Page 51 of The MacGregor's Lady
And he watched her. Took in the way her breasts gently rose and fell with her breathing, the way her coppery braid moved with them as it cascaded over her right shoulder. He saw her lips part, watched her take visual inventory of him in all his arousal.
He closed his eyes, trying to make the moment last. At the feel of Hannah’s hand brushing over his naked chest—just that, just that soft, wondering stroke of her fingers—he surrendered to a drenching, pulsing pleasure.
When it was over, his forehead was braced against Hannah’s shoulder, his belly was a sticky mess, and he was trying to remain upright without getting that mess on Hannah or her clothing.
And yet for a few moments, he stayed where he was, Hannah’s hand on his neck, her cheek against his temple, the scent of his spent seed wending through the fragrance of her lavender soap and female heat.
With a mighty gathering of resolve and a little push away from the counter, Asher stood upright, then grabbed a napkin from the table and used it to swab at his belly. Hannah shifted on the counter—her bum had to be uncomfortable—and drew her nightclothes around her.
Rather than mourn what had been taken from his sight, Asher snatched up his kilt and got the thing fastened around his waist. The frown Hannah treated him to suggested she might have regretted her hasty covering up when it resulted in him doing the same.
Her fingers started retying bows, and Asher felt loss slicing keenly.
“Let me do that, Hannah.”
He brushed her hands aside and took over the task, lingering over each bow and enjoying thoroughly that she’d allow him to tend her this way.
“Is there a name for what just happened?”
“A name for it?” There were many, many names. Foolishness was one, self-torment another. Over a stout serving of whiskey, he could probably think up dozens, and most of them would involve recrimination and regret.
But not all.
“Inside my body, that… I don’t know how to describe it. An earthquake of pleasure.”
She would be the death of his self-restraint. “You’ve weathered earthquakes, that you can command such a term?”
“In Virginia,” she said, her tongue slipping over her upper lip. “Only the once. Everything shook and shook.Everything.”
“It’s called an orgasm, and you can bring it on yourself with a bit of practice. I practice frequently, as do, I’m convinced, most people with any sense.”
She wanted to ask him more questions, he could see that, though the moment was delicate, full of potential wrong turns and poorly chosen words for both of them.
He finished with the last bow and allowed himself to pat it where it lay at the juncture of her thighs. When he should have helped her off the counter and made some inane observation about the tea getting cold, he instead stepped back into the haven between her legs and slipped his arms around her.
“What happened to you is simply a woman’s pleasure. There are medical terms for it and vulgar terms for it, but if you choose properly, your husband will see to it as often as you ask it of him.”
She said nothing for a long moment then drew herself up and way from him.
“Was this simply a demonstration, then, of the wonders I can anticipate on the far side of the altar?”
Her question was chilly, as if she were bracing herself for Asher to admit that was exactly what he’d been up to.
As if she knew he’d tried to serve himself that very ration of twaddle.
He could not be so craven. Not with her.
“I was rather hoping, Hannah Cooper, this was a taste of whatImight anticipate on the far side of the altar.”
***
“I foresee a problem, Husband.”
Ian patted the bed beside him. “Your husband is lonely, Augusta MacGregor. That is a problem, though one easily remedied.”
The deceptively prim set of her mouth quirked, and yet, she did not immediately hop onto the mattress. No, she finished tying off the long, dark braid snaking over her shoulder—a braid Ian often had unraveled well before morning—flipped it back over her dressing gown, and turned on her vanity stool to regard him.
“Do you know how distracting it is to be tending to my evening toilette while in the mirror I see I have earned the regard of a handsome man who sprawls on my bed wearing only his spectacles?”
