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I follow him, watching as he closes the door, and then picks up a box of matches to light what must be an oil lamp set in the stone wall.
The tiny antechamber holds just a few things: a low table, an armchair next to an empty fireplace, and a couch opposite, long and low and decked out in crimson velvet.
“Take a seat,” Finlay says, nodding to the couch. I do as I’m told, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands or where to put my legs.
Should I sit in the middle or at the end?
How exactly am I supposed to sit? It’s all a tangled blur in my mind right now.
Finlay doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness or mind it if he does. He swiftly moves closer and leans down, cupping the side of my jaw with his hand.
He lifts my chin until I’m straining to meet his lips. That hot, rough kiss from before is dialed down to something tender and slow this time.
Achingly slow.
I’m so drunk on his kiss, so eager for more that I barely notice as he slowly tips me backward and turns my body, helping me to lay on my back across the couch.
My head leans back against the round cushion at one side as he holds himself over me.
I can feel the heat of his body in the small, quiet, cool room. It’s a good if not a better replacement for the fire that is missing from the grate.
He slowly moves his knee between my legs until they fall open, and one of my feet drops to the floor. I flinch and move to lift it again, but his hand on my knee stops me and holds me still.
Finlay pulls back from the kiss and looks at me, his eyes burning with desire and solemnity that I understand as his serious dedication to his promise to be gentle, make it special, and take care of me.
Like on the hill with the poachers, I feel utterly safe. As though there are no doubts whatsoever that he will make sure I have everything I need.
I’m putty in his hands, and I don’t even mind.
He must find what he’s looking for in my eyes because he moves then, shifting his body down to the lower half of the couch. I wonder if I’m supposed to move, I tense my stomach muscles ready to sit up, but his warm hand on my belly forces me gently to lay back.
I surrender to him, letting go of all control.
Even when his hands slide up inside my dress, hooking into the fabric of my tights and panties, I don’t stir or try to stop him.
I trust him somehow, even though we’ve only just met.
I trust him as he takes the material and slides it down over my legs, leaving me bare under the dress, and letting my panties and tights drop to the floor.
He lifts the hem of my dress and pushes it up over my hips, exposing me in a way I’ve never been before with a man.
I’m left bare for him.
He’s so close I can’t help but blush, a million questions running through my head – do I look normal compared to other women?
Should I have groomed myself in a different way?
Does he like what he sees?
However, all of those questions are swept away the next time he moves – because his head swoops down right toward my pussy until his mouth is hovering right over my core.
I can barely do anything but gasp out loud, my hands gripping onto the sides of the couch cushions around me and squeezing tight against the shock.
His mouth on me – right on my lips, and now his tongue.
He is licking me, filling me with warmth and desire. A flush of electricity pulses between my legs, and….
His tongue finds something that sparks bright colors behind my eyelids, making a strangled noise of pleasure escape my mouth, leaving me pushing my hips up toward him in an involuntary demand for more.
