Authors: Donna Kauffman
Bad Boys In Kilts (25 page)
“I’m so very glad to hear that,” he told her, never more sincere. He reared back onto his knees then, eliciting a quick frown of dismay from her. He leaned down and kissed it away, feeling starved for the taste of her after only minutes apart.
She sighed as he lifted his head, then pouted quite prettily when he sat back on his haunches. But she didn’t move from where he’d had her pinned, her arms still splayed next to her head. With her dark hair fanned out on the white linen, her eyes all liquid with need, her skin flushed, her mouth slightly parted ... his heart tilted dangerously and it was getting harder and harder to remember why she wasn’t perfect for him. “You’re stunning,” he murmured.
And you’re mine,
was the thought that immediately followed.
And you’re mine,
was the thought that immediately followed.
Inappropriate and certainly untrue, that he knew. And yet, the basic tenet simply refused to shake free.
He reached for the rolled-down waistband of the pants he’d loaned her and hooked his fingers inside, tugging lightly. She didn’t immediately lift her hips, but if the way her eyes went all heavy-lidded, and the way she tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, was any indication, she wasn’t going to stop him, either. “Ye’ve seen most of me,” he told her. “I want to see you.”
He tugged gently but insistently until she lifted her hips, keeping her gaze tightly on his, but gnawing ever further on that bottom lip. Saucy wench indeed, but innocent as well. He hardly imagined she’d had no experience in these kinds of situations, but it was clear the worldly exploits that had come with the sudden fame of the past year or so hadn’t jaded her to this particular form of interaction. Far from it, if the blush now stealing from her cheeks, down across her throat, and, he was fairly certain, clear to her chest, was any indication.
“Ye’ve naught to worry about,” he assured her, sliding the soft cotton slowly down her hips. “You’ve but to tell me to stop and I’ll—”
“I don’t want you to stop,” she said, and with surprising conviction. “I wasn’t kidding about this ... kind of thing not being a regular part of my life ... but don’t let my relative lack of experience slow you down.” The crooked smile reappeared as she tried for insouciant ... and missed by a mile. “Please.”
Dear God, she was of a piece ... and snatching up bits of his heart quite effortlessly in the doing.
“Your wish is my command,” he told her, before finally breaking their locked gaze so he could look down upon the absolute loveliness that was her body as he bared her legs completely and tossed the pants aside. Straddling her ankles, he slid his hands along her calves, and up over her knees. Her neck arched, as did her hips, when his fingertips brushed along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “Lovely,” he said. “Bloody brilliantly lovely.”
He shifted down and moved between her thighs, sliding his hands to her hips, pushing up the edges of the long t-shirt, baring her to him even as he held her down to the bed, keeping her right where he wanted her to be. She bucked against him, but her soft moans were ones of pleasure. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another one a pace or two higher, then another higher still ...
She whimpered, her hips lifting, searching, reaching. “Tristan, I’ve never exactly done this sort of—”
He didn’t want to hear what she’d never done, didn’t want her to stop him now, to keep him from what he so badly wanted, what he knew she’d enjoy as well. “You will have now,” he said, and dipped his head between her thighs. “And if you’ll guide me, tell me what feels the best, I trust you’ll want to again. And again.” He brushed his lips across the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, then pressed a soft kiss there. “Promise.”
Chapter 9
I
t felt a bit scandalous, the frank way in which he spoke about the things he planned to do to her ... his certainty that she’d enjoy it. She was quivering so hard at this point, so on edge, he could breathe on her and she’d likely climax. Which was good, because as wanton as he made her feel, and despite the occasional quip thus far, she wasn’t so certain she could be quite as direct as he was and tell him exactly what she wanted him to do ... and where.
t felt a bit scandalous, the frank way in which he spoke about the things he planned to do to her ... his certainty that she’d enjoy it. She was quivering so hard at this point, so on edge, he could breathe on her and she’d likely climax. Which was good, because as wanton as he made her feel, and despite the occasional quip thus far, she wasn’t so certain she could be quite as direct as he was and tell him exactly what she wanted him to do ... and where.
He pinned her hips down, and settled more contentedly between her thighs. She tried to relax, but her muscles were clenching to the point of pain. She wasn’t overly modest, nor particularly self-conscious about her body ... but the truth was, she’d never been intimate with anyone who, well, who enjoyed this particular kind of foreplay. She tried not to think about it, to just relax and let herself feel—
“Bree,” Tristan said, his tone coaxing, his breath feathering across her oh-so-sensitive skin.
“Mmm,” she responded, eyes closed, neck arched as she tried in vain to get him to ease his hold on her hips so she could lift up and press against his lips. Just one little teasing kiss ... she was so close, if he’d only—
“Bree, look at me.”
Did she really have to? This would be a lot easier the first time if he’d let her disassociate a little.
His fingers pressed more urgently into her hips, and he teased her by dropping hot, wet little kisses all along the insides of her thighs. So close, and yet just far enough away to drive her crazy.
“Tristan, please.”
“Mmm,” he responded, “so polite. Tristan, please what?”
