Susana and the Scot (20 page)

“Know this, Susana. He will protect Hannah with every ounce of his energy. With his every breath. It's the kind of man he is.”

“It eases my heart to know that. She is so verra dear.”

“She is a wonderful woman.” When Susana's brow rippled, he hurried to add, “Perfect for Alexander.”

“Perfect?”

“She's just what he needed. She's … verra good for him.”

“Good for him?”

“He's had a difficult life. Challenges. She accepts him for the man that he is. She strengthens him.” He stroked her arm and let his fingers trail down to her waist. “It is how it should be between a man and a woman. Each gives the other something of themselves. Each bolsters the other.” She seemed to realize he was no longer talking about Hannah. Her hands began to wander as well.

It was a tentative time between them, a fragile time, as they explored each other—really explored each other. The tryst in the armory hardly counted. It had been a mad frenzy of lust, not this gentle examination. Though it wasn't her body he studied, nor she his. It was something deeper. Something more. Their gazes tangled; it felt as though their souls tangled, too.

“I enjoyed dinner,” she murmured.

“As did I.”

She lifted her foot and stroked his.

“You are a naughty girl,” he said.

“You are a naughty boy.”

He couldn't hold back a chuckle. “I thought your father was going to come out of his skin when I accidentally found his foot instead of yours.”

Her eyes widened. Her body shook with laughter. “You dinna!”

“Aye. I did. He nearly yelped.”

“Puir man.”

“He likely willna sit between us again.”

“That would be wise.”

They shared a smile, which made his attention drift to her mouth, her lips. Her tongue as it peeped out in an undeniable invitation.

“Ach, Susana,” he muttered. “It's been far too long.”

“Mmm.” She tangled her fingers in his hair, scraped his scalp with her nails, and drew his head down. “Far too long.”

And then, she kissed him.

*   *   *

Ah, how wonderful it was to taste him again. All through dinner, his touch, his glances had enflamed her. His scent had tormented her.

It had been difficult to concentrate on their discussion, though it had been an important one. He'd eased her mind, answered her concerns. Convinced her that Keir's accusations were the nonsense she'd thought them to be.

The poor man was clutching at straws and worried he was losing his place at her side. She would need to reassure him tomorrow. But tonight?

Tonight was for Andrew.

And her.

She pulled him closer and brushed against him. It thrilled her to feel the thrum of his body, especially where it thrummed against her belly. He was hard, insistent, ready. But then, so was she.

Their impassioned tryst in the armory had been rapturous, but only a sampling, a brief tangle compared with what she had in mind.

Taking the lead, she walked him backward, toward the bed. He allowed this, though his hands roved, and he did chuckle. But then when his legs hit the mattress, his grip on her waist firmed and he spun her around, tossing her onto the feather tick.

She squealed as she landed; her skirts whipped up, revealing her legs. His eyes flared as he stared at her exposed skin.

“Ach, Susana.” To her surprise, he knelt beside the bed and took her foot in his hand, easing her slipper off. “Do you have any idea how much I've been anticipating this moment?”

She wiggled her toes and grinned at him. “This moment?”

“Aye.” He took her ankle in his firm hold and then drew his finger up her arch. A sizzle of sensation burned through her, and she lurched away. He didn't allow it. “You were verra naughty at dinner, my lady. Teasing me the way you did.” He dipped his head. Oh, dear. Was that his tongue? On her toes? She very nearly squealed again. “I think I need to return the favor.”

She wriggled to escape the torment, but it was a wasted effort. Aside from which, though it tickled, she really did enjoy the torment. “Re-Return the favor?”

He caught her gaze. His burned. “Punish you.”

Oh, Mother Mary.
“P-Punish me?”

“Aye.” He yanked her nearer and held her foot with both hands, tracing the curves with his fingers and his tongue in a provocative symphony.

Susana gritted her teeth and forced herself to hold still as the delicious torture continued. She very badly wanted to know what he planned next.

