Page 83 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“So that we’re even.”
Swallowing hard, Damien had to reach out and hold on to a nearby chair. Christ, but he’d never have the upper hand, with her standing there, her breasts bared, calmly offering tit-for-tat pleasure.
“How did I live without ye?” he wondered.
Helena let out a shy laugh, and then her fingers traced his manhood. “I find myself wondering the same.”
“Hel—och, feck me.”
His eyes closed as she stroked him, and then the minx somehow figured out how to slide her hand inside while tugging down his trews with the other. She had adept, graceful hands and strong fingers. Damien nearly came the first time she fully stroked him.
Somehow, gritting his teeth, and staring at the ceiling, he managed to hold off. Until, with a shout, he came so hard that he saw stars and had to walk away.
When he turned back, Helena was kneeling and giving him an expectant look. And somehow, he was rock hard again. Something that had never happened before, nor did it seem that it should be possible.
Pacing over to her, he caught her chin and tilted her face up. “Lass, I confess I’ve thought about this often.”
Helena gave him an impish look even as her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed. Awe shot through Damien, and a throb seemed to go down his length.
His fingers tightened on her chin as he stared at her. “Ye have too?”
She nodded. “I was—when I felt you in the cave and… other times… Plus, I read a French?—”
“Helena,” Damien interrupted with a groan and stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe—feck!” Chest heaving, he looked down to see Helena pressing pert, curious kisses to the tip of his manhood, and a shudder went through him. “Lass… aye.”
His hands speared into her hair, and he could not help it—he began to help her. Relief and heat pounded through him, while Helena learned how to take him in her sassy mouth.
Oh God, but this was dangerous. He’d want this every night until the year was over.
Being a bastard, Damien held off for as long as he could, wanting to savor every goddamn second of her ministrations. But when he came, it was even harder than the last time, and he nearly went down on his knees.
“To think I have such power over Laird MacCabe, feared warrior,” Helena said when they were both sprawled on his couch, dressed again, though still disheveled.
Anyone who saw them would’ve known what they were up to. She curled up closer to him and smiled, brushing her hand over the strap of his eyepatch, then into his hair.
“I do enjoy it.”
Damien huffed a laugh. “Aye,of courseye do. Minx.”
She snuggled closer, then laid her head on his shoulder and draped an arm across his torso. He immediately wrapped an arm around her waist and smoothed a hand over her brow.
Pressing a kiss to her brow, he remained like that for several moments. Until he found himself starting to drift off to sleep and forced himself to stir.
“Let me take ye to bed, Hel,” he murmured, and she stirred. “Och, damn.” He stared at her. “Were ye asleep?”
“Mm, nearly,” she murmured and smiled at him. “Do you remember what I did with my glasses?”
“Aye, I’ve got them over here,” Damien said and stood up, trying to temper the frantic beating of his heart.
Helena’s sleepy sweetness, her arms holding onto him, and her scent in his nose were stirring his desire again.
“Come on, love.”
Somehow, he got them up, fetched her glasses, and carried her to her chambers, then laid her on the bed. He went to leave when a hand caught the back of his shirt, and he turned. Helena had her face tipped up, then surged up, kissing him.
“Can we sleep together, Damien?” she whispered between kisses. “Please? I want to hold you all night.”
“Hel,” he groaned between kisses. “Ye cannae do this to me. I am barely holdin’ on by a thread.”