He damn well knew what she wanted—she shouldn’t have to say it. Without thinking, she lifted her head and looked down at him. He chose the exact instant they made eye contact to shoot her a wicked grin, then flick his tongue over her most sensitive spot.
She jerked hard against the feel of his tongue flicking at her, slapping her palms down on the sheets and grabbing on as she fought against the need to buck wildly against his mouth.
More. More of that,
she wanted to tell him.
A lot more.
More. More of that,
she wanted to tell him.
A lot more.
She was still watching him, couldn’t look away. There was something downright primal about seeing him there. His eyes were twinkling with mischief and she wanted to be irritated with him for toying with a woman so obviously on the verge. But there was no denying it only served to drive her up even higher. She wished she could be more blasé about this, casually make her demands, but—He stopped her train of thought with the sweetest kiss, right where she needed it.
She gasped, trembling now.
“Tell me, Bree. Come on ...”
“I—just, more,” she managed. She let her head drop back, closed her eyes.
“Of what?” He kissed her again, so sweet, and so close, but it wasn’t quite enough. “More of that?”
“Mmm.” More of that would be really great, but she needed more beyond that, and he damn well knew it. She wanted him to use his tongue. But the words stuck in her throat. She could write this scene, quite graphically, with absolutely no problem whatsoever. Saying it out loud, however, to her lover was another thing entirely.
Her lover
.
Her lover
.
She found herself looking at him again. His hands on her hips, his hair spread across his shoulders and her thighs ... This man would be her lover.
Was
her lover. Kind, generous, fearless, playful. She’d dropped barriers for him she never dropped for anyone. He made it so easy, almost too easy. And now he was asking her to drop a few more.
Was
her lover. Kind, generous, fearless, playful. She’d dropped barriers for him she never dropped for anyone. He made it so easy, almost too easy. And now he was asking her to drop a few more.
In all the likely scenarios that had crossed her mind of where she’d end up when she’d left the baron’s palatial estate this morning, none had come close to where she found herself at this exact moment. In a man’s bed, with him taunting her toward an explosive orgasm.
“Bree?”
There was a note of question in his voice, as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts. He would stop if she asked. She knew that. No matter that she was a breath away from a screaming climax ... and that he was rock-hard and likely dying for release himself. He must have felt the pull of her gaze as he looked up at her, eyes filled with desire, with need. For her. She felt like she’d been staring into those eyes for ages. He made her feel tended to, cared for. She trusted him, even though she knew quite rationally how dangerous it was to invest such a vulnerable emotion in a relative stranger. But he certainly didn’t feel like a stranger at the moment.
In fact, from the instant she’d reached for his hand in the middle of that storm, he’d ceased to be one.
Yes, this man was going to be her lover. Her partner in rescue, and now her partner in pleasure. Did it matter if there was never anything else?
Kind, generous, fearless, playful
. Those things she knew firsthand. She could most likely add
loyal, protective, honorable, and trustworthy
to that list. An ache of a different kind spread inside of her. The ache of wondering what it would be like to find out for herself if her instincts about him were right. He’d offered her his home as a haven. He’d offered her himself for her own pleasure. No strings. She called the shots.
. Those things she knew firsthand. She could most likely add
loyal, protective, honorable, and trustworthy
to that list. An ache of a different kind spread inside of her. The ache of wondering what it would be like to find out for herself if her instincts about him were right. He’d offered her his home as a haven. He’d offered her himself for her own pleasure. No strings. She called the shots.
What if she decided she wanted more?
“I want you to use your tongue on me,” she blurted, propping herself up on her elbows. Suddenly, telling him what she wanted in bed was the least scary thing about what was happening between them. Or could happen between them. Had he any clue the dangerous turns her thoughts were taking, he’d likely regret ever rushing out into that storm in the first place, much less carrying her off to his bed. But it was almost impossible not to wonder. He made it impossible. And in her immediate situation, she could hardly be blamed for wanting more, now could she?
His eyes widened in momentary surprise at her blatant demand.
She smiled at him. Something about the way he so confidently commanded this situation made her feel inherently safe within it. As if she could do anything, say anything, and he’d rise—literally—to the occasion. His sense of play was equal to his sense of honor. He’d stop if she asked.
Just as he’d likely use that tongue of his on her all night if she asked him to.
“I want you to make me come.” Her thighs twitched and she trembled as she moved against the hands that restrained her. “And then I want you to do it again.” When he continued to stare at her, she smiled. “You said my wish was your command?”
He grinned then, and it was so wickedly perfect, she found herself laughing in sheer joy of the moment. Of finding the perfect partner in crime ... or passion, as the case may be. “As it happens, your command dovetails nicely with my own wishes,” he told her, then leaned closer, his gaze still locked on hers. “Like this, then?” he asked, oh-so-innocently. Wicked, wicked man that he was. He flicked out his tongue, expertly brushing over her, making her hips jerk hard, making her moan.
“Yes,” she managed, sliding down so she lay flat on the bed once again. “Most definitely yes.”
“Or perhaps this.” He drew his tongue slowly over her, then pulled her between his lips, gently suckling, then flicking his tongue over her again.
