He kissed the faint marks and imagined them disappearing, telling himself he would onlykiss those fading bruises.
“Ye’re shakin’, lass,” he murmured, glancing up to meet her wide eyes.
Her teeth grazed her lower lip, silently signaling anticipation.
“It’s cold,” she said huskily.
“Aye… let’s see what we can do about that.”
He held onto the stone sides of the pool and pulled himself up to steal a kiss from her lips.
Her mouth met his with a hunger that almost set him back on dry land, so he could lay her down and ease the torment that raged inside him, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. As long as her origins remained unknown and he lacked answers, he couldn’t take such a risk, no matter how much he longed to.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t carve out a sliver of satisfaction for himself by witnessing hers.
Arms burning, he kissed her harder, his waist tucked between her parted thighs, his arousal obvious just beneath the surface of the water. That was one benefit of the cold pool; the inferno wouldn’t be allowed to burn too hot, to the point where he might put himself and his family in danger. Her, too.
Slowly, he kissed away from her mouth, his lips savoring the chill of her skin and how it warmed beneath his searing caresses. Her body continued to tremble. Trembled more, in truth, as if to confirm that it no longer had anything to do with the cold.
He wished fervently that he hadn’t given her his shirt as his lips moved lower, kissing her neck, her throat, the slope of her collarbone, and down that taunting triangle beneath her collar. He pulled it aside with his teeth, the moisture on her skin keeping the fabric where he moved it, until her pert, rosy nipple appeared, hardened in anticipation of his mouth.
A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked.
“Oh God!” she gasped, her back arching and her hips bucking slightly.
And when she swore, he smirked, for he didn’t want his endeavors to be taken politely. He wanted the instinct, the wildness, the coarse language that told him he was playing all the right strings of the instrument of her pleasure.
Anyone could play a fiddle, but not everyone could create true music.
He sucked harder, his desire pounding in his veins as she cried out, a stirring whimper of pleasure and pain.
“Yes, Hunter! Yes!” she gasped, and though he knew he should probably insist on formalities, he allowed her the exception. He didn’t want to be Laird Lochlann right now, just Hunter.
Taking his time, ignoring the strain in his arms for it was a sweet pain to him too, he trailed his lips across to her other breast and drew her nipple into his mouth through the thin, wet fabric. A softer suck, teasing. She responded with a moan that seemed to shiver through her, heightening his need until he wasn’t sure if he would be able to resist claiming her.
He kissed down the faint line of her abdomen, her stomach flat, becoming tauter as she settled back on her elbows like aninvitation to continue. She was enjoying herself and certainly didn’t seem to be cold anymore.
As he kissed lower still, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and sank back down, taking a moment to kiss the soft inside of her thighs, building the anticipation until she was moaning before he’d even tasted her.
“Stop teasing,” she whispered, her breasts rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Please, Hunter…”
He smiled against her inner thigh as his hand slid under the damp edge of her shirt, his fingertips tingling as he mapped the swell of her hips, the smooth skin of her stomach, and up to her breast, urging her to lie back.
He had no intention of rushing, regardless of how she begged. Hecertainlywouldn’t stop teasing her just because she asked.
Turning his head, he savored the sweet, supple flesh of her other thigh, kissing slowly toward her heat. It radiated like a beacon, pulling against his stubbornness, urging him closer.
“Please, Hunter…” she begged, her hand covering his, as if to feel herself through his touch.
“One more time,” he replied, lightly pinching her nipple.
“Please…” Her back arched off the slick stone, her hips tilting to offer herself, perhaps knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist that sweet temptation.
Very well.
The first stroke of his tongue sent Nancy into a tailspin, her whole body already screaming for him, yearning for his touch, his kiss, more than she had ever yearned for anything.
She wasn’t sure shehadyearned until he’d leaned over her in the ‘interrogation room’ and made her feel things she’d assumed were long-buried, forgotten beneath her career, her friendship, her pursuit of justice and journalism, her general dislike of the men who hit on her and existed in her sphere.
