My head fell back, lost in the swirling sensations caused by the rough rasp of his tongue. Round and round it went, laving, licking, nipping with his teeth. I heard a moan and realized it was my own. Between my legs, my pussy wept, my thighs slick. Ian continued to suckle at one breast until the peak was so tight I thought it might shatter. My other breast, lonely as it was without Ian's attentions, ached. Just thinking about his mouth moving to the other straining nipple made me cry out. "Please!"
He glanced up at me. "This one need some attention, too?"
I nodded, frantic.
He kissed his way across the deep valley between my breasts to climb to the other peak. His day's growth of beard rasped my sensitive skin, leaving a tingling, burning sensation in his wake. With the crackling fire at my back and Ian's mouth on me, it was possible I might burst into flames.
After what felt like hours of being licked, sucked, tortured, Ian's head moved up to place wet kisses on my collarbone, nipped at the sensitive tendon at my neck, my jaw. Finally, oh, finally, his lips descended on mine. Dizzy with desire, I opened my mouth to Ian's onslaught. His invasion. His tongue darted in and out to mate with mine, his head angling to kiss me even deeper. His tongue fucked my mouth in a way I hoped his cock would my pussy.
In. Out. Swirling. Plunging deep.
I could die happy at this moment. No one had kissed me like this before. Ever. This wasn't something I would forget. Maybe the ability to kiss faded through the generations just as chivalry had. Ian took the blue ribbon in the make-out contest. I couldn't do anything but kiss him back, run my fingers through his tousled hair and hang on for dear life. The feel of the silky strands between my fingers was… spectacular. The act simple, yet intimate. Yet, it wasn't enough.
Raggedly, Ian drew in a deep breath and lifted his head. His piercing eyes met mine beneath half closed lids. From the feel of his erection beneath me and his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a mindless sort of way, I knew Ian was as ready as I was for more.
I'd wanted foreplay only a few minutes earlier, but now, screw foreplay. It was way overrated. I wanted it all. Everything. Ian clearly did too because before I could let out a squeal of surprise, I was lifted off of his lap, tossed over his very braw
ny shoulder and carried across the room. It was such a caveman move, yet I loved it. He lowered me gently onto a heavy wood dining table I'd made no notice of before. Did he plan on making a feast of me? I squirmed on the hard surface at the idea. One large hand pushed me back onto my elbows, Ian's hard thighs nudged mine apart. Wide. I could only look up at the man dominating me, controlling me in so many ways. Ian was going to use me as he saw fit, and I could do nothing about it.
Thank fucking God.
Physically, he had at least eighty pounds on me, maybe more. Sexually, his prowess left me panting, my skin damp with a sheen of sweat, my pussy pulsing and desperate for his cock and the orgasm I knew he would give me.
I wasn't going anywhere. Except over the abyss, and I planned on taking him with me.
Slowly, Ian's rough palms ran up my legs, starting at my ankles. He took off my shoes, one then the other, all the time his dark eyes never leaving my face. Maybe just a little bit to look at my breasts, which, in their current position, pointed straight up at the ceiling, nipples like tight pink beacons.
His large hands brushed up and over my calves, my dress bunching up on Ian's wrists. As he reached my knees, he worked his way back down, then up again. One eyebrow lifted in question. "Your legs, there isn't any hair." He looked puzzled, surprised by something he considered very strange.
My skin tingled where he touched, the rough rasp of callouses awakening every single nerve ending.
"I shaved them," I told him, my breath still coming out in pants. Even with his hands benignly on my knees, the touch was erotic. Anticipation overwhelmed me as I wondered, hoped, where his hands might go next.
"Shaved?" His head lowered to kiss the smooth skin on one calf, caress it. Understand it. "I smell your desire. Yer quim must be drippin' wet."
My eyes practically rolled back in my head. God, I loved Scottish dirty talk. Of course I was dripping wet and he knew it.
Ian lifted his head to look me in the eye, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. "Do ye have other places ye like to shave?" he wondered, one tip of his mouth quirked up.
I smiled demurely. Slyly. I wasn't going to tell him I'd been waxed only the other day. In my lifetime. He'd never understand. I looked forward to him learning about it all by himself. "Why don't you find out?"
The fireplace and candles about the room cast an orange-hued glow over Ian, dark, brooding and mysterious. Sexy. Ian threw his head back and laughed, his hands still hot on my legs. "Ach, aye. It would be a pleasure."
The 'r' in pleasure rolled off his tongue like a purring cat. I could get used to the accent. He could read a grocery list and make it hot.
Ian was a man of action, not words. Past-life-Lexy had decades to find out if he was a rocket scientist—or Scottish laird—but the twenty-first century Lexy had just one night. Who needed lots of talk when all I wanted was action?
Action I got because his hands advanced quickly over my knees and up my thighs, bunching the yards of fabric of my dress about my waist. Grabbing my ankles, he placed my feet upon the table, spreading my legs wide, exposing my pussy to his gaze. I could feel the cool air on my thighs, the wetness between, my underwear, or drawers, whatever it was called in the olden days were on the floor.
"I didn't know it was possible," Ian murmured quietly, mesmerized by the sight of my pussy, smooth and waxed. I kept a small, lush triangle above my clit, which hopefully was a directional guide for Ian, leading him exactly where I wanted him to go. One blunt finger gently stroked over my smooth mound, around my slit as if mesmerized.
I arched my back, crying out at the searing heat of his intimate touch. "Like what you see?" I asked breathlessly, daringly bold.
"Ach, your quim's so pink and wet and when I stroke it, you purr like a kitten." Using his fingers, he stroked gently up and down my slit, then after parting my slick folds, slid two fingers deep inside. "You'll come all over my fingers, then around my cock."
CHAPTER SIX
Ian