Page 46 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
Was it possible for a woman to dissolve? She felt as though she was seconds away from melting into a puddle.
His tongue pressed between her lips, dancing with her own, demanding that she yield to him, and she did just that. His one hand pressed between her legs, drawing those small circles, and the other hand dug into her hair, holding her head against him.
“Yes,” she whispered, breaking away and pressing her face into his neck to muffle the noises that sprung to her lips no matter what she wanted.
He moved then, picking her up and placing her on the sofa so she lay there, blinking and staring up at him.
“Adrian—”
His eyes gleamed at her in the firelight as he leaned over her, claiming her lips once more as he touched her again. This position—her lying on the sofa, him kneeling beside—allowed him better freedom of movement, and the blunt tip of his finger pressed against her entrance.
There, he hesitated—but she didn’t want hesitation.
Rolling her hips, she encouraged the tip of that finger inside her and then gasped at the sensation that followed. The stab of pleasure was so intense that it distracted her from the almost glazed expression in his eyes, and the feral, wild sound that left his mouth.
Then his mouth was on hers and he was sinking deeper inside her, tight but not enough. Her hips arched off the sofa, and he swallowed the moan that sprung to her lips unbidden.
Yes,this. This was what she wanted. What she needed.
“You’re so tight,” he said, maybe groaned, and she reached up, palms on either side of his face.
“Shh,” she managed, and he almost removed the finger then inserted it again.
“Even now, you’re telling me what to do?” He shook his head, but she felt his smile once again.
So many smiles this evening, he had let his walls down for the first time. But his finger moved in her again, the pleasure shattering her, disrupting all her other thoughts.
“Youarea fey girl.”
She snapped her jaw together, nostrils flaring as she fought the urge to let out a sound.
“More?” he asked wickedly, plunging inside her again. “Is that what you want, sweetheart?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Then keep quiet.”
The pleasure inside her felt as though it was coalescing into something still more precious—more intense. Like she was going to burst into tiny pieces, as though her body was too fragile, too small, to contain the sheer depth of pleasure that beckoned.
How could she keep quiet during this?
He pressed his thumb against her and pressure sparked. Her back arched.
“You are close,” he informed her, his nose brushing hers, and she gripped his shoulders, not entirely sure she was not about to drift off into the ether or the unknown.
Not sure if she would not break into a million pieces—and not sure if he would be able to put her back together again.
And yet she didn’t want him to stop. In fact, she felt as though she woulddieif he did.
“Adrian,” she gasped.
“Say my name again.” His eyes looked so very dark now.
His hand moved to his trousers, and when she looked down it seemed as though he was touching himself. Squeezing. Even so, his fingers didn’t falter on her as he drove her closer and closer to that peak.
“Say my name,” he commanded.
A wave of pleasure crashed over her, so intense her thoughts splintered. His name fell from her lips just as he had instructed, and her back arched off the sofa again as she chased that feeling.
