If he fell bare-arsed on the overlarge chair, overpowered by his flimsy lass, it must have been because she had shocked him senseless.
“What, I—”
“I want to give you pleasure. The way you gave me yesterday.”
She knelt before him, her eyes widening as she came face to face with the size of his desire for her.
The lass was a virgin, yet the way she looked at his cock was enough to burn a man alive.
When her dainty fingers closed around the base, a groan was pulled out of his chest. He had only moaned as loudly when a horse stomped on his foot.
“Any etiquette rules for this that I should know of?”
“Beth,” he rasped, tracing her lips with a finger. “Just do anything ye want. Anything at all, lass.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked up at him. “Anything?”
“Aye,” he said, leaning back with a sigh. “But do it fast, or just kill me. I’m not sure my heart can take the wait.”
She giggled. “Are you ready, then?”
“Any more ready, and I will poke a hole in the roof.”
The hours of temptation with no relief weighed on his balls, making his cock twitch and buck like a wild horse as her breath wafted over the sensitive skin. Eyes shining with her unique curiosity, she leaned over him. When her tongue came out to lick the head, Boyd gripped the armrests.
He died a little when she brushed her lips against his cock, and when she closed them around the smooth curve of the head, he went to heaven. And that was only the beginning. The wicked lass licked tentatively, her tongue flattening against him as if searching for sweetness in a snow cone.
Purring, her lips glided along the length, leaving a slick trail in their path, painting him in desire’s every shade. When a bead of pre-cum gathered over the head, she caught it with a quick flick of her tongue.
Boyd’s eyes rolled back in his head, his breathing shallow, as if he’d just swum a mile in a freezing loch.
Her little hands grabbed the base, and then she tilted it, pressing it against the roof of her mouth. The pleasure was too much, beyond what a rogue like him could endure.
She looked comfortable enough to last several hours with her new pastime, but he was hard enough to rival a claymore.
“Enough, Lass.”
Groaning, Boyd pulled her until she straddled him. He thanked the architect who bought such an oversized, throne-like chair.
When she settled atop him, he dried the moisture from her chin.
“Are you sure you want this?”
“Would I be here, nude in your lap, if I wasn’t sure?”
“I think—”
For the second time this night, she shushed him.
“A winemaker should learn when to be silent.”
He was lost when she threaded her hands over his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth, and it was all he could do not to howl to the moon.
“I like kissing you, Mr. Sandeman.”
“Even naked?”
“Especially naked,” she whispered, her smile mischievous.
