Page 59 of A Dash of Scot
Poppy didn’t hesitate to put her hand in his, a spark of lightning flying up her arm the moment they touched, sending her entire body vibrating. Was he really going to ravish her in the garden? Did she want to be ravished?
She nearly laughed at this last question. She most certainly did.
Ahead in the garden, she could hear the charming sound of her sister’s laugh, followed by the roar of the colonel’s boisterous chuckle.
“They are having fun,” Dougal said.
“Good, it will keep them occupied and not looking for us.” Oh, how brazen she was and how very much she didn’t care.
Dougal grinned and led her through the maze, twisting and turning, the sound of her sister and Colonel Austen growing fainter and fainter until they reached a wall covered in ivy and a dead end.
“Have you lost your way?” she asked.
“No’ at all.” He swept away the ivy, revealing a tiny latch, which he lifted and then pushed, the door creaking open to reveal a secret garden.
“Oh my,” Poppy said as he led her through and shut the door behind them. All around her were various blooms, the fragrance mesmerizing. “This is so stunning.”
“No’ as stunning as ye.” Dougal pulled her into his arms, and she followed his tug, pressing herself against him and leaning up on tiptoes to steal the kiss she’d been thinking about for hours.
Dougal’s mouth brushed over hers, softly at first, then firmer, then downright primal as his tongue swept into her mouth to claim ownership.
She sighed into his kiss, her tongue dancing over his, her fingers curling against his shoulders. Every part of her body came alive with his kiss, tingles, heat and a voracious pulse between her thighs that begged to be satisfied.
They’d kissed before, several times now. Though the kisses that came between London and now seemed tame in comparison. Dougal wasn’t holding anything back now, and she wasn’t either. He’d promised her a ravishing, and she was getting his full and undivided attention.
“Mo chreach,” he murmured that Gaelic expletive against her lips, but rather than be offended, she laughed.
“Bloody hell,” she replied, smiling before she sucked at his tongue.
Dougal growled low in his throat, wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her closer, pressing himself fully against her. His breeches did nothing to hide the evidence of his desire, long, hard and thick, his arousal pressed with passion against her midsection, and Poppy, who was an innocent still in most senses of the word, knew at once what it meant to be a hedonistic wanton. She rubbed against his arousal, gasping at the increase of thrumming between her thighs; the heat that needed and wanted his touch.
“Slow down,” he murmured, panting. “I’m supposed to ravish ye, no’ the other way around.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing…just feeling,” she confessed. “And it feels so good.”
Dougal’s head fell back, and he sucked in a breath. She watched his shoulders rising and lowering with his heavy breaths, and then he took her by the hand and led her toward the promised bench, only this one was a swing suspended from a tree, slowly rocking as they sat upon it.
Poppy leaned into Dougal, putting her legs over his thighs, and then she gasped as he took her bold move a step further and tugged her completely onto his lap, her bottom pressed to the hardness of his strong legs.
At the contact, Dougal let out a low groan. Not a second later, he pressed his hands on either side of her face, guiding her mouth to his. His kiss was demanding—pure, unadulterated passion.
Poppy attempted for only a split second to put her mind to rights as his kiss thoroughly explored every inch of her mouth, but why would she want to be rational when her entire being wanted to be as enraptured as he was? Her fingers trembled, and every swipe of his tongue, every brush of his lips, had her going mad with need, with thoughts of what allowing herself to be ravished meant.
In Dougal’s arms, she was certain she’d never been happier. Nor more nervous. Angsty thoughts plucked at her desire the way a seamstress poked a hem, but she ignored them. Pushed those thoughts aside. He loved her. Wanted to marry her. This was what she wanted. Poppy raised a hand to his shoulder and squeezed the taut muscles beneath the fabric of his clothes.
Shivers raced up and down her spine and limbs, leaving tingles of anticipation. Her nipples grew taut, aching with need and sending frissons of pleasure to pull at her core. She shifted on his lap, pressing herself to his chest to feel the length of him, his warmth on her body beneath hers.
Her fingers trailed up to his neck, feeling the thrumming pulse under his skin.
Dougal wasted no time in taking possession of Poppy’s offered mouth. They both let out sighs of satisfaction as the frenzy of their kiss turned to touching exploration. An urgency took hold of Dougal as he slid his hand up her thigh. He held her, pulled tight to him so he could feel every lush curve against him. Poppy was a goddess among women, her fingers stroking his hair and sending him to the heavens.
He hooked his hand underneath one of her knees, and Poppy shifted, wrapping her arms around his neck and then she shocked him by wrapping one leg around his hip.
Mo chreach!
He’d promised her a ravishing, and yet it seemed his temptress had taken the helm, ravishing him instead. Unable to help himself, he slid his hands beneath her bottom, pulled the other leg around his hip and held her like that, straddled against him on the rocking bench. The heat of her sex emanated through her gown to his breeches, making his already scorching blood burn hotter, his groin throbbing with the need to claim her fully.
Dougal needed to set some boundaries and put an end to this, or she was going to become his body and soul before they said, “I do.”
