Page 46 of Quinn, By Design

“You rest there, while I get rid of your boots.” He scooted far enough down to reach her feet.

“There’s a design flaw here, Mr. Quinn.” She studied his head bent over the zipper on her remaining boot. His hair was longer than his brother’s. The thick curls crowding his shirt collar suited him. And suited her. She gave them a tug, and her second boot dropped to the floor.

“A mismatch of textures perhaps?” He straddled her ankles, his palm doing a long, slow glide down her inner thigh. “Skin feels so much better than denim.” He kissed the inside of her knee, and she dissolved into a muddle of lust and tenderness.

“Take your clothes off,” Lucy ordered. His patience was pure torture when she’d been primed since pre-dinner drinks for a fast lovemaking. Anticipation had sharp claws. Yet this game with him was joyful. He didn’t snatch or grab or hurry.

“Whisht, lass, am I too slow for you?” His sweater dropped onto the floor. He took his time with his shirt, slipping each button in turn, then shrugging out of it. “I liked your striptease.” A wicked smile, sparkling with approval, curved his mouth. Easing off the mattress, he shed his jeans and jocks in a single move. “And the pure white briefs with the little scraps of lace.”

“I considered a thong.” Lucy looked at him from under her lashes, testing his reaction.

“Maybe next time.” He winked, causing a yearning to stir deep in her womb. “I doubt I could manage what I’ve planned if you’d been cavorting in a thong.” His voice was gravel rough.

“Maybe I’ve got my own plans?” Lucy knelt on the edge of the bed, facing him, reminding him of his promise. She’d never met a man who was prepared to share, much less surrender control of lovemaking.

“I bet you do.” His gaze stayed steady on hers while his hipshot stance accentuated the bold erection arrowing up his belly. “Right now, you’re over-dressed.”

“I want you to worship me.” Through the pounding in Lucy’s head, she dimly understood patience was a form of worship.

“I can do that.” Niall was changing all her mother’s rules. He was playful and genuinely affectionate, making her feel unbelievably precious, and she’d think about that later.

“But first”—she scampered further back on the mattress—“come back here.” Nestled against the piled cushions, Lucy couldn’t predict if his next move would be deliciously fast or breathtakingly slow. Not knowing was a tantalising part of his appeal. “You aren’t just going to flip me on my back and have at me, are you?”

“Is that what you want?” His intent scrutiny ignited a flashfire in her blood.

“You make me question what I want,” she whispered. Perhaps the first man to do so. “Roll over and lie in the middle of the bed.” He followed her instructions, and she knelt beside him.

“You’regoing to have at me?”

“Is that whatyouwant?” Lucy repeated his question to her.

“I want a lot of things.” His eyes hid secrets. “Let’s start with your bra. It’s very pretty, but I suspect your breasts are even prettier.”

“Don’t move.” Lucy straddled his thighs, unclipped her bra, and flung it over her shoulder.

“See, I was right.” He leaned forward to suckle each pouting nipple, the deep pull ricocheting through her.

“I’ve seen you do this.” Lucy closed her eyes, placing her palms on his midriff. “Seen you close your eyes and learn the piece you’re working on with your other senses.” She bent forward and pressed a kiss in the space between her hands.

“You’ve never seen me kiss a block of wood, Liùsaidh.”

“No need to be embarrassed. You’re mesmerising when you focus on work.” Lucy didn’t open her eyes, instead inhaling deeply and letting her exhalation drift across his chest. “I’m marking my starting place. Your skin carries the slightest hint of sawdust. It’s a comfort and a provocation.”

“Speaking of provocation.” His voice was strained, but his lilt held a caress.

“You can speak all you want.” Lucy began with his hair, threading her fingers through his unruly locks, tugging lightly to show him a little of her impatience, even while she was seducing herself to patience. Next, she used her forefingers to trace his eyebrows. “Nicely shaped,” she murmured, brushing her fingers down the side of his face, tracing along his jaw to meet at his chin. She shaped his nose. “Some people believe a long nose is a sign of leadership.”

“What about an upturned nose?” He sucked air through his teeth.

“Adventurous in bed?” Lucy let her nipples drag across his chest, testing them both with the merest touch. She put two fingers to his lips to catch his ragged exhalations.

When he opened his mouth to nip at her fingers, she giggled.

Wriggling to settle herself more comfortably, she ran her palm down one side of his neck and followed with tiny kisses to his stretched neck muscles. “You feel a bit tense. I must be doing something right.” With deliberate slowness, she learned the smooth, muscled texture of his shoulders with her fingertips, feeling her way back to his centre via his collarbone. From there she moved across his ribs, toward his flanks. “You’re very well made, Mr. Quinn.”

“So are you,” he growled, and the sound settled low in her pelvis. His hands rested on her hips, his thumbs pressing and retreating into the softer skin at her waist, fanning her excitement.

Leaning lower, she let him take the full weight of her breasts, the friction of skin meeting skin delightful torture. She mouthed one nipple until it stood taut. His breathing was laboured, his chest rising and falling.Because of me. When she laid her ear against him, she was sure she could hear his heart pounding. Positive she could hear her own.

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