Page 16 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
Part of her wanted to slide up, open her legs and impale herself upon him. Yet a few moments of dubious pleasure—she had never gotten much out of her erstwhile suitor’s ineffectual efforts—would lead to weeks of anxiety until nature confirmed she hadn’t ended up in her sister’s situation: pregnant and unmarried.
Tavi shook away the intrusive thought. She wasn’t going to let that happen to herself, and she trusted Ian not to put her in that position, either. They barely knew one another, but he’d been rakishly honorable since the first moment of their acquaintance.
“You don’t know what that does to me,” he groaned. Tavi rolled the base of his cock again, then set herself upon him, hollowing out her cheeks as she took him as deeply as she could.
Remembering how much she’d liked it when he looked up at her, she kept her gaze fastened on his face, cataloging his expressions. Memorizing them for later, so she could return to this evening long after they’d parted ways, when she spent lonely nights in her bed at the cottage.
He especially liked it when she stroked her thumb along the underside of his cock. She did it again, firmer, and exulted in his response.
“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. His grip on her hair tightened, pulling at the roots. He held her there, hips bucking up while she tried to take as much of him as she could. Each time she thought she’d found her limit, a tug on her hair made her relax just enough to take him deeper. He swelled between her lips. Impossibly hard. An impossible texture against her lips. Soft skin over thick veins. Heat. So much heat and friction...
Tavi couldn’t maintain eye contact. She let her lids flutter closed and gave in to his instruction, trusting him to guide her. Bliss.
A choked sound brought her back to reality.
“Tavi, I—”
She tasted salt. His grip loosened, giving her the opportunity to escape before he crested. She gripped the base of his cock and stroked the way he liked, sucking hard. A hot pulse hit the back of her throat. Tavi made herself relax and let her throat work, taking the second wave. Then a third. Only when his stomach smoothed abruptly and his breathing evened out did she finally, reluctantly, release him.
“Oh my god,” he murmured, staring up at the ceiling with one arm flung over his half-closed eyes. “You’ve ruined me for all other women.”
Tavi laughed, exultant as she crawled up the mattress to tuck herself into the crook of his arm. He smelled like salt and fresh-cut wood. His skin was feverish despite the cold. “You’re ridiculous. I’m sure you say that to all the women who…do that.”
“Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of playing the Corinthian.” He yawned and dropped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close.
Tavi wriggled out of his grasp, wincing when her bare feet hit the stone floor.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my shift. In case I need to get up during the night, I don’t want to have to go searching for it in the darkness.”
For no rational reason, Tavi felt that sleeping naked with him was more intimate than pleasuring one another. She wasn’t quite ready to take that step.
Gratefully she crawled back into his warm embrace. Heat enveloped her, radiating off his skin. Soothing. Ian dropped a lazy kiss on her forehead and said, “Sleep well, Mrs. Dawson.”
Tavi grinned. Outside, the wind howled.
CHAPTER8
OCTAVIA
Tavi awoke slowly, baffled by the weight slung across her waist and the wall of heat at her back. The tip of her nose was cold, so she burrowed into the warmth…and felt a sizable lump beneath her bottom.
Ian Harkness.
Abandoned castle.
Last night.
Tavi’s eyes flew open. Wan light crept in around the boarded-up windows. The wind had barely diminished its banshee shrieking. Clearly she must wait a few more hours before setting out.
Guilt pricked her conscience.
Poor Grace. All alone on Christmas Eve with a newborn to care for.
Yet her sister’s circumstances would not improve if Tavi took Nutmeg into a snowstorm and got lost again. She therefore snuggled into Ian’s warm arms and fell back asleep.
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