Page 75 of The MacGregor's Lady
“Stop teasing, sir.”
He shifted, and in a blink, Hannah was on her back, pinned by a grinning Scottish earl apparently in no mood to take direction. “Stop managing. It’s a habit ye’ll give up, Hannah, at least when we’re abed.”
“The day I—”
Now the kissing began in earnest, a wondrous onslaught of male guile intended to convince Hannah she didn’twantto manage him in bed, not ever. She decided instead that she’d learn to tease him, to enjoy the wares she wasn’t quite sure how to flaunt—and to enjoy his wares.
“That’s better, love. We’ll go slowly, and take our time, and all the pleasures—”
She pinched his derriere, not hard, but enough to takepleasurein the resilient abundance of muscle on his backside as her toes stroked along the curve of his calf.
“I’ve never petted a man with my feet before.”
“Blessed saints, I hope not.” The humor in his voice sounded strained. “What other wee tricks would you like to try out on my poor, unsuspecting self?”
“I’ll give you a list—later.” For now, the feel of his erection, warm, smooth, and heavy against her belly, distracted her sorely. She rolled her hips to remind him of the point of the proceedings, though the perverse man raised himself off her and shifted to his side, taking his weight and warmth away.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He kissed her nose. “Between two people sharing a bed like this, Hannah, there’s no right and wrong. There is only what pleases us.” He drew his callused finger slowly down the midline of her face: forehead, nose, lips, chin, throat, and on down.
“Are you going to draw on me or make love to me, Asher?”
“Draw on you”—he nuzzled her breast—“for now.”
He drew on her nipple with the wet warmth of his mouth, and Hannah nearly came off the bed. “That is… that iswicked.”
She gripped his head, fingers fisted in his hair while heat leapt out from where he touched her. “That is wicked, and lovely. I can’t…”
His hand drifted over her chest, tracing the bones of her sternum, covering her other breast, teasing, tormenting… teaching her that whatever she’d envisioned sharing with him, it was going to be much more personal and of much greater impact than she’d imagined.
For a time, they drifted between kisses and caresses. Hannah discovered that her hands pleased him too—on the angles and planes of his face, over the warmth and power of his chest, down the sinewy length of his arms. He sighed, his breathing hitched, he murmured in unintelligible Gaelic, and he made not one peep of protest when Hannah wrapped her fingers around his engorged member.
How long she mapped the feel of him she could not have said. She acquainted herself with downy, masculine hair, the smooth length of his shaft, the curiously silky head of his cock, and all the little twitches and inhalations that went with her touching him.
“You’re braced in some regard, Asher MacGregor. You’re enduring this.”
“I’m wallowing in it. You are very thorough in your explorations, Hannah, and that pleases me. I would not want you to think otherwise.”
He was being honest with her, though still… She trusted her sense that he was waiting for her to look her fill, waiting for her to gather her courage.
“I’ve explored this part enough.” She tugged on his cock gently. “Fornow.”
He shifted up again while Hannah, as naturally as dancing, subsided onto her back. “I will be the judge of what’s enough, woman, at least this time.”
His kiss was different, more uncivilized. Hannah took that as an invitation to reciprocate, to explore his mouth with her tongue, to breathe through him and undulate up into the hand he traced down her ribs. Something inside her was coming undone—wonderfully, completely undone—and she wanted him undone with her.
This time, he did not linger at her breasts or stop his quest at the soft flesh low on her belly. He brushed his fingers through her curls, gently, gently, a caress as maddening as it was arousing.
“Asher, that’s all very—goodgracious.”
She went silent, let her knees fall open, and waited to see what he’d do next. One leisurely pass of his fingers up the crease of her sex, a little pressure on a particular spot, and words deserted her.
“Shall I do that again, love?”
“Mm.” She grabbed him by the back of his head and fused her mouth to his. He chuckled—the dratted beast—and repeated that most interesting caress, this time with a hint more pressure.
Hannah pushed into his touch, and Asher smiled against her mouth. “She likes it. She likes it verra much.”
