Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts

by Erin McCarthy

  She was pliant in his arms, her mouth opening willingly beneath his, accepting him with a fervor almost as greedy as his. Stopping him was clearly something she had no interest in doing. So, have her he would. Thoroughly and well, until neither could catch their breath. And once they did…he’d have her again. The hunger she roused inside of him was that voracious a beast. Consenting adults, she’d said. And consent they both had.

  She was a lithe, slender bit of a thing, he noted, as he hauled her body up against his. He buried one hand in that tangled mane of hair, keeping her mouth tipped perfectly to his so he could take it at his own will, his own pace. He wrapped his free arm around her hips, lifting her to the tips of her toes so he could fit himself where his body so badly ached to be. She moaned against his mouth, and he thought he might shoot off like a rocket right then and there. No, that is no’ how this eve would play out. Not if he had a say about it.

  Eliciting a surprised squeal, he bent slightly and scooped her up high against his body. “Wrap your legs,” he murmured against her lips, lips that, in that moment, he thought he could explore for the remainder of his days and be perfectly content to do so.

  She gripped his shoulders, digging into his skin as she hooked her heels around his lower back, grappling to stay up against him even as she continued to kiss him with everything she had. Something about that visceral need, the bite of her nails into his flesh, the simultaneous way she bit gently into his bottom lip, sent him stumbling blindly through the living room toward his bedroom, almost tripping badly over Jinty, who sprang to life behind them.

  He managed to send her a hand signal, holding her where she stood. He heard her little whine of disappointment, but would gladly make it up to her later. At the moment, there was only one female he wanted in his bed, and she didn’t possess four legs. Only two. And dear sweet Lord, the way they were squeezing his waist so tightly, he wasn’t certain if perhaps he hadn’t really died out there, after all. He certainly felt thunderstruck.

  He kicked the door shut behind him, then turned and pressed her up against it, holding her there with his weight against hers…so he could bury his hands once again in all that hair. She made these soft, needy little whimpers that drove him wild. She let her fingers skim along from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, toying with strands of his own hair as she nibbled once again on his lower lip.

  “You’re making me mad,” he murmured.

  She pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “No’ mad as in angry. Mad as in crazy.” He nipped at her bottom lip—fair was fair, after all. “Wrap yourself tight,” he instructed.

  She hooked her arms around his neck and he spun them both around, and down onto his bed, so that she landed sprawled beneath him. His feather down duvet swallowed her up and she sighed in pleasure, then groaned in approval as he lowered himself fully onto her. He started to shift his weight off a bit, not wanting to smother her, but she immediately pulled him down and locked her ankles around his calves.

  He grinned, gazing down into her beautiful, desire-filled eyes. “I like a lass who knows what she wants.”

  “Good,” she responded tartly, tightening her hold, though her flushed cheeks and overbright eyes made it obvious to anyone paying attention that her bravado was hard-earned, that the journey she’d begun with him wasn’t a path she’d taken often, if at all. And Lord knew, she had his full attention.

  He wanted to devour her whole, to bury himself to the hilt inside of her petite, limber body, and piston himself into sweet oblivion. Given the way her hips were already moving beneath his, he was fairly certain this was her plan as well. So why he propped himself up on his elbows and slowed things down, he had no idea. Except rushing this just seemed a crime of sorts. There was so much to enjoy…and he knew better than to trust there would be time for that later. Later was unpredictable. Right now she was all his. And he wanted all of her he could have.

  She reached for him, but he pinned her hands next to her head. Her eyes widened slightly, but in interest, not alarm. Her smile was both guileless and a wee bit challenging. How was it she could be both worldly and so sweetly naïve?

  Pinning her arms with his, he framed her face with his palms, brushing his thumbs over the stark relief of her cheekbones. She’d been through an ordeal, that much was clear. Even if, on the surface, her life had seemed a fairy tale, he doubted the hollows beneath her eyes, the tautness of the skin stretched over her cheeks, was typical of the content Midwestern lass she’d been a scant few years ago. It made him want to care for her, see to it that she did right by herself, to provide safe haven for her and help her defend against those who would swallow her whole with thought only for their own gain. Insanity, perhaps, to feel such depth for what amounted to a total stranger. And yet she didn’t feel like a stranger to him. It made little sense, but perhaps it wasn’t intended to. It was as if she’d finally found her way here. To him. And he finally felt at peace, with her in his arms.

  “Bree Sullivan,” he murmured, thinking perhaps he was the deranged lunatic she’d initially feared him to be, after all. Had she but a single clue as to where his thoughts were at the moment, she’d be perfectly within her rights to run screaming right back out into the storm. And he wouldn’t blame her. The very idea of her vanishing as suddenly as she’d appeared had him settling his weight more directly onto her, holding her beneath him, keeping her there, until…

  “Yes, Tristan Chisholm?” she responded, interrupting his thoughts.

  His body twitched—hard—at the sound of his name on her lips. It had nothing to do with her flat, American accent, and everything to do with the way the corner of her mouth kicked up as she said it, like she knew some highly amusing secret that she might share if properly convinced.

  He wanted to know all of her secrets. Wanted to be in on every amusing thought that crossed her mind. Wanted to inspire a few of his own. “What is it you’re doing to me?” he whispered, not realizing he’d given voice to the words until she wiggled her eyebrows and hips at the same time.

  “I thought that was rather obvious.” Her half-smile became a crooked grin. “Just how long have you been out here with your sheep, anyway?”

  Her unexpected comeback elicited a quick snort of laughter from him. “Too long, to be certain.” He pushed her hair away from her face, then traced her eyebrows with the sides of his thumbs before framing her face with his palms once again. So fragile, yet so sturdy. She’d let the world in, let them take too much, but she’d fought back, too. Her self-preservation instinct might have slipped a little, but it was there. She was strong, his Bree. At least for the moment, she was his. “Is that all it is, then? Accumulated need?”

  “Is that all what is?” she asked, her eyes darkening with need when their hips continued with a rhythm neither could seem to control.

  “This,” he said, his own voice going hoarse as he moved between her thighs and pressed into her, as much as their clothing would allow. “It’s insanity, really, the hunger you’ve unleashed in me. I’ve never all but dragged a woman to my bed.”

  “I don’t recall you having to do much dragging. What with me clinging to your hips and all.”

  He grinned, loving her quick mind, her sharp mouth. “True.”

  “And I have a hard time believing you’ve ever had to coerce anyone out of their clothes and into your bed.”

  “You think so, do you?”

  “An educated guess.”

  She was right—he’d never coerced anyone. But he’d never cared enough to, either. He’d always let things happen…or not. Never much caring, really. Tonight, however, he was fairly certain that he’d have done whatever was necessary to get her to at least give him a chance. “One could say the same of you,” he parried.

  She laughed. “One could. If one was seriously delusional.”

  “Come now.” He gently raked his fingers through her hair so it fanned across his bed. It was a vision he’d take a long time to forget, if ev
er.

  “I’m trying,” she quipped, her cheeks going bright pink even as she grinned and pumped her hips again, making them both groan a little.

  “You’re quite cute when you blush,” he said, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks, then across her mouth, pressing against the fullness of her bottom lip until she parted them and bit at the tips of his fingers. His body leapt in response and he tried desperately to keep himself in check. “A saucy wench with a heart of gold, is what ye are.”

  Her face lit up. “Really? Saucy? Hmm…I rather like that description.” She slid her ankle down the back of his calf. “Something about you makes it easy to be playful.”

  “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.

  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

  It 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.

  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.

  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.

  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.

&
nbsp; “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 way 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.

  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?