Page 47 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
Through force of will, he managed to hold his climax back until she cried out around his cock.
“Going to come,” he panted.
But she didn’t pull back. She sucked even harder, her hand stroking him firmly, unrelenting in her determination—and with a shout, he came. Ecstasy engulfed him as she swallowed his release.
When she’d taken the very last of his seed, he gathered her in his arms and laid them both down. He carefully tucked the blankets around her and smoothed her hair, then glided his fingers over her swollen mouth.
“So fucking lovely,” he said, his throat raspy from the force of his shout. “Thank you.”
Her breath was warm on his face as she exhaled a soft chuckle. “Think I ought to be the one giving thanks. That was... how many orgasms? I lost track.”
“Wasn’t keeping count.” He caressed her cheek as tenderness swept through him. She’d been so open and fully present, lavish with her response, generous in bringing him pleasure. “I can give you more.”
“I’d be reduced to ashes.” Her lashes lowered and, incredibly, she seemed almost shy. “You liked that.”
“How can you doubt it?” A smile touched his lips. He’d never had a stronger—or louder—climax. Nell and Bill likely thought he’d been torn apart, and in a very, very nice way, he had.
She pressed her lips to his, and he rose up to meet her—but she pulled back before he could deepen the kiss. “There’s still so much out there I’ve yet to experience. But now I’ve enjoyed the sexual attentions of a Scot. Who knows what’s next?”
He stifled a jab of disappointment. But he wouldn’t let himself fall into the trap of his need for more, so he’d shut craving for emotional closeness into a box.
Unaware of his thoughts, Beatrice continued in a cheerful tone, “The whole evening has been an unfolding surprise—I’ve had a bounty of firsts. First time someone’s hand other than my own made me come. First time I’ve had a man’s mouth on my quim. And my very first fellatio. Really, it’s a wonder why we don’t celebrate things like this, because I would truly like some cake.”
“There must be some in the kitchen.” He rolled to sitting. “I’ll fetch you some.”
“It was merely a jest.” She leaned on her elbow, propping her head in her hand. “You made me come like a madwoman. You don’t need to bring me cake.”
“Don’t mind.” He stood and walked to where he’d stowed his borrowed clothing.
She sat up. “That would be delightful, but it’s not necessary.”
He dragged on his trousers, which were quite snug since Mr. Goddard seemed to possess much narrower thighs and calves. “I get hungry after sex, and your talk of cake has made me crave some.” Duncan crossed the room and gave her a fierce, quick kiss. “I’ll be back in a trice, bearing cake and something to drink. After we have our snack, I’m going to put my mouth back on your pussy and make you come half a dozen times. Maybe more. What say you to that?”
After a moment, she glided her hands up his torso, scratching her nails through the hair on his chest, and making his breath hitch and his heart pound.
“I say... forget the cake.”
Chapter 11
One should never underestimate the effect hours of cunnilingus could have on one’s temperament.
As Beatrice sat in the taproom of the nearby village’s inn the next morning, dressed in her own clean and dry clothing, sipping her tea, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. It was as though the world had been bathed in radiant light, rendering everyone and everything exquisitely beautiful. She could barely remember last night’s terrible slog through rain and mud—all she could recall was the feel of Duncan’s mouth on her quim and the wave after wave of ecstasy he’d given her.
From his kiss, she should have known that he would be talented at sex. And yet she hadn’t truly believed it until last night.
He’d also been extraordinarily generous, pleasuring her for half the night before she’d fallen into an exhausted but sated sleep.
This morning, he’d been his usual businesslike self. They’d risen early—she hadn’t missed the sly looksNell and Bill had given them when they’d taken breakfast in the kitchen—and ridden in Bill’s wagon to town. After they had shaken hands with Bill, they secured lodging for Green and Wiggins.
Duncan then went to see about securing spots on the mail coach. Which left her alone in the taproom, enjoying her tea and delighting in a sunny day in the wake of countless orgasms.
She was so pleased, even the nearby arguing between a handful of men over the results of a local cricket match couldn’t dislodge her good spirits.
“That’s a fine smile, my lady.”
She looked up into the angular but friendly face of Duncan’s friend, William Rowe.
“It seems our paths are paralleling, Mr. Rowe,” she said and waved at the seat across the table. “Please do sit.”
