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Dark eyes bulged on his upper body clad in the white shirt. “What are you doing?” Pleated brows, she lamented the rather high-pitched tone.
“Undressing to join you, of course.” He was already unbuttoning the shirt.
If she snagged her gaze to his naked torso ever again, she would disintegrate, for sure. The water that had been fresh a minute ago, seemed to boil all of a sudden.
A million things came to her mind. She wanted to beg him not to do this, for she had to be the weakest woman in this whole island. But she also wanted to tell him to undress faster to feast on his disclosed magnificence. Then it crossed her mind she might leave the water anyway, dress, and dash away with Debranua. And she would hide behind a tree to watch him swim before she left—like an English miss through and through. Which she was not, so she did not run. She had to do something. Had to! Despair joined surprise and anticipation, literally mudding the waters.
But then, in one economical move, he took off his shirt. And she froze, not even caring if she stood in the water or not. She froze, mesmerised by the view of him. The sun illuminated the tanned skin peppered with brown sparse hair cradling those irresistible nipples and descending in a thread leading somewhere below the leather belt, the only thing holding his tartan around his tapered waist.
Fingal thwarted her eagerness when he bent to get rid of his boots and socks first. And made her wait while strong calves and blunt toes saw the light of day.
She lost her voice, so those millions of things would probably not leave her head. His cinnamon weapons arrowed on her at the precise second his hand caught the belt. Her breath arrested. The clink of the buckle on the grass preceded his tartan by a millisecond, dishing up the full view of what she had merely wrapped with her fingers under the wool.
Her jaw dropped. This or something else, because she could not find her lower lip, much less her tongue. Oh, she found them as the second licked the first as if staring at a steamy dish from the Olympus. Or Valhalla. Or Nirvana. Hades, more like.
The wide glare she directed at that must have done something to him, for that…that…glorious part of him started to become…become…even more glorious. Immeasurably more glorious!
Beautiful, manly feet strode into the water, in her direction, without an ounce of inhibition, or of fat, for that matter. She followed his progress into the crystalline lake, feet immersed, those delectable calves next; his solid thighs disappeared, and then his hips, to her utter disappointment. He pulled water to wet his unyielding torso as he stanched close enough for her to register his delicious scent. How unfortunate that the water hid those strong legs and the glory between the
m. But she still had his torso as consolation.
Fingal halted less than three feet from her. Fixed stare found his, intent on her. “To hell with everything, Sassenach,” he rumbled, his voice hoarse.
Yes, ‘hell’ was a very good choice of image. Scorching, tempting. And free of guilt. Especially free of guilt. The one place she would surely bump into soon enough with thoughts like these.
At a continual loss of speech, she gave in to her desire. Both her hands rested on his bunched biceps as her head bent, and she allowed her lips to close around his nipple, thirsty, eager. The expletive he released was dirty and arousing at the same time. She opened her mouth wider and took in more of his skin. She wantonly savoured the salty tang of the dusky, hardened peak mixed with its rough haired surrounding. More expletives came, added to grunts.
He held back no longer. He pulled her by the waist, and she collided with the whole of him as his mouth dived to plunder hers. Her moan seized in her throat while she opened for him to take everything he wanted. And give everything she needed.
The water splashed around them, her chemise glued to her torso above the surface, floating under it.
Two strong hands pressed her buttocks to a fully aroused member as her breasts turned to hardened points under wet, gone see-through fabric. Watery hands banded his neck when his open lips slipped down her throat to suck the sensitive curve of her shoulder before going on to repay her favour and closing on her breast over the soaked garment. Her hand pressed his head to her, incapable of silencing the moan that accompanied his torment. A torment so sweet it made her forget anything else, branding her with sensorial memories that would burn long after this crazy summer.
Agile, strong fingers rucked up her garment and pulled her legs to wrap around his hips, pressing her centre to his rock-hard stem, right where she needed him. As it collided with her swollen, molten core, that sensation he had unleashed at the hill teased her again. Dark head fell back as her hips instinctively met his in search of that same conflagration.
Her arched spine offered him more access to her breast, at which he ate with unbridled avidity.
“Fingal,” she pleaded as their friction built tension in her, her hips accelerating in a frantic rhythm.
“Yes, Emily,” he rasped on her chemise. “Yell my name and lose that nonsense of mister.”
And she did, after he pressed his hardness tighter to her, and she went up in shards of pleasure, screaming up to the canopies. His muscled hips rode her quivering flesh in the aftermath, holding her to him the whole time.
He walked to the shore with her still wrapped around him and lay with her on his tartan, the sun warming their dripping skin. Strong arms braced at her sides, his head lowered to catch her lips once again with a deeper, more carnal kiss. Their wide mouths devoured each other with urgency.
They came up for air, their gazes meshing. An expression of undiluted greed on his rugged features, he plucked the pins from her hair, making the midnight strands spread over the green, white, and black plaid.
“I should forbid you to hide this beautiful hair from me,” he drawled.
And she thought she should forbid him to wear any clothes. But she said nothing because his strong fingers grabbed the neckline of her undergarment and, in a determined move, tore it from her. A ripple of intense arousal bloomed in her centre, melting it all over again. It was exactly as she knew he would do as soon as her eyes had found him on that first day. The flimsy clothing fell to her sides while his heated scrutiny looked his fill, only for him to ravish one breast with a hungry mouth. His stubble rasped on the sensitive mound, multiplying the sensation a thousand times. She pressed it on him at the same time her hands bunched his luxuriant hair, asking for more.
When he lavished her other breast, his erection twitched close to her swollen centre, igniting such a famished ache as she moved her pelvis in search of relief. But the blasted man paid no heed. His sculpted lips trailed down her dewed body, through the dark triangle, to clasp unceremoniously to the drenching, slippery inner lips with gusto.
His tongue opened all of her, followed by his mouth full on the spot, licking, suckling, the movement abrading his stubble in her sensitised flesh. Causing an eruption worthy of a volcano, he did not relent, the torment making her see stars in broad daylight.
Her strained fingers grabbed his hair. “Fingal, come fill me.” Feminine pelvis seeking his wicked caress. “Please!”
Who cared about the rest? Her conscience had just shut down. That punishing emptiness he was mining her with filled her mind with thousands of images of how devastatingly delicious it would be if he used his body to bring her the so coveted relief.
