Mac (Mountain Men 2)

He pauses, goes back to my legs, and grazes his chin along the tender, supple skin. I groan at the rough feel of his prickly whiskers between my thighs, my eyelids fluttering closed when I’m overwhelmed with varying sensations.

There’s a clawing, throbbing need between my legs, and I’m hot and cold as he blows a breath along my inner thighs. My skin burns then cools with the flickering fire and whisper of wind. We’re engulfed in the quiet sounds of night, the hum of a locust, and the rustling of trees in the wind.

“Part your legs, sweetheart.” The heat of his voice washes over me. I part them further, and he lifts them so my knees bend, draping them over his shoulders.

I’m not a virgin, but the men I’ve been with didn’t know how to please a woman. They were young and foolish, self-centered enough to take what was theirs and leave me hanging out to dry. They barely knew how to last and left me with a dismal impression of sex.

But Mac might ruin me for good.

He hasn’t touched my sex or even so much as my clothed breasts, but I’m already so ready for him I’m fucking panting. My pulse races like I’ve just run a marathon, and the need between my legs grows with every second that passes.

He kisses the fabric between my legs, and my hips jerk, I’m that sensitive to his touch. He grins against my leg and brushes it with his stubble again, as he drags his thumb between my fabric-covered slit between my legs.

Oh God oh God oh God.

My eyes flutter closed, but the next second I feel him tighten before there’s a whap across my chest, and my eyes spring open.

“What?” I gasp.

“Eyes on me.”

“I can’t shut them?”

He flicks the leather again, and I hiss out a breath as another flare of pain tingles across my skin.

“Not unless you want to be punished.” He flicks it again, harder this time. “Do you?”

I shake my head. “No. Definitely not. Uh uh, nope.”

Another sharp lash, and I can’t help but whimper.

“I don’t think you're telling the truth,” he says. Shaking his head. “Don’t you know that I’ll have to punish you if you lie to me?”

He kisses the fabric between my legs again, but this time blows hot air, pressing his lips together, and I squirm under the onslaught of sensation again.

“Yes,” I groan. “God, yes.”

“Yes, you want to be punished?”

My voice doesn’t sound like my own, and I feel like I’m flying somehow above my body, eager for so much more I’m trembling.

“No, I mean… yes, I mean…” I’m so confused, so eager and pent-up, I don’t know how to respond or even what I want.

“Ah, lassie, you do want to be punished.” He bunches up the fabric of my dress between his fingers and raises the dress higher, so the hem grazes the very edge of my knickers.

“Take ‘em off, darlin’.”

I grab my knickers and shimmy them down my stinging bottom, then he grabs them and yanks them the rest of the way down my legs.

“Aye, that’s a girl,” he says, his eyes hungrily taking in my slightly pink thighs and swollen, shaven pussy. “Fucking gorgeous. Goddamn porn pussy.”

“What? Is that a compliment?”

He grins and places a reverent kiss on my mound, and I throb with need again.

“Of course.”

I’m whimpering, needing more than this. Will he tease me forever?

I’ve never even kissed a guy outside like this, bathed in the light of the moon, but something tells me we’re going to do a fuck of a lot more than kiss. I feel completely exposed up on the roof, with the sky above us. We're all alone, of course, but it definitely doesn't feel private. And a little part of me is excited about that. Maybe I have a little exhibitionist in me.

“Take your hand, Bryn, and put your fingers on your pussy. No stroking. Just rest your fingers right there.”

He takes my hand and drags my fingertips to the top of my pussy. I moan, so eager to touch more than this, but I do what he says.

“Good girl,” he says with a smile of approval. “Just like that. Keep them there.”

It's a test of sorts, I know it is. I'm fucking dying to touch myself, to give myself some sort of relief, and he knows having my fingers right there, just where I'd be able to give myself some pleasure, is fucking killing me.

He stands, holding his belt in his hand, his voice low and soothing, gently urging me to do what he says.

“Now, sweetheart, roll over onto your knees.”

Definitely only a test.

I move my hand, confused at the instructions, because my mind is muddled and feelings have overtaken all logic and reason. I’m no longer Bryn Aitkens, trying to seduce the son of our rivals. I’m no longer in control of myself, clearly leading him to crash his ship upon my shores if only he’ll follow the sound of my voice. I’m helpless to do anything but exactly what he tells me. Somehow, he’s gotten control of this situation, and if I’m honest? I fucking love this.