Page 68 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
He huffed. “These buttons go on forever, Lady Tyra, why I think I’ll go mad before I have ye naked before me.” He leaned in and layered a row of kisses from the arch of her throat down her chest where the fabric of her gown had parted so that the tops of her breasts were now available.
She sighed deeply, her pulse racing, her skin blazing under this touch.
His fingers continued their task and, as button after button was undone, he laid open her dress, until both her breasts were on full display above her stays. Peeling back the gown from her shoulders, he paused, looking up into her eyes.
His gaze was as dark as a stormy midnight and as wild. As their eyes met, the hot, swirl of passion rushing through her veins was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
He took her breasts in his hand and she leaned into him, almost wild with wanting.
Groaning, he took each pink nub in turn to lave them with kisses, to suckle, to torment with finger and thumb, inciting a raging fire between her thighs in a place she’d never known existed.
They kissed again, his hands exploring, unlacing the stays, so that when they drew apart, she was bare to the waist, her gown around her hips.
She reached for the tie of his britches and fumbled with the knot until it was undone, the front of the trews folded back and his shaft sprang free of its constraint.
After hastily pulling off his britches he stood before her in nothing but his linen shirt. Reaching for the laces she undid them slowly, running her fingers across his chest, toying with the rough dark curls, tweaking his puckered nubs in the same way he’d dealt with her breasts.
He laughed, threw his head back, groaned, holding her tight to him. With urgent fingers he pushed away the gown so that it pooled at her feet, leaving her in only leather shoes and her silk stockings tied with pink satin ribbons at her knees.
He growled, looking her up and down, as she stood, her head back, her lips wanting his kisses, her body aching for his touch, her breasts tingling.
“The stockings. Off.” he commanded, taking a seat at the fire where he signaled for her to stand before him.
Her cheeks flushed with heat as he gazed at her. When she attempted to cover herself with her hands, he gently moved them aside so that she stood, boldly naked, his molten gazed upon her, lighting fires in every spot on her bare skin where his gaze fell.
“Ye’re the bonniest sight me eyes have ever set upon.” His voice was husky, coming from deep in his chest, almost a growl.
“Now, I wish tae see ye taking down yer stockings.”
He put his hands on her waist and turned her so that her backside was facing him. He traced the plump contours with his fingers, cupping the cheeks, tracing up her spine, causing her to wriggle and shift.
The sound of his moans inflamed the fire already raging inside her. He turned her again to face him.
“The stockings. Now.” He ground out the words as if he was in pain. As she bent to obey him, he placed both hands and cupped her breasts
“I cannae reach the stockings if ye dae that tae me.” She said with a faint giggle.
“Daes this nae pleasure ye?” he bent his head to suckle, swirling her ripe flesh with his tongue, nipping gently with his teeth, until she cried out, a strange guttural sound torn from her throat.
Mayhap she tried to call his name but it was lost somewhere in a moan.
When he released his hands, she raised a leg so that he could take off her shoe. Then she propped her foot on his knee and, still keeping her eyes on his, she slowly untied the ribbon holding her stocking and rolled the silken fabric down her calf.
He breathed in deeply, his darkened eyes fixed on her, as she at last removed the stocking. She replaced her foot on the rug and lifted her other leg.
Groaning, he traced his hand along her thigh to her mound, tangling his fingers in the silvery curls above her folds, tracing lower to her hot, wet slickness, causing her to press herself to his hand, moving her hips a little as she bent to roll down the stocking.
He wrenched the silk down and over her foot and pulled her onto his knee. Cupping her breasts he leaned her back over the arm of the chair to toy with her, sliding hands along her throat, her breasts, to her mound, stroking her folds, slipping a finger between her nether lips.
Tyra’s hand encountered the rock hardness of his shaft. Unthinkingly she clutched at his length through his shirt, gasping at the span and girth of it, moving a hand up and down to feel it.
“Milady,” he cried out, as if anguished. “Och, me dear, I cannae hold back if ye dae that tae me shaft. I’ll be done before we’ve even ventured into our wee tub and bathed.”
She gave a soft laugh. For all that she was burning up with desire, she knew he was the same. This was a game like no other. It took each of them higher with every tiny move and every breath they took.
Rising in his arms she placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Then, mayhap it is time we took tae the tub. If we dally further, the water will surely be too cold.”
