Page 38 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
She plucked a sandwich from the plate and took a bite. Then she unstoppered the bottle and handed it to him. “Try this.”
He held it to his lips, took a sip, then winced at the sharpness on his tongue.
She let out a laugh. “Too sour for you?”
“I was expecting milk, not lemonade.”
“I made it myself.”
He took another sip. “That explains why it’s the best thing I have ever tasted.”
“The cook helped.”
He handed the bottle back to her, and a fizz of need bubbled in his veins as their fingers touched. She hesitated, then caressed his fingers with hers, before taking the bottle.
On impulse, he picked up her slice of pie.
“Hungry?” he whispered.
She nodded, and he broke off a piece and held it to her lips. Her eyes glinted in the darkness and she parted her lips.
“Did I not say I’d feed ye myself, lass, when we were alone? Will ye open for me?”
Her eyes flared and he caught a spark of desire in them as she took the pie, her lips brushing against his fingers.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Sweet devil’s ballocks!His cock surged beneath his plaid, and he shifted position, lest she see the bulge.
Her lips moved as she chewed the pie, then her neck rippled as she swallowed, letting out a little groan of pleasure.
Then she leaned toward him, parting her lips once more in anticipation.
Did the lass know how what she was doing to him? Even the most accomplished whores were incapable of bringing him to the point of spending with a mere parting of their lips. But the lass before him…
Never before had he experienced such a powerful urge to bury himself inside a woman.
He tore off another piece of pie and offered it to her. This time, she lifted her hands and caught his wrist, guiding him toward her. She took the morsel and swallowed it eagerly, then she wrapped her lips around his fingers and caressed them with her tongue, running from root to tip.
He caught his breath as he pictured her kneeling before him, giving the same loving attention to that part of him that strained like a stag in rut in its eagerness to claim her.
Then she released his fingers and lifted the bottle to her lips. Her throat bobbed as she drank, then she set the bottle down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Aye, a wild, wanton woman—and he was determined to make her his.
“Why do you smile?” she asked.
“Och, lass—do ye not know?”
“Tell me.”
Because I know that I only need ask and ye’d part those pretty thighs and take my cock.
“B-because ye drank from the same bottle.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “I’m not supposed to do that, am I? I forgot to bring cups.”
“Ah, but don’t ye know that to share the same cup is a sign of trust?”