The sensations wound tighter and tighter, so close, so close. She wanted it to last, this exquisite pleasure. It was so good, too good. But he wouldn’t let her. Not this time. He continued teasing, tormenting, until her gasps became whimpers, and her whimpers became moans, until she was begging him, with her body, with her words, to finish what he’d so brilliantly started. “Tristan, please—”
And please her he did, driving her over the edge with a series of tiny tongue flicks that had her swearing she saw stars as she came almost violently against him.
“Bree,” he coaxed, once she’d stopped thrashing against him. “Bree, luv,” he said, kissing her thighs, soothing her as she came back to earth.
Quite drowsily, she managed to open her eyes and gaze down at him. “Wow,” was all she could manage.
He chuckled, and even that gentle vibration made her twitch and jerk as aftershocks of pleasure still continued to rock her.
She reached blindly for him, wanting to feel the weight of him on top of her, wanting him to fill the aching, desperately needy void inside of her that had yet to be met. But he nudged her hands away. “I’m no’ finished with you yet,” he warned her, all teasing smiles and devilish twinkle.
“No?” she asked faintly.
In response, he very gently, very softly, drew his tongue down over her, making her gasp and buck involuntarily. “No,” he murmured. “Relax, let me have my fill of ye.”
Well, when he put it like that ... He followed up his request by continuing to caress her, gradually building her back up. She was deliciously relaxed now and a languid peace had spread its way through her. The intensity and need built slowly this time, her soft moans becoming more insistent as he brought her from one plateau to another. Her back arched almost lazily, but fully, as he drew her closer and closer to the edge. He kept her hovering there, a breath away, as her heart rate increased, her whimpers turned to growls, and her hips bucked with growing impatience, only then did he push one finger inside of her. She gasped sharply, clenched tightly ... and came instantly. Muscles so aching with need clamped down on him hard, as she writhed beneath him and milked the orgasm for every last drop of pleasure it could give her.
The sensations were still shimmering through her in delicious little aftershocks when he finally drew away from her. She whimpered in automatic disappointment at his sudden absence, and fought to open her eyes, pull herself back from the foggy haze of pleasure she’d drifted into and focus on the moment. The fight was worth it. As she opened her eyes, she saw Tristan standing at the foot of the bed, slowly shucking his shirt and pants.
Splayed before him like the wanton, sated creature she’d so easily become, she took unabashed and quite avid pleasure in watching him disrobe. She’d seen him close to fully naked before, but it was nothing compared to now. Lit only by a small bedside lamp, the soft yellow light bathed his tautly muscled body in shadowy hues, highlighting every dip and curve so beautifully, she thought she could be content simply staring at him.
Until he slid off his pants, and she saw for the first time the full depth and breadth of his desire for her. Then she decided a far more up close and personal exploration was definitely going to be in order. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, unaware she’d actually spoken the sentiment until he glanced up at her as he slid a condom packet out of his dresser drawer and tore it open with his teeth. It was hard to tell in this light, but he looked a little abashed at her blunt appraisal, and glanced away as he rolled the condom on.
“Are you blushing?” she asked, a very satisfied smile spreading across her face. She felt edgy and needy again, and liked the idea that he wasn’t impervious to their byplay, either. She wanted him badly, and yet she found herself in no immediate hurry to speed things up. She understood now his desire to slow things down when he’d had his turn with her. His body twitched at her slow appraisal and her smile spread to a grin. Somehow she didn’t think he was going to be any more patient than she’d been. Come to think of it, she didn’t want to be patient, either.
“Perhaps I’m no’ used to being looked at as if I were Sunday supper,” he said at last.
She laughed, unable to remember a time when she’d felt this good, this relaxed, this happy. “Is that a bad thing?”
He crawled onto the bed and she shuddered in anticipation.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice close to a growl. “Why dinnae ye tell me?” He moved slowly up and over her body, pulling one of her thighs up onto his hip as he did.
He lifted her up as he slid between her thighs, stopping just as he pushed against her. She wrapped her legs around him, keeping her hips tilted, wanting to push herself up onto him, but let him set the pace. Even if it killed her. She wasn’t an aggressive partner in bed. Or she hadn’t been. Tristan made her feel very earthy, intensely female, and definitely like his equal. He made her want to play, made her want to drag him down ... and deep inside ... and keep him there. For a very, very long time.
Forever
was sounding pretty good at the moment.
Forever
was sounding pretty good at the moment.
She’d come to her senses later.
He pushed one hand into her hair and cupped her neck, tilting her face to his. “Bree, luv, I wanted to take this quite slow, savor every bit of you ... but I’m afraid my restraint is about worn through.”
She nudged him closer by digging her heels into his backside. “Slow next time,” she told him, her voice quivering right along with the rest of her body. He made it so easy for her to speak her mind, say the things she’d only ever let herself think. “Hard and fast now.”
He didn’t flash a grin as she’d expected. If anything, his face grew more serious, his eyes reflecting a desire that should have overwhelmed her ... but instead made her feel cherished and cared for.
“Bree ...”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.” She slipped her hand behind his neck and urged his mouth to hers. And as she mated her tongue with his, he pushed into her. She groaned, deep down in her throat ... and felt something move inside her chest, close to her heart, as he started to move inside of her body.
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