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“Tell me,” he ordained.
Delicate brows pleated. “No.”
“Tell me, damn it!” The harsh command did not disguise his volcanic arousal.
“You make me lie on my belly.” Her posture stiffened..
“Clothed?” he taunted.
“No, down to those two pieces.” Her satiny cheeks painted vermillion.
He imagined her lying on the rumpled bedsheets, flimsy chemise covering her; she would look back at him, her reflection on the mirror sure to give him many angles to her pert buttocks.
Why on Earth had he asked about her fantasies? He was not going to hold it! “Go on.” His voice could not be any hoarser than this.
“You bunch my chemise.” The look she cast him dared him to withstand the ordeal. “Then lower my drawers.”
In his mind’s eye he saw her uncovering the round nether cheeks and himself lying on her, cradling his near-bursting member on the crease and—
Damnation!
“I would have shredded the stupid thing in a million pieces,” he vented.
The torment could not get any worse, or…
“You dip your fingers on the oily salve.”
Blasting hell!
“And apply it to the bruise.” Her perfect face flushed, and he could see her breasts peaked under the fabric.
“What else do I do with my oily fingers, Sassenach?” he drawled, going fairly mad with the images she evoked.
“With your fingers, nothing, but—”
How unlucky.
“You kiss the bruise.”
The quip came so unexpected that it threw him in an ocean of lava. “Have pity on me, woman!”
And he let the reins loose. His palms covered the body part in question and pulled her to him, cradling his pulsing erection in the softness of her. She moaned before he pressed his mouth on hers in a desperate kiss. Her arms came around his bunched shoulders to glue them even more together.
He did not plunder her mouth. No. That would be too simple an action where this fiery woman was concerned. They plundered each other’s mouth with such famish, disintegration was a very real threat. A veritable combat in search of pleasure, she gave as good as she got, without knowing he would most certainly shame himself in a question of seconds.
Who cared?
They kissed deeper, hungrier. More explicitly.
Of course it was not enough. Would it ever be?
His open mouth slid down her neck, savouring the delicate skin as her head fell back, allowing him more access.
Impatient hands yanked down her sleeves, making her breasts spill out gloriously. “Beautiful,” he rasped as his mouth fell on one straining nipple, fingers teasing its twin.
“Fingal,” she uttered as her hands held his head there. He filled his mouth with the sweet mound.
His name on her lips got him just that bit more in danger.
