Page 43 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
“I… couldnae wait,” she murmured, her voice thick with the same temptation that had caused so much trouble before.
Indeed, it was about to get Doughall a wife, despite that being the last thing he wanted.
“I bet that’s a long overdue lesson ye need to be taught,” he said, sliding his hand around her neck and pulling her to him. He moved to kiss her but held himself back just enough. “Patience.”
“I—”
He kissed her then, hard and fast, so suddenly that he knew she would have little time to react, to savor the moment. That would come later, with patience.
Pulling back quickly, he noted her wide eyes and ragged breaths, so stunned that she stumbled back a half step. He caught her hands to steady her and slowly began to walk backward, toward his desk.
“Are ye goin’ to… make me write the word out… a thousand times?” she panted, following his lead.
He said nothing.
What would be the point of that?
Still silent,feelingthe change in the air as she allowed herself to be guided by him, he wished he could bottle the anticipation and drink it whenever temptation crept up on him again.
“Sit,” he instructed, stepping out of the way.
She moved to sit in the chair that her brother had vacated.
“On the desk,” he growled. “Sit.”
He heard every sawing inhale and trembling exhale, music to his ears, as she took the last step toward the desk. With her back to him, she braced her hands on the wood and seemed to take a moment for herself, slowing those exquisitely labored breaths.
I wish I could hear yer thoughts…
But her body would have to speak for her.
Head held higher, she finally turned to face him, and with a gleam in her eyes, she lifted herself onto the edge of the desk. Exactly where he wanted her.
“There’s a good wife,” he purred, carefully removing her spectacles. “Now… a lesson ye’ll nae soon forget.”
17
Is it finally goin’ to be a punishment worthy of the name?
Freya could not believe she was able to sit there, perfectly still, when her entire body was a restless tangle of shivering, sparking nerves, and the wildfire in her veins spread through every limb. Just the sight of Doughall standing there, his gray eyes glinting, powerful in his silence, made her toes curl and her thighs press together as if to relieve a pressure she did not understand.
There’s a good wife…
The sentence alone made her want to moan. It was no real surprise—books had always been her escape, so of course her body responded to his voice and his words as viscerally as a caress.
“Grip the edge of the desk,” Doughall told her in a throaty rumble