Page 8 of The Lass Initiated the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 3.5)

And then he pulled her neckline open just to stop short when he gaped the fabric to uncover her breasts. A very manly grunt vibrated in his throat as his bespectacled eyes focused on her globes. Reverently, he lifted his large hands and cupped them, fingers appreciating the texture, the size, the weight. His tall frame pressed more on hers while his curiosity brought him closer. His thumbs feathered the dusky nipples, back and forth, forth and back, marvelling in their plucking. The thumbs tried again unconcerned as to the devastating effect they had on her. He released an awed breath in the act of exploring her nipples as though he had found a new specimen and wanted to learn every single thing about it. As if this was not enough to weaken her further, he had this great idea of pressing the peaks between his thumb and forefinger with a pressure that was there and was not there at the same time, which nearly drove her insane.

At this, she emitted unavoidable moans. In the dim light, they were two bodies moving to the music of passion. “Do you like it?” His mouth followed his fingers, and she felt as if steam poured from every pore.

Those long fingers undid more of the buttons and in seconds one of her nipples dived in a hot, whisky-coated mouth. He licked and tasted it as though she was made of porcelain, his lips moulding to her, but never pulling on the dusky delicacy.

“Harder,” she pleaded out of breath.

He did not shy away, quick-study that he proved to be. His suckled her breast like his life hung by a thread. To gain more access, his masculine thigh wedged between hers, crushing the centre of all her agony mercilessly. She saw stars as it orchestrated with how his teeth were treating her breast. And then he did it all over again to its twin. Only better, savouring her in hard, fierce suckles.

“Harriet,” He raised a worried expression to the sounds she uttered.

Threading her fingers in sleek hair, she pulled him back to her, hips seeking more pressure from his thigh. “Don’t stop, I beg you.” Seemingly understanding, he gave all she demanded. And moved his thigh, alternated nipples, tangled a hand in her hair. On and on, he kept going.

Blast it all, but these Scots were a hot-blooded lot. They had no fear of this carnality, of the instinctual level to which they were descending. Of the sheer torture to which they condemned the poor woman who made the witless decision to fall in their arms.

Something happened on that needy spot, on the folds, on the place he would be so welcome. And then it happened with more intensity. And more tension as her hips moved blindly.

Until she broke apart with a long, surprised groan. So delicious, so consuming, she forgot her name, her king, her country. “Samuel!” she breathed at last.

But he did not interrupt his rubbing on her. If anything, he quickened it. With the abrasion of his body on hers, she registered his cock bigger and harder. The friction was doing it for him too.

“Bluidy hell, Harriet,” he fell back on his brogue. “What is it ye’re teaching me?” looking at him, she saw beads of sweat on his forehead.

Well, the same he had just taught her. A pleasure beyond her wildest imaginings.

He grunted on her ear, and she put her thigh forward to make it better for him, causing his breathing to quicken. His body sought the finish line as if its life depended on it. The sensitive skin on her thigh, covered by mere cotton registered his member twitching, expanding. At the same moment his head fell back, expression crumpled, his neck and face washed in angry red. Next she knew, the rock-hard part of him pulsed, vibrated. And pulsed more until a hot dampness transferred to the cotton. He had found release.

His body leaned on her, panting and spent. She cradled him on her softness, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

By the time he lifted his head, he looked at her in wonderment. “This was—” something in Gaelic escaped his well-formed lips, and it did not seem polite at all. “Delightful.”

A small smile stretched her mouth. “Only delightful?” Her fingers played with the slick strands.

“I can’t possibly say what crossed my mind,” he admitted with a side-grin, a naughty glint in the green depths.

And then they just stood there in the dimly lit hallway staring at each other in contented silence.

Those masculine hands framed her face, thumbs feathering over her sensitive skin. “Dia, tha thu cho bòidheach!” he breathed.

The sound of his Scottish Gaelic caressed her ears like that pouring caramel at which he was becoming specialised. “What does it mean?”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he repeated with that same awe, taking in every inch of her face.

His reddish-brown head lowered as he captured her lips in a kiss full of steam, eagerness and the purity that would never cease to amaze her. She kissed him back, allowing herself to explore him in the same measure he did her. It was as if she entered a sun-warmed garden full of splendour and noble feelings which she did not expect to find in a man. Ever. So she held him, brought him even closer, and let the kiss soar inside like a blooming flower drenched in so much tenderness.

Whe

n they came up for air, they were breathless. Their gazes merged as his thumb outlined her bottom lip with reverence.

“I was about to go make tea,” she started. “Would you like a cup?”

Several heartbeats passed before he answered, his eyes drinking on her. At last, he focused on the question and nodded, “I’ll put myself to…rights.” She thought his shyness captivating. “And come down in five minutes,” he quickly added.

Sam changed and tidied himself as best as he could in the guest chambers he used, thinking this must have been the most mind-blowing night of his life. Not for a second did he imagine he would be so lucky as to come less than ten feet from her. They had never touched before tonight. He had worshipped Harriet from a distance, certain that she did not see him, really see him. The respect he held for her, for the intelligence she displayed, for the patience with the professor’s children, the understanding of the importance of science prevented him from even whispering at anything improper. But his body possessed not an ounce of proper cravings for this woman. Hence the wrenching difficulty to keep himself in check. But now, fuck! He had been on the verge of imploring her for more. His impression was that, even if he got everything, it would not be enough. The hunger reached too deeply for that. After tasting the pure bliss of touching her, he never wanted to stop. But he would if necessary, his respect would not be skin deep.

Clothes righted, he exited his chambers, tea being the very last thing on his mind. But he would have it, if only to enjoy her company a few minutes longer.

As he entered the kitchen, she was retrieving the tea pot from the stove to take it to the sturdy wooden table at the centre of the room. Her shawl firmly in place did not placate his starved eyes. The only light came from the stove, bathing them in a warm glow. Upon sitting, she served two cups. And proceeded to braid her glorious hair.

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