Page 54 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
He planted his hands on the wall just beside her head, bracketing her with his arms. She was overwhelmed but not afraid, and soaked up the feel of him as he enclosed her and shut out the rest of the world.
Leaning close so that their breathing mingled, he growled, “Go faster, lass, or I’ll keep you on the edge of coming for hours. And when I do let you come, you’ll shatter into millions of pieces.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a punishment,” she whispered.
“Determined to push me.” He bit her neck, and she gasped at the primal act. “Do as I say—or I’ll give you my cock.”
Oh, but she desperately wanted his cock. She raisedher skirts all the way to her waist, and though she wore drawers, air teased at her aching quim, making her moan.
He moved back slightly so he could see her displaying herself. His blunt fingers stroked against the ribbon at the waist of her drawers. “Take these off.”
She cast a look toward the curtain. It wasn’t even a door offering complete seclusion, just a drape of heavy fabric that would offer no impediment to someone seeking entrance to the chamber.
“That’s right, lass.” He leaned closer to whisper into her ear. “Anyone could come right in and see you baring your quim to me. They’d get an eyeful of you showing me your beautiful pussy like a shameless wanton.”
A groan tore from her at the mental picture he drew. She did not know why this image aroused her so, but, God, it did. Barely able to control the trembling of her fingers, she fumbled at the ribbon before untying it and shimmying out of her drawers.
Now she was fully exposed to him—to whomever might come into the private room.
“There’s a bonnie lass,” he said on a rough exhale. He cupped her mons, merely holding her like that with his hot hand, but it was so possessive, so claiming, that she almost climaxed.
His lips grazed along the side of her throat. “I love your neck. Been obsessing how much I want to bite it, to kiss it. Wrap my hand around it and hold you still whilst I pleasured you.”
“Duncan...” she exhaled shakily.
His fingers dipped between her folds, and he growled when he found her soaking. As he stroked her quim, her legs barely held her. He caressed her bud and circled around her entrance.
“This is what I thought about all day,” he said in a rasp. “All through that bloody coach ride. Watching you merrily chat with everybody when I wanted to hike up your skirts and play with your cunt until you screamed.”
“Oh, God, yes,” she gasped.
“Now I have you all to myself. I’ve half a mind to fuck you with my hand all night long. Just likethis.” Two of his fingers thrust up into her, and she fought to keep from crying out in case someone was out in the hallway and overheard her sounds of ecstasy. “That’s right, lass. Keep quiet. Or else they’ll hear you moaning at my touch. Brazen wench.”
His touch and words were her undoing. Her orgasm struck with the sudden ferocity of a summer storm. She arched up, the wall unforgiving at her back, his hand still working her quim with unrelenting demand.
“Sir? Madam?” The innkeeper’s voice sounded in the corridor. “Is everything all right? I heard—”
“Go. Away,” Duncan snarled.
“Yes, sir.” Footsteps retreated, and Beatrice could only wonder if the innkeeper had looked around the curtain.
She trembled as a smaller climax racked her.
“Liked that, did you?” Duncan said in a low, gravelly voice. When she was silent save for her gasps, he cuppedhis hand around her throat once more in a wordless demonstration of his power. Knowing how he’d fantasized about doing just this made her shudder with excitement. He bit out, “Answer me.”
“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, I loved it.”
“Of course you did, wicked vixen. And now I’ll show you what wicked vixens get.”
She looked down to see him tearing at the fastenings of his breeches, and when he pulled out his deliciously thick, hard cock, she wet her lips.
“Want to suck this, don’t you?” he growled.
“I do. Please.” Pleading with him to take him in her mouth was exquisite.
He shook his head. “Good lasses get to suck my cock. But you’re not a good lass. Are you?”
“I’m not,” she moaned. “I’m very bad.”
