Page 72

Jenn tugged him down to the thick blanket she’d spread in front of the hearth, the firelight flickering across the planes of his bare chest. Outside, the sea wind howled, gusting against the cottage windows, but in here—it was warm, cocooned, and utterly still.

He kissed a path down her stomach, lips dragging along sensitive skin, and then—

He paused. Looked up.

His voice was low, husky. “Let me.”

She nodded, pulse already stammering.

He shifted between her thighs, kissing the inside of her knee, then higher—and higher—until his mouth found her with ruthless precision. The first stroke of his tongue made her gasp aloud, her hands flying to his hair. Of course he knew. He always knew. The exact pressure, the rhythm that made her clutch at him, the spot that pulled those helpless sounds from her throat.

He’d learned her so quickly, and he never forgot. He didn’t rush. Not this time. He took his time, savouring her, steady and unrelenting, as if proving again that he could dismantle her piece by piece with nothing but his mouth.

There was a lot to be said for familiarity. For comfort. For safety. Not rushing. Not trying to impress. Just the slow, lazy enjoyment of two people at ease with each other.

His broad hands held her open, tongue working in slow, deliberate circles—then firmer, deeper. Her hips met the rhythm of his mouth. Her back arched off the soft fabric beneath her, the warm glow of the firelight spilling over their bodies from the hearth beside them. The wind and rain lashed against the house as she moaned his name. He worked her steadily until her body tensed and trembled, and pleasure surged through her in a hot, shivering wave.

She came with a strangled cry, thighs tightening around his shoulders, fisting the hair at his nape as his name spilled from her lips.

He didn’t let her go too fast, didn’t leave her hanging. He softened the pressure, coaxing her through the aftershocks with a patience that undid her every single time, until she slumped back against the blanket, spent and shaking.

Only then did he ease away, lips glistening, eyes darkened with heat as he crawled up her body—smug, hungry, and utterly Ruairidh. Beyond the storm’s fury, everything else felt very far away. Here, it was just them. This moment.

Jenn pulled him into a kiss, tasting herself on his mouth, not caring, only needing more. His lips were hot, insistent, a little rough where his stubble caught at her skin—and she leaned into it, into him.

But when his body pressed harder into hers, she shifted, rolling with him—sliding him onto his back against the blanket. His surprised grunt turned into a laugh against her throat, low and thrilled, as she swung her leg over and straddled him, hair spilling like a curtain around them.

“You think you’re the only one who gets to drive?” she whispered, voice rough with want.

She sank down onto him—slow, deliberate, achingly deep—her body opening for him, welcoming him like it had been waiting forever. The stretch made her gasp, her nails grazing the ridges of muscle and bone across his shoulders, as though she needed proof he was solid, real.

His hands clamped around her hips, steady, guiding—but he didn’t take control. His head tipped back with a groan, eyes screwed shut, every taut line of control buckling as she took him inside her inch by inch.

Jenn braced her palms on his chest, feeling the hammer of his heart beneath sweat-slick skin. She moved over him in a languid rhythm—rolling, circling, lifting herself to the edge before sinking down again. She dragged it out mercilessly, until her thighs trembled with the strain, until every stroke was a deep ache of pleasure.

The pressure built like a storm tide, inevitable and unstoppable.

Her nails scraped lightly across his chest, skating down his stomach, before hooking against the hard edges of his hips to anchor herself as she rocked harder, grinding against him to chase every stroke.

She could feel the strain in him—the tension coiled in his arms, the clench of his jaw, the guttural groans he couldn’t bite back no matter how hard he tried. He let her take it all, let her set the pace, but she could sense how tightly he held on, how much it cost him not to flip her over already.

“Ìosa, Jenn,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost unrecognisable. “You’re… destroying me.”

His eyes burned into hers with raw, unflinching intensity, as though he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. Then one hand slid from her hip, down between them, fingers finding her clit with wicked certainty. The first brush of his thumb had her gasping, her rhythm breaking into something more frantic.

She clutched at his wrist, not to stop him but to ground herself, the pleasure spiking so sharply she almost couldn’t breathe. There was something unbearably tender in the way he touched her—not a performance, not a show of prowess—but a giving, an asking. His breath fell hot and uneven, every groan low and guttural, curling into her like secrets meant only for her. Like he wanted her to feel everything.

And she did.

The sensation spiralled, increasing with every slow circle of his thumb, every deep thrust as he rose to meet her. Her movements fractured, turning ragged and greedy, her body chasing his with abandon.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice rough as gravel, and when she did, he pulled her closer with his other hand and kissed her deep. Heat pooled low, pressure climbing unbearably, her thighs burning as she kept moving. His fingers worked her mercilessly, matching her rhythm, his mouth swallowing her broken cries as she rode him, her hips faltering under the weight of the wave rising inside her.

It hit hard, brutal, unstoppable.

Her body clenched around him, back arching as pleasure tore through her, raw and shattering. His name ripped from her throat, unguarded and desperate, as he held her steady, his thumb unrelenting.

She broke in waves, her orgasm surging through her, her thighs shaking uncontrollably. He coaxed her through it, holding her firm, working her as shudders rolled over her, leaving her gasping, wrecked, trembling in his hands. Her body bowed forward against his chest, every muscle spent, as he kissed her through the aftershocks—lips reverent, almost frantic, as if he couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop needing more of her…