The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

It explained it well enough.

Jessie did not respond for a moment, and then gave a slight nod. “Perhaps that was the reason.”

In a few moments he had learned much about her. He rubbed her back. “And you are a Highlander by birth?”

It explained the Gaelic tongue, but he could not help being surprised.

She shot him a glance. “That information was not meant to offer you the chance to mock me.”

He wrapped his hand around the curve of her bottom and nudged her closer. “I was not mocking, merely surprised. You have an uncanny knack that way.” He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. “You surprise me every day.”

When he met her gaze, he saw her spirits lift, and she almost smiled. “Aye, well, yes, I’m a Highlander by birth, and I remember it still.” She looked wistful. “When I have my purse, I intend to go there.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “They do not persecute people for their beliefs in the Highlands.”

It made sense for her to leave and head north.

She stared at him thoughtfully. “You do not charge me with witchcraft, Gregor Ramsay.”

He laughed softly. “I have seen no evidence of it.”

It made him think on it, however. However wrongly given, the accusation that she had been charged with would follow her if she remained anywhere close to Dundee. In time, perhaps, she would be able to return, but it was for the best that she leave soon.

She glanced wistfully toward the moonlit window.

He traced his finger across her lips. “You’re a strange one, though.”

She looked up into his eyes. “You do not shun me?”

“Why would I? You have given me no reason to do so.” He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple. “You are far from being an ordinary woman, for I have never known one quite as lusty and shameless as you, but that is why I wanted you.” He was about to mention the task, and thought better of it because of the tender look in her eyes.

She sighed and gave a faltering smile.

Then she wriggled onto her side, looped one hand around his neck and pressed herself to him. His cock had been at half-mast because she was warm and naked against him, and it reared up expectantly when she moved closer and pressed her breasts to his chest.

“You are recovering?”

She nodded, lifted one knee and brushed it along his thigh invitingly. “Fill me, Gregor. Push the bad dreams away.”

What man could resist?

Mounting her, he eased his cock inside her hot channel.

Moving slowly back and forth, he worked his way to her deepest point. The sleek, tight clasp of her body on his length made him pause. He stared down at her, looking deep into her eyes. They glinted in the moonlight and seemed strangely lit, as if from inside.

When she noticed him studying her, she lowered her eyelids.

She was vulnerable, he realized, from her nightmare.

Gregor eased back and forth slowly, taking his time with the act, fascinated by the way each thrust was reflected in her expression. Her lips moved, her breath rasping. Her eyelids flickered and a soft cry issued from her throat each time he bedded the head of his cock at her center.

“Look at me,” he encouraged.

It took a moment before she did. She swallowed and drew a deep breath, then met his gaze. Her breath hitched, and her eyes shone with withheld tears.

He held her gaze while he rode her.