Ah. What he planned next was the other foot. Now he held them both and he alternated from one to the other, laving, exploring, and—dear God—nibbling his way over her feet, up her ankles, and to her calves.

His touch burned her, ignited her. It caused ripples of delight and agony to dance over her nerves. She hadn't been touched for a long while. Not really touched. To have this, to have him, reveling, licking, exploring every inch, was delightful. And annoying.

Because he was far too thorough. She knew where he was heading with this, and she wanted him there.

Now.

She squirmed lower on the bed and he chuckled. Then he explored her knees. She had no idea her knees were so sensitive. No idea his enticing touch there could arouse her so. He continued higher, to her thighs. She stilled, barely daring to breathe as he crept closer and closer to the weeping core of her being.

And then he rose up and wrenched her legs apart in one fierce move until she was open to him, bare, vulnerable.

He stared at her for a long, long while, as though memorizing each line, each minute curl. Hand trembling, he touched her, softly, a whisper of a caress, drifting his fingers through her down. He caught her gaze as he pressed in.

She arched as he scraped that bundle of nerves, humming there, nestled there in a secluded bower. Sensation whipped through her, and glory and rain. She wanted to collapse into it, melt into it, dissolve. But there was more. Much more to be had.

Panting, she studied the tight lines of his face as he explored her cleft. Each stroke was dizzying. Each caress sublime. He drew a circle around her pearl and then another, each nearer to the aching tip. Before he reached it, he stopped—which frustrated her to no end—but then he slipped his finger between her swollen lips.

“It's not raining now,” he mumbled.

She had no clue what he was talking about and she hardly cared.

Snarling at him, she thrust her hips forward. Their eyes locked. He made a feral sound himself, something like a growl, and buried his face between her thighs.

And, ah! Glory!

He sucked and suckled her, laved and lapped. Nibbled and nipped. His tongue, so talented, drove her to insane heights. Crazed and mindless, she fell back on the mattress and spread her legs wider and urged him on. When he slowed, when it seemed as though he was about to stop, she buried her nails in his scalp. He grunted against her and shifted and then … ah, and then he slid a finger into her. Nae. Two.

Her body closed around him and she shuddered. He made another sound, a moan perhaps, and then eased out.

She panted, aching, writhing in anticipation as he hovered there, at her entrance. Toying with her. “Do it,” she commanded.

To her dismay, he did not. To her dismay, he lifted his head and smiled at her with damp lips. “Beg me.” A whisper. An insidious snaking whisper.

“What?”

“Beg me, Susana. It's a simple word, please. And you know you want it.” Mockingly, he thumbed her pearl until she whimpered, quailed.

“Do it.”

“Say please.”

She glowered at him but she knew, he knew, she wouldn't resist for long. “Please.” Reluctant and gritted out, but well worth it.

He didn't hesitate. He shoved his fingers into her and filled her and stroked her. He sought and found a spot, deep within, something magical and manic, and he strummed her there like a lute, creating music in her head, a heavenly song.

Tension rose. A ball in her belly grew and swelled and then released. With a cry, she reached her crescendo, her delirium, her doom.

He continued to toy with her as she recovered herself, keeping her roused, wanting. The smile on his face was one she would expect, cocky and triumphant.

Ach, he was irresistible, this man. As aggravating as he was, he was irresistible.

While she didn't like being made to beg—she never had—she was thankful he had turned their play in this direction.

Because, in her estimation, it was an engraved invitation to do the same to him.

She smiled at him as she rose up. Took his head in her hands and kissed his be-dewed beard, his cheeks, his lips.

It was a pity he didn't have any clue what she was about to do to him.

Then again, if he had, he would run.

*   *   *

Susana kissed him with a ferocity he hadn't expected, but definitely liked. It had been a joy, tasting her, lapping her, bringing her to orgasm. He'd especially loved the way her body closed around him, clenching and sucking and quivering as she lost all control. Her moans and cries had enflamed him.

He was burning to take her, to mount her, to bury his hard cock in her velvet sheath. He met and matched her kiss with his own, consuming her, dominating her. He levered up with the intent to press her back down onto the mattress, to kick off his breeks, or at least open the placket, and claim her.

She didn't let him.

With a fist to his hair, she yanked him back, unsealing their mouths and staring at him with a resolute expression. It sent a ribbon of heat licking through him. “Susana,” he growled. “I want you.”

Her smile was far too sweet, far too innocent for the moment. It threatened to concern him, but he was far too befuddled for the warning to seep through. “Of course you do, darling,” she whispered. She set her hands on his shoulders, stroking the column of his neck. Then her palms skated to his chest … and she pushed.

It took a moment for him to realize she was pushing him away; his soul wailed.

With a taunting smile, she stood and sauntered to the hearth, leaving him perched by the bed on his knees. He watched her, tracking the sway of her hips, the knowing quirk of her smile. She stopped next to a large chair by the fire. And then she crooked her finger.

He didn't know much in this world, but he did know one thing. When a woman like Susana Dounreay crooked her finger at a man, he came.

Hopefully …

Not breaking with her gaze, he stood and made his way to the chair. He had no idea what she had in mind. He didn't care.

Especially when she reached down and traced his cock.

It was heavy and full and pressed uncomfortably against his breeks. But God, it felt good, that caress. She edged closer and palmed him and murmured, “Mmm.”

Heat flared. Lust howled. He wanted to grab her and bend her over the back of the chair and fuck her like a stallion fucks a mare in heat. But he didn't. Because he desperately wanted to know what she had in mind.

He was certain he would enjoy it.

Ah, yes. With sure fingers, she unbuttoned the placket of his breeks, allowing his cock to spring free. She murmured again as she grasped him, encircled him. The blood left his head in a rush, making him dizzy. It pooled—all of it perhaps—in his groin.

He hissed as agony swelled.

She released him far too soon. His eyes fluttered open and he stared at her. Hunger simmered, burned.

Her lips quirked. She pointed at the chair. “Sit.” Her tone was sharp, commanding, irresistible.

Naturally, he sat.

“Put your hands behind you.”

He blinked. His lips parted but she silenced the unspoken word with a finger.

“Do as I say, Andrew.”

Oh, holy God.

He whipped his arms behind him and clasped the legs of the chair.

“Do not move or I shall stop.”

Stop? Stop what?

But ah! He didn't have to wonder long. She set her hands on his thighs and knelt between them.

His breath locked in his lungs. His pulse pounded.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Was she going to…?

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She was.

She hissed in a breath and took his cock in her hands, double-fisting him. Her fingers were gentle and soft, but firm. She stroked and he nearly lost consciousness.

That it was this woman, on her knees before him, clutching his cock, nearly unmanned him. He grit his teeth and tightened his fingers and forced himself to suffer her torment.

Bluidy hell, he knew what this was.

She was going to pay him back.

While he didn't mind paying—didn't mind in the slightest—he filed away a mental note that Susana Dounreay was a woman who would meet every assault with one of her own. And hers were ever so much more heinous.

She dipped her head and lapped at the head of his cock—he nearly sprang out of the chair at that, but somehow managed to stay put. Then she parted her lips and encased the mushroom head in her sweet mouth. The sight, the sensation lashed him. He shuddered. Ripples of bliss and agony danced over his nerves as she explored him with an untried tongue.

She nearly drove him mad with that untried tongue.

When this was finished, when she'd had her revenge, as clearly that was what this was, he would need to show her, school her on how to—

Fook!

She sucked him in, and his thoughts scattered to the winds. His hips heaved as she took him deeper, making him ache to drive deeper still. He tried to control himself, but he was beyond cogent thought, beyond gentlemanly restraint. Far beyond manners of any sort.

“Ach, aye,” he said. “Suck it.”

He shouldn't have said anything. She lifted her head, releasing him with a plop. She tipped her head to the side, stroking him slowly, dandling her finger in the damp slit where a salty tear beaded to replace the one she'd stolen. “Do you like it when I suck your cock, Andrew?”