She was trembling now as well, and he knew he shouldn’t have said those things. It was beyond ridiculous to feel what he was feeling, much less put words to it. He knew that. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like once he’d opened himself to this, there was no turning back, no room for moderation. And there had been the way she’d looked at him. Into him. Like she of all people would understand this. And he didn’t want to experience this alone.
“It’s terrifying,” he told her. “I know that, but it’s—”
“It’s the truth of it,” she finished for him, pulling him back down to her. “I told you, I know.” She kissed his mouth, his chin, his jaw, his temple. “I know,” she whispered again. “Because I feel it, too.”
And it felt like everything clicked into place in that moment. Like everything was aligned as it should be, and he could finally stop searching. He would have laughed at that if he hadn’t been petrified. It was as if he were standing on the edge of a very deep precipice. One step either way could be the difference between keeping his world secure and definable… or launching himself into a place where nothing made sense and there were no hard, fast answers.
“You don’t need to prove everything to believe in it,” she whispered. You only have to let yourself experience it to know it’s true.”
It should have shaken him that she seemed to so clearly read his thoughts, understand his fears. But, in fact, it was a relief.
Then he felt her teeth sink into the flesh of his shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a surge of lust through him that was almost paralyzing.
“Go with instinct.” She looked up at him then, her eyes fierce with desire now, her gaze clear and true. “Or forever regret not knowing what might have been.”
He framed her face with his hands, looked deep into those wise, timeless eyes of hers. “Who are you, Maura Sinclair?” he whispered.
She surprised him with an immediate broad smile, both eyes and dimples winking. “That’s simple. I’m yours.” She whirled him around and sent them both crashing to the bed. “Now for God’s sake, would ye claim me already?”
He heard a bark of laughter, recognized that it was his, and finally, blessedly, let everything else go. Instinct and need would be his only guide. The moment he took her mouth he knew that would be more than enough.
She was reaching for his shirt, but he grabbed her hands. Rolling her to her back, he straddled her, pinning those questing hands above her head. Her eyes widened in surprise, but there was no fear there. Only andcipation.
“I believe I’m the one who’s supposed to do the ravishing,” he said.
“Aye, but ye can’t fault a lass for trying to do a bit o’ claiming of her own, now can ye?”
There must have been something of the marauder in his responding grin, because her eyes darkened with need, and her breath came in short puffs. “ ’Tis a claiming you want,” he said softly, “ ’tis a claiming you’ll receive.” He leaned down and nipped first her chin, then her shoulder. “But ye’ll be doing it my way.” Still pinning her hands, he tugged one bra strap down with his teeth. She bucked and twisted beneath him, which only served to make him more determined. His pants were restricting and uncomfortable. But he was too intent on her at the moment to free himself just yet.
Growling now, he held both wrists with one hand so he could peel the soft fabric of the cups down, bunching it beneath her breasts so that it plumped them up fuller for him, pushed her tight nipples toward his waiting mouth. Sweet, taut, and begging for his tongue, he thought, as he took one, then the other into his mouth. She squirmed against him, moaning and arching… but no longer struggling for freedom.
It wasn’t that he wanted her held captive, he merely wanted to have what he wanted, without any undue influence from her. If he were to release her, she’d be intent on taking what she wanted. Which would be perfectly fine with him. But later. For now, he wanted to feast and savor, none of which he’d have the opportunity to do if she so much as laid one of her pale, slender fingers on just about any part of him.
He flicked and tongued and teased her, pinning her more tightly to the bed with his weight so she couldn’t arch so violently. Her moans had turned to throaty groans, but her wrists remained still in his grip. He took that as an invitation to run his free hand down the length of her torso. He shifted his weight off her, leaning forward enough so he could flip open the button of her pants and ease her zipper down. She writhed between his thighs, her eyes closed, her head arched back, as he toyed with the elastic band of her panties.
Leaning over her, he put his lips next to her ear, making her gasp in surprise. “I’m in something of a quandary here,” he murmured, then lightly bit her earlobe.
Panting heavily, she trembled against the palm he flattened on her stomach. “Regarding?” she managed.
He smiled against the tender skin at the crook of her neck. “I rather like keeping your hands from making mischief,” he said, rubbing his thumb along her joined wrists. “And yet, I’m dying to yank your pants off and do whatever I please between your thighs.”
She trembled harder, letting out a soft “Oh,” at his words, ending in a little groan as he slowly slid his fingers beneath that elastic band.
“Unfortunately, I can’t do both.”
She shook her head, though it was more of a thrashing movement as just then his fingertip slid across the slick wetness he’d discovered waiting for him. “Maura,” he said, twitching hard himself when she whimpered at the removal of his finger.
She turned her head, treating him to a heavily hooded gaze of desire. He almost came himself at the wealth of want and need he found there. Slowly, he slid his finger into his own mouth. The sweet taste of her only served to enrage his senses further. He bent lower, so his face was just above hers. “Of course, you could promise me your hands will stay like this,” he pressed them against the bed. “Until I say otherwise.”
She groaned long and low when he settled himself against her open zipper. “I think I can do that,” she choked out.
