Page 81 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

And when his tongue traced the seam of her lips—a question, not a demand—Elinor opened for him without thinking.

The kiss deepened. Became something hotter, more urgent. David's hand slid into her hair, tilting her head to change the angle. His other hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer until she had to grip his shoulders to keep her balance.

Elinor heard a small sound—a whimper or a gasp—and realized distantly that it had come from her.

David pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged. "Alright?"

"Yes." Her voice came out breathy, strange. "Don't stop."

"Bossy little thing." But he was smiling as he said it, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "Even when ye're askin' fer favors."

"You like it."

"Aye." His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I dae."

He kissed her again, and this time there was less hesitation. Less careful testing and more heat. His hands moved over her waist, her back, pulling her forward until she slid from the chair onto his lap.

She should stop it, remember that they were in their bedchamber, that things were getting out of hand, that it had started as a simple kiss and was rapidly becoming something else entirely.

But she didn't want to stop.

She wanted his hands on her waist. Wanted his mouth against hers. Wanted the heat and the pressure and the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

"Elinor." Her name was a groan against her lips. "We need tae stop. Ye need tae tell me tae stop."

"Why?"

"Because if ye dinnae, I'm nae goin' tae." His hands tightened on her waist. "And ye've been through enough today without me takin' advantage."

"You're not taking advantage." She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "I asked you to kiss me, remember?"

"Ye asked fer a kiss. This is—" He gestured vaguely between them. "This is more than a kiss."

"Is it?" She could feel the heat of him through their clothes, could feel the rapid beat of his heart under her palm. "Maybe that's what I wanted."

David's jaw tightened. "Ye dinnae ken what ye're sayin'."

"Don't I?" She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. "I'm not a child, David. I know what I want."

"And what dae ye want?"

"You." The word came out simple, honest. "I want you."

He kissed her again, and there was nothing careful or gentle about it this time.

The kiss was heat and hunger and the release of days of tension. His mouth moved over hers with increasing urgency, his hands sliding up her sides, his body pressing against hers.

Elinor kissed him back with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his hair, her body arching into his touch. Everything else fell away—the attack, the fear, the rules she'd demanded and the walls she'd built.

All that mattered was that. Was him. Was the way he held her like she was something precious even as he kissed her like he was starving.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, David rested his forehead against hers.

"That was…" He stopped, seeming to struggle for words.

"Yes," Elinor agreed breathlessly. "It was."

"Ye used yer last favor."

"I know."

"Ye sure it was worth it?" There was humor in his voice now, warm and teasing.

Elinor pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "Yes. I'm sure."

And looking at his face—at the way he was smiling at her, open and genuine in a way she'd never seen before—she meant it.

It had been worth it.