, licking him the way he had licked her. Bryson groaned, his grip on her hair tightening.
Freya grew bolder, swirling her tongue around the salty crown again and again. The taste of him was so different than the rest of his skin, his tongue. She licked him from base to tip, and then she got another urge. What if she took him into her mouth? Without hesitation, she sucked him into her mouth, sliding her lips down. Bryson’s groan was guttural, the pleasure emanating from somewhere deep in his chest as she moved up and down. His hips rocked into her mouth, his hands in her hair, his breaths coming fast.
But then he leapt backward and away from her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
