Page 21 of Illicit Heir

My mouth waters, and I swallow hard, taking shallow breaths, feeling his heart pounding against my palm.

He demands, "Tell me ya want to talk, and we'll talk. I don't force lasses to do things they don't want to do."

I stay quiet, willing myself to say it but unable to get the words out.

He moves his chiseled features closer to my face, and I think he's going to kiss me. I hold my inhale, but he brushes his lips against my ear, stating, "Want to know what I think about ya?" His hand drops to my ass, gripping my cheek.

A tiny whimper flies out of me. I reprimand myself again, but I can't seem to speak.

He roughly chuckles, pressing his cheek against mine, and I close my eyes. He murmurs, "I think you're my type, and I'm yours."

I force myself to open my eyes and snap back into reality. I turn toward him, asking, "Now, why is that?"

Assurance is all over his expression, as if there's no way he could possibly be wrong. He unbuttons my jeans then slides his hand behind me. He bypasses my ass, gripping the back of my thigh.

I inhale sharply.

"That right there."

"What?" I barely get out.

"Ya can't help but respond to me. Ya did it all night."

"I... Why do ya think that?" I ask, trying to deny it.

"I'm a man. I know. And these thighs of yours are driving me crazy, angel."

"Angel?" I question, my voice growing stronger. And what's he talking about regarding my thighs? They're a tad juicy, so I've never considered them my best asset.

He kisses my neck, trailing his lips to my ear. Then he pushes his palm against my leg, moving me closer so his erection digs into my stomach, and states, "Vixen might be more appropriate." He positions his face in front of mine and adds, "You're a mix of naughty and nice, aren't ya, lass?"

My butterflies flutter so hard that I feel dizzy. Or it could be from the scent of his woodsy Meghann cologne mixing with whiskey and Guinness. I respond, "Ya seem to think ya know me well."

He confidently replies, "No. I don't know ya. I only know what I've wanted to do to ya since I stepped through that door and how I think you'll respond."

How I'll respond.

Jesus.

My heart races faster.

His fingers climb up my throat. They curve around it, pressing tighter and surprising me. I've never been into neck play.

When Caleb tried, I hated it and told him to never do it again. He didn't listen, of course, and the last time he did it, I went into a full-blown panic attack. Yet it didn't faze him. He loved watching me panic to the point I thought my heart and lungs would explode.

So, to my shock, something about this stranger gripping me with dominance turns me on. I can't comprehend it, but there's no denying how my pussy's throbbing with need.

Devin adds, "Aye, my little angel-vixen. I want to know what sounds come out of this pretty mouth of yours right before ya beg me for everything you've never felt before."

His arrogant statement should turn me off, but it doesn't.

He lowers his voice, continuing, "Imagine your body shuddering against mine, helpless to what I release upon ya."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," I mumble, which is the wrong thing to say.

Devin's lips curl. His fingers slide between my thighs and into my pussy.

I gasp.

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