Ye Give Love A Plaid Name (Bad in Plaid 3)
But the glimpse she’d caught of him below the waist…
St. Tiffani protect me!That was supposed to fit?
“It’ll be good, lass.” He loomed over her, a half-smile tugging at his lips, although his eyes were serious. “I promise.”
His hardness was jutting against her hip. “How can ye be certain?” she whispered.
One arm reached across her torso to brace his weight, and his grin turned cocky. “Because I’ll make it good.”
Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled her arms in to cover her chest, but he ignored the movement. Instead, he lowered his head, and before she had time to suck in a breath, he’d placed a gentle kiss on her collarbone.
That was…nice. Soft. Gentle.
Another kiss, this time on her shoulder, then back across to the little soft place at the base of her throat.
Oh.
Well, this was really quite lovely, wasn’t it?
Her thighs still pressed together, Wynda allowed her hands to slowly fall back by her sides.
His lips moved across her skin, each touch a gentle caress, his breath warm. And that wasn’t the only thing growing warm, honestly.
She shifted under him, feeling…well, she wasn’t quite certain what she was feeling. The evidence of his arousal was rather emphatically pressing against her, but he made no move to hurry things along. And although he could easily crush her in this position, the muscles in his arms flexed as he held himself over her, only his lips touching her.
Oh.
When he reached the top of one breast, she swore she felt his tongue flick against her. She couldn’t be certain, but she squirmed again, just the thought of it sending a pulse through her core.
She cleared her throat. “Do ye—are ye intending to torture me, then?”
When he huffed out a little laugh, she felt it against her damp skin. “Torture, lass?” he growled. “I’ll show ye torture.”
And that’s when his lips closed around her nipple.
Her brain shut down.
It was a most curious experience. She opened her mouth and all that came out was a breathy sort of “Mmmmrrrawww?”
It would’ve been embarrassing to someone who prided herself on her mind…were the aforementioned mind actually, you know, working.
Oh. Oh, yes.
His tongue was doing something delicious, which she was determined to enjoy, right up until the moment she realized his hand was stroking down her stomach. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together, but his teeth grazed against her nipple at the moment his fingers reached her curls.
She gasped and her legs fell open.
It was all the invitation he needed, and after the first stroke, she wondered if ‘twere possible to issue another invitation. Louder, mayhap. Because sweet St. Tiffani, this was—this was…
“Aye,” she breathed.
His fingers felt nothing like hers when she stroked herself, trying to capture the same sensation.
Well, of course no’. His are thicker and more heavily callused and—
Even she could realize that had naught to do with it.
His abrupt shift away from her body—his fingers still stroking her slick cleft—left her feeling confused, cooler. But he didn’t go far, his lips trailing down to her navel as she lifted her head from the mattress.