Page 82 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“I mean to devour ye, as all yer foolish folk think the Highlanders do. But I fear that me appetite for ye will never be sated.”
“Damien, please,” Helena whispered, her hands clutching at his arms. “I-I—oh.” She almost bowed over as he cupped her and pressed a finger against her pearl. “More.”
“Oh, Hel,” Damien said into her ear, kissing just below it. “Ye didnae give me answers. And ye thought to run away. I mean to teach ye a lesson—ensure that ye never think of such a thing again.”
He petted her now while squeezing and kneading her breast. All the while, he pressed light kisses to her neck. Perhaps it was unfair, but he had his own frustrations to work out, and this seemed a far better use of their time than arguing.
Helena was nearly sobbing, begging for relief, and he smiled.
“Ye are so responsive, ye ken? But I also ken that I can make ye forget yer own name.”
“Liar,” Helena challenged.
Damien could not help it—he sank his teeth into the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. At the same time, he plunged his fingers into her heat and stroked her quivering walls.
“I am goin’ to make ye regret that,” he whispered as he began to undo her, mimicking what he really wanted to do to her.
“I-I doubt it,” Helena said as her head fell back against his shoulder, and she pressed harder against him. “More, yes,yes.”
“Aye, ye shall have it,” he gritted out. “One day, Hel, it will be me manhood inside ye. I want ye to think of that throughout yer year.”
At that moment, Helena came in a shuddering, explosive wave and sagged against him. Her chest heaved, and Damien scooped her up, tugging her dress back into some semblance of order.
“Wait,” she said as he began to walk toward the door. “I-I want to do something in return.”
Damien’s entire body seized up. Did she mean…?
“Nae here,” he said roughly. “Ye willnae undo me gesture, minx.”
Really, though, if she meant what he thought, he’d want to be locked in their rooms, with the bed nearby. All but running out of the library, Damien cursed how long it took to get to his rooms.
Shutting his door, he locked it and rounded on Helena. “What did ye have in mind, lass?”
Part of him thought that he should stop now, but he could not. His manhood needed relief—from her.
“I… I once read…” Helena flushed and touched her lips.
Damien groaned, and he could not help it—he grabbed himself through his trews. “Hel,” he said in a rough, shaky voice. “Dinnae tease me, lass.”
“I want to,” she said, drawing herself up and watching him with hooded, heated eyes. “Tell me what to do.”
Damien knew that he was being a bastard, but he could not help it. “First, undo yer damned stays and take yer breasts out.”
Helena tilted her head to the side. “Is that part of it?”
“Och, aye,” he groaned and gripped himself harder as she did so, revealing those beautiful breasts in the firelight. “Touch yerself a bit, lass. Let me watch.”
Helena sucked in a breath, then reached up, took off her glasses, and set them aside. Taking a deep breath, she did so, and Damien knew she was attempting to copy his ministrations. His tongue nearly cleaved the roof of his mouth, and he had to press the heel of his hand against his manhood.
“Feck, alright, lass. Now…” He took a steadying breath. “Let me get ye a cushion for yer knees.”
He fetched one, trying not to shake, and Helena plopped down in front of the fire. But she did not kneel, and he tried to smile.
“It’s alright, ye dinnae?—”
“No, I just…” Helena stepped closer. “Before I do… that, may I do what you did to me first? And then…”
Damien stared at her. “Why?”
