Page 57 of It Happened in the Highlands
Jo had always been passionate. Even when they were young, he’d seen it, felt it. But this exceeded his wildest expectations and dreams.
“You very well know I do.” She frowned. “You might be a gentleman and help me remove this shirt of yours.”
He held onto Jo’s waist firmly to stop her from moving. Any more of this and his cock would punch a hole in his breeches. Then she’d know what kind of gentlemen he really was.
Every fiber of his body ached with desire for her. At the same time, he recalled her sadness, her feeling of loss, the river of tears that had stopped only moments ago. She’d had a dreadfully emotional day. He’d be a rogue and a rakehell to take advantage of her and make love to her when she was so vulnerable.
“If you don’t take this off, I’ll tear it off,” she said with remarkable serenity.
Wynne wanted her to feel better. He wanted to see a smile on her face. He told himself he’d go only so far, but he’d remain strong, in control. Yanking his shirt over his head, he tossed it across the room.
He immediately regretted his decision as her shining brown eyes immediately focused on the ugly scar just above his heart.
“So close. He almost killed you.”
With a feathery touch, her fingers traced the outline of the place Hugh’s bullet had entered his chest. He saw fresh tears spring to her eyes.
“But he didn’t,” Wynne told her. “There’s a matching hole in the back where the bullet came out. I survived. I’m alive and well and yours. All yours.”
For today and tomorrow and forever, he thought, reaching and wiping away a teardrop from her silky cheek.
For a long moment she sat still, her magical eyes studying the scar, his shoulders, his chest. He never imagined a look could be so powerful that it could make his body react as it was right now. When her gaze finally returned to his face, he was a lost man. She wanted him.
She sat back and slowly, ever so slowly, began to undo the buttons of her dress.
“Jo,” he whispered, reaching up and trying to take over. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists and she pushed them back to the mattress.
Leaning over him, silky locks of hair trailing across his chest and belly, she turned her attention to his scar again, pressing a kiss on it. From there, her lips followed a meandering path across his burning skin, kissing, tasting, breathing gently, and gradually driving him insane. Her hips moved against the rising bulge of his erection. He wanted to dive beneath those layers of skirts. He wanted to touch her, taste the sweetness of her delicate sex.
He fought to retain some degree of control on his imagination, for his thoughts only worsened his condition. She was driving him mad with desire.
His hand reached for the bunched hems of her skirts, but she caught his wrist and pushed it away. “Don’t move, Captain Melfort. I’ll do it.”
Another half-dozen buttons came apart and the front of her dress opened to reveal the curve of her breast above the top of her shift. A moment later, her lips were back on him.
His skin sizzled with her touch as her hand trailed downward across his stomach.
Wynne reached deep, commanding himself that these pleasures must have their limits. He tried to think of sea battles he’d fought, of bloody boardings, of rough seas, broadsides, and burning ships. Anything but the softness and beauty of the woman sitting on top of him. His muscles were flexed, rock hard, and he ached with the primal need of a male.
He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until her mouth returned to his.
“You’re killing me, you know,” he murmured raggedly. “But this game of yours has dire consequences, so perhaps we should stop.”
* * *
Stopping was not an option.
Jo’s kisses silenced him once again. She teased him, running her tongue across his flesh. And as she’d asked, he didn’t move. Waiting. This position of control was arousing. She let her lips move to his neck and kiss their way to his ear. She bit at his earlobe. He growled in response. Smiling and feeling bolder, she kissed a path back to his lips. She let her tongue play across their fullness again, and this time they opened for her and her tongue delved in and began its voyage of discovery.
The unrestrained desire to do as she wished, the power of being in charge, having decided that neither of them would walk away from this night unscathed, was thrilling.
Jo feared he would be scandalized if he knew that her virginity was intact. Never had she given herself to a man. But she would give herself to Wynne tonight.
This boldness made her feel . . . strong. She was in command, except that the pleasure was sliding through her too fast. She could feel a tingling in her limbs, and an urgency was building.
Jo sat up again, taking deep breaths. She painstakingly unfastened what was left of the buttons on her dress. His eyes were fixed on every movement of her fingers. His hips moved every now and then, building her awareness of the massive bulge she sat astride.
She loved the taste of him, the texture of his skin under her tongue. The magnificent chest, his strong neck and jaw, the lips. She pushed the dress down one arm, then the other, then to her waist. The ties at the neckline of the shift came undone with one tug and the material fell open, baring her breasts.