He chuckled. “Do ye now.”
She managed a slight grin, fighting to keep her hips from grinding against him, only partly succeeding. “Aye. But fair warning, my turn will come.”
“Oh, I certainly hope so,” he said, grinning now. Slowly, he released his grip on her wrist, then slid his palm down along the tender underside of one arm. He tucked his hand beneath her, making her arch just enough so he could release the clasp of her bra. Straddling her hips, he freed her completely and tossed the silky garment aside. “Beautiful,” he said, amazed to find himself even more aroused just by the sight of her, so bared to him.
“Freckled,” she commented. “And no’ too bountiful.”
He covered her with his palms, making her gasp and arch reflexively. “A perfect fit,” he said, teasing her nipples between his fingers. “Like they were made for my hands.” He shifted his weight back so he could lower his mouth to them again, only he found one freckle dotting the valley between them and kissed it gently. And then he was kissing another, and at her soft sigh, another, and yet another still. Until he’d found them all, branded them all, cherished them all.
When he finally lifted his head, it was to find her eyes swimming. Alarmed, he stopped immediately.
Her hands came down then, and she took his head between them. “No,” she choked out, “don’t stop. It’s just that…” She sniffed. “That was perhaps the loveliest thing anyone has ever done.” She slid her hands to his face, then tugged him up to her and kissed him. “Ye make me feel beautiful.”
He lifted his head. “You are beautiful.”
She laughed a little, even as she sniffled again. “Ye say that like I’m a raving beauty that has men falling at her feet daily. I assure you it’s no’ true.” Her grin broadened, a bit cheeky now. “Weekly, maybe. But then we don’t get too many blokes around here under the age of fifty. And I do have my standards.”
She was making light of it,
too light, and he realized he’d embarrassed her somehow. “I’m sure if there were more blokes, they would be laying at your feet, hearts shattered,” he told her, wondering how the hot lust arcing between them had so suddenly shifted back into that unbalanced emotional territory. “I’m sorry if I made you feel self-conscious, it wasn’t my intent. I just…”
He wasn’t sure how to explain why she moved him to want to do the things he did. He didn’t yet understand it himself.
She turned his face to hers again. “Now I’ve done it to you, haven’t I? You didn’t make me feel self-conscious. At least, not in a bad way. I’m aware men find me passing attractive, okay? I dinna believe in game playing and the like. But generally speaking, when a man gets to, well the point you’d gotten us to, he’s no’ thinking about the sweet gesture.” She smiled dryly. “Actually, he’s never thinking about the sweet gesture unless he’s still trying to get my pants off. So you… you caught me off guard there is all.” She tried a brush-it-off laugh, but missed the mark. By a fair mile if he was any judge.
He pulled her hands from his face, and clasped them between his own, pinning them between his body and hers. “I can’t say that I’m a sweet-gesture kind of man. All I know is I look at you and I want. Period. Big things, little things, everything in between. It’s like I’ve been cut loose in a place filled with treasures, and I alone get to uncover them. I’m not big on rushing. I like to take my time. Make sure I miss nothing. Savor my finds. Catalogue them carefully, so there will be no doubts encountered later.”
Her gaze searched his. “It’s an interesting way to approach sex, I’ll grant you. But it certainly makes a woman feel treasured.”
Now he smiled. “Honestly, I’m usually pretty much like you described earlier. There aren’t too many ‘lassies’ about in my line of work. So I don’t generally have extended patience when it comes to physical gratification, other than to make sure we both end up with a smile.” He winced a little. “I do know I’ve never once compared sex with a dig. Sorry for that.”
“It was actually quite lovely. Unique, but lovely.”
Now his smile faded. “I don’t know why I’m like this with you. I just—you’re just—” He broke off this time, staring helplessly into her eyes.
“We’re just,” she said softly. Then she tugged her hands from his and slowly lifted them over her head, crossing them symbolically at the wrist. “Now, I believe you were mapping out a very interesting course there a bit ago.” She arched her back, a perfectly wicked smile curving her lips, so at odds with the splash of freckles, those two tiny dimples. And yet so perfectly… her. “And I’m quite interested in finding out if it pans out for you.”
Chapter 16
Maura would pay a great deal to know what was going on behind those enigmatic golden eyes of his. He was like this giant jungle feline, all tawny and sleek and powerful, intent on his prey and knowing exactly how to go about ensnaring it. And Lord but she was willing to be the big cat’s supper. But then he’d do something so disconcertingly tender, so… for lack of a better word, romantic, that he quite literally took her breath away. And perhaps a piece of her heart along with it.
She couldn’t reconcile him, couldn’t neatly label or categorize him. He was both self-assured and a bit gawky. A highly intellectual man, definitely a physical one… and just out of step enough with civilized society to be awkwardly endearing. He could be incredibly genuine and open one moment, then unreadable and downright inscrutable the next. All of which combined to make him absolutely enthralling to her.
At least, that was her rudimentary attempt at an analysis. It didn’t take into account the intangibles. Like the way he said things that should have been laughably ridiculous, things intimating there was some connection between them that surpassed the physical plane. And yet she found herself nodding in complete understanding. A part of her knew it was imperative that she keep a level head, and the right perspective about all this.
