With his fingertips only a bare inch from her wet heat, he stopped. One heartbeat, then two, then three, then Skye started to think she would go mad.
Shivering, she pressed back against him. Something hard pressed into the small of her back. Curious, she made to reach behind her with the hand not pressed against the glass. Evander growled, wrapping thick fingers around her wrist, firmly bringing it in front of her once more.
“Evander,” she breathed, and felt him smile against her neck.
At last, his fingers brushed against her. The touch began almost careless, drawing a line to divide her. Closing her eyes once more—when had she opened them?—she leaned her head back against his shoulder, letting the sensations rush over her. The tip of his finger circled her entrance, stirring something strange, new, and not unpleasant in the pit of her stomach. A tug, maybe.
“Come on, then, lass,” he whispered. “Let me hear ye.”
“H-Hear me?”
“Oh, aye. Ye are doing so well. Soverywell.”
The tug blossomed into something deeper and warmer. Gently, Evander’s finger sank deep into her. The new sensation made her open her eyes, and she blinked, considering it. He curled his finger, and pleasure shot through her.
She gasped loudly, stuttering out his name almost before she realized it was leaving her lips.
Evander!
He growled again, deep enough for her tofeelthe rumble through her body, pressed together as they were.
His movements sped up, his hand sliding against her and inside her. The jolts of pleasure smoothed out into one even, rocking wave, taking her higher and higher and higher. In a moment, perhaps less, she’d reach the summit, and?—
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Skye’s eyes flew open, and she gave a strangled squeak.
Evander’s lips curled against her neck. Reaching behind them, he gripped the curtain and drew it across the alcove in one smooth motion.
Just like that, they were cut off from the rest of the room, with only Skye’s horrified face and his grinning one reflected in the glass.
The door opened.
“Me Laird?” came a female voice. “I have yer tea. Are ye up here?”
Skye held her breath.
It’s just a maid. She’ll set down the tea and go. She willnae linger. Then we can?—
Her mind stopped working when Evander continued to stroke her. Her thighs quivered.
Stop! Nay… Nay, daenae stop. Daenae do that.
She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth.
The maid sighed, shuffling her way across the room. Skye could hear the creaking floorboards and the rustle of the woman’s starched apron.
“If ye are around, me Laird, I’ve set yer tea on the low table,” she called, and began to bustle back toward the door.
“What a good lass,” Evander breathed against Skye’s ear, his prickling-warm breath making her shiver.
The door closed behind the maid, and Skye let out a long, half-laughing gasp.
“Ye wretch,” she whispered, reaching back to cup her hand around his cheek.
He pressed a hard kiss to the spot beneath her jaw and began to move against her faster and faster.
Skye tilted her head back, letting herself moan the way she wanted, not caring if her voice traveled, or even if the wretched maid was listening outside the door—she wasn’t; Skye had heard the retreating footsteps—because nothing mattered, nothing but her and Evander and the climax hurtling toward her.
Evander held her tighter, his breath turning ragged against her neck.
“Come for me, lass,” he whispered.
She shuddered, climax crashing over her, her hand curling into a fist against the window.
For a split second, it almost seemed that they’d melted into each other, the two of them becoming one.
“Evander,” she breathed.
