‘Hm. Good point.’
She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, earning a laugh that rumbled straight from his chest.
‘It’s weird,’ she said. ‘You’re Martha’s brother. You’re… Nevis. I’m Little Rae.’
‘Maybe we’re not anymore. Maybe we’re two adults who want to kiss each other.’
She didn’t argue, didn’t pull away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked down at her lips again, tingles breaking out across her skin like he was already kissing her.
She didn’t want to imagine anymore, didn’t want to fill the space with ideas. She wanted the real thing before the chance passed her by. She pressed her lips to his before she could talk herself out of it, soft and reluctant because she’d never really known how else it should be. It must have been good enough: Struan’s fingers tangled in her hair before sliding down the sides of her torso, to her back. His tongue pushed into her mouth, unexpected but not unwelcome. With a gentle press against her thigh, he hitched her over his lap, cupping her arse with just enough pressure to make every fibre of her ignite.
A mangled sound – ofrelief? – fell from him. ‘I’ve been thinking about you non-stop, Rae. Since the minute I left last night to the minute I came back this morning.’
As though to prove it, she felt something nudge her groin. It took her longer than it should have to realise what it was.
He was hard. For her.
She blushed, heart thundering so loud she was sure he must have heard it.
‘Sorry.’ He smiled bashfully. ‘It’s your fault for showing me your knickers.’
‘I knew you saw them!’
He grinned, thumb resting on the cleft of her chin so she couldn’t hide away. ‘I can show you mine, if you’d like. Even out the score.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he pleaded into her neck, breath fanning over the most sensitive parts of her. ‘I thought they were sexy as fuck.’
‘No, you didn’t. They’re my ugliest pair.’ Minus the ones she wore on her period, which he absolutely did not need to know about.
He kissed her again, this time with more fervour. She let him, the steady ember in her centre empowering her to grind against his erection.
‘Wish you were still wearing that bloody skirt.’
She was glad she wasn’t, even if she throbbed with the need for more, more, more. The seam of his jeans caught on her centre deliciously, and she gasped into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair.
What are you doing?her mind screamed over and over, but her body wouldn’t – couldn’t – listen to anything but the building heat between them.
Struan laid her down on the blanket, kissing her neck until she arched against him. The bristle of his beard was a foreign sensation, the scrape of his teeth leaving her gasping. She understood now why most people sacrificed time for relationships. Her vibrator was good enough, but it couldn’t replicate the sensations ofhim. He knew what he was doing, suckling at her jaw while his hands roved her ribs. She kept her legs wrapped around his waist, afraid that everything would slip away – the ground under her, the sky above her, him – if she let go.
So she didn’t.
11
‘Can I touch you?’ Desperation scratched through Struan’s words. He’d wanted before, but he’d never needed. Not like this. The little gasps and whimpers he drew from her with only his mouth were a novelty he’d never get tired of, and he was already imagining what she might sound like when he made her come. His cock pressed against the restraint of his jeans, as magnetised by her as the rest of him.
Rae faltered suddenly, dark hair fanned out across the picnic blanket as she looked up at him. In the waning rays of sun, her eyes were closer to amber than brown, shadowed by her dark lashes. So beautiful he almost couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it sooner – but then, perhaps he hadn’t let himself.
Now, it was all he could do.
‘You want me to stop?’ His voice broke, betraying how badly he wanted the answer to be no.
Rae chewed on her bottom lip, still stained red from the tayberries. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever separate the two again, that sharp, earthy sweetness entwined with the taste of her. He saw it in every bit of her: rosy apple cheeks when she smiled, peach-smooth skin, mind as sharp as citrus, lips red as underripe cherries.Even her smell offered a sugary tang of syrup and pears, more potent at the hollow of her throat.
And when he touched her, those curves moulded to his palms like the juiciest, most tantalising fruit. God, what he’d give to sink his teeth in.
‘I… I haven’t done this in a while,’ she said.
