The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

His soft chuckle held a wealth of male contentment. The chair gave a soft creak as he stood. "I should have warned you."

"I’m rather glad you didn’t. It would have spoiled my dinner."

She felt him begin to work on her laces. "You didn’t eat much anyway."

"Neither did you."

"No."

A silence descended as he finished undoing her dress. Very gently, he turned her around and kissed her with the same sweetness she’d seen in his smile.

Selina sighed and blinked away the mist that persisted in settling in front of her eyes. She clung to his shirt until she was sure she wouldn’t collapse in a heap. After a week of kisses, she should be inured to the way the touch of his lips turned her world topsy-turvy.

"Now show me," he whispered, sitting down again.

On tottering legs, Selina returned to the center of the room. His eyes were avid as she lifted her arms to remove the few pins that held her hair up off her neck. When she’d taken Brock in her mouth, he’d buried his hands in her hair as he surrendered to that paroxysm of pleasure.

When he’d spurted into her mouth, she’d felt so brave and powerful. She needed to wrench some of that bravery back now.

She reached down deep inside herself. If this was how Brock meant to remember her, she wanted him to think of her as strong and resolute. A woman proud of everything she’d done during this unforgettable week with her dissolute lover.

So while nerves urged her to rush, she made each movement slow and deliberate. As she unpeeled her dress from her shoulders and down her arms, urgency tightened Brock’s face.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, leaning forward. His air of relaxation vanished.

Selina found it in her to tease him, holding the dress to her breasts for an instant before slipping it down over her hips until it crumpled to the floor. She stepped out of it and began to unhook her corset.

By the time her corset parted to reveal her transparent shift, he was breathing audibly and his long-fingered hands clenched the carved arms of the chair. She couldn’t mistake his excitement. He’d fastened his trousers since she’d serviced him on her knees. Now his erect cock tented the material.

"Don’t stop, for pity’s sake," he croaked out.

This gradual revelation of her body to her eager lover excited her, too. With a languid grace she’d never imagined herself capable of, she slipped her corset off so her breasts bobbed loose against her shift. Beneath the drift of her petticoats, she was wet and throbbing. She rubbed her thighs together to feed her craving.

This wasn’t at all like what she did in the lonely space of her bedroom. There every action was furtive and poisoned by shame. Brock’s unconcealed appreciation made her feel like a queen.

But the game they played caught her in its talons just as tight as it caught him. She couldn’t bear to stop now. His eyes focused on the swell of her bosom. She always touched her nipples when she sought satisfaction, but never before with such lascivious pleasure.

She cupped her breasts, holding them up for Brock’s hot gaze. Through the fine material, she plucked at her nipples. She was so close to the edge that the sensation tugged at her womb and an involuntary cry escaped her.

"Hell, Selina, you’re going to kill me," he groaned.

She slid one hand down her chest and fondled her breast under the shift. Then with increasing urgency, she pushed down the fabric so she presented herself to him.

&n

bsp; "Touch them," he grated out, his hand covering his member. His face was flushed, and a muscle jerked in his lean cheek.

Selina adored that she could do this to him. When she’d first seen him, he’d seemed a man apart, untouched by messy human emotion. Now she turned him into this shaking, desperate lover who was on the brink of losing control at the sight of her body.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on arousing herself. Squeezing her nipples. Fondling her breasts. Teasing herself until she was shaking.

When her nipples were tight and aching, she reached down to untie her petticoats. She’d like to continue to titillate Brock, but she verged too close. She pressed her hand over her mound to find some relief. It wasn’t enough. With swift eagerness, she stripped her shift away, so she was naked. She hadn’t worn drawers since she’d arrived at the hunting lodge.

Brock inhaled great lungfuls of air, and the hand he placed over his erection moved with increasing speed.

"What…what do you do once you’re naked?" he asked in a choked voice.

She backed toward the bed. "I…I use my hand."