But his hands were on her again, and her body was clamoring for release. She didn’t want to waste time quantifying it, dammit, she just wanted him to get the bloody hell on with finishing his claiming of her.
He was trailing the softest kisses down the center of her body, his hands following the damp trail. His fingertips lingered on her breasts, her nipples, as his tongue dipped once again into her navel. Then he was sliding the rest of her clothing down her hips, baring her to him in a way far more blatant than before. She’d thought them intimate in both the car and in the room at the inn. This was somehow different.
No dark, no candlelight, no storm. A weak winter sun lit the room just enough to create a soft gray glow, made somehow more romantic than gloomy when she glanced down to find him looking up at her, his chin resting on her belly.
Oh yes, far more intimate this was.
Don’t think about it. Just feel. She tipped her head back, her crossed wrists pressing into the bed when she felt his warm mouth move once again. She arched slowly, languidly, as his tongue found her, teased her. He toyed almost absently with her nipples, and yet so expertly that she was writhing beneath him a mere moment later.
Just feel.
He brought her slowly to the edge of reason, sinking his tongue into her, flicking it over her, then drawing it over and around, before sinking into her again, until she was whimpering, panting for that one last touch that would send her screaming over the edge. But he left her balancing precariously on the brink. She felt his weight shifting off the bed completely and forced her heavy eyelids open.
He stood next to her bed, and she realized she was stretched before him, supine, with wrists crossed overhead, presented like some sort of willingly submissive gift. He’d already peeled off his shirt, but he’d paused in shucking his trousers, caught up in simply looking at her. Their gazes met, and as he shoved his pants down over his hips, springing free, so full and hard for her to see, she felt anything but submissive. She felt infused with an incredible power. She lay before him, yes, open to him, to whatever he wanted to do to her… and yet she controlled him just as surely. The idea of it made her moan deep in her throat and fight against the need to close her legs, press her thighs together. But she left them spread, just the way he’d had them, filled with the absolute knowledge that he was being just as tortured as she was. And oh, what a delicious torment it was.
He straightened after stepping out of his clothes, and she arched her back very slightly, thrusting the rigid nipples he’d so expertly manipulated upward. His eyes flared and his thick, hilly erect cock twitched hard. He was beautiful to look at, all of him. Never had she felt so female, like sex incarnate. She wanted to wrap herself around that turgid length. Hands, mouth, body. All of her, around all of him. She wanted to feel the velvety length of him brush against her palm as she wrapped him in her hand. She wanted to taste the warmth of him, the salty sweetness. And she wanted to feel every hard, throbbing inch of him sink slowly inside of her.
She groaned at the thought of it, unable to stop her hips from shifting, lifting as her need for him grew. “I want you,” she demanded hoarsely.
He held her gaze, neither smiling or frowning. Just need meeting need. “How do you want me?”
The question surprised her. And provoked a fresh onslaught of possibilities that left her squirming. She let her gaze drift over him, down the full, twitching length of him, then back up to his eyes, which were now dark with want, hooded as he fought for control. Something wicked inside her wanted to test that control. Only because if he lost it, she’d still win, wouldn’t she?
Slowly, she drew her tongue across her bottom lip. He twitched so hard his body jerked with it. He moved to the side of the bed and leaned over her, so close, yet not close enough. She could move, but she didn’t want to. There was something deeply erotic about the tableau they’d set, and she wanted to see it through. Or at least until she couldn’t take it anymore. She thought he’d move close enough so she could put her lips around him, take him into her mouth.
Instead he reached for two pillows above her head. One he put aside, the other he bunched up and slid beneath her head. His hands were gentle, sliding beneath her hair, lifting her neck. When he was done, her chin almost touched her chest. The position, with her arms still stretched long over her head, extended her in such a way as to make her somehow even more open to him. Her mouth now as much a sexual orifice as any part of her could be.
Then he straddled her body, and again she was taken with the sleek musculature of him, the easy way he moved, the control he exerted with seeming effortlessness. So dark in contrast to her pale skin, tanned as he was, everywhere, so sinewy, naked but for the teeth gleaming about his neck and the tribal tattoos marking his skin. Primal, she thought with a deep shudder of pleasure, as he moved higher on her torso. And all for her.
Then he was sliding himself between her breasts. She gasped at the sensation, arching as much as his weight would allow. He shifted forward still, until he brushed across her chin, then her lips, easing back slightly when she parted them. She wanted, badly, to lower her hands, to take him, guide him. Control this.
Which was precisely why she didn’t.
She’d always known she was an aggressor in bed, and rarely if ever did her partners complain. She liked having the upper hand, as it were. It resolved things for her, like issues of trust and control. She could steer the course, literally. And that suited her just fine.
Only now, she was undeniably, insatiably curious to find out what it was like to give up that precious control. To find out just how far he could take her. It occurred to her then that any issues of trust had obviously already been resolved by her subconscious. Or she’d never have let him take the liberties he already had. Much less the ones he was about to direct her into sharing with him.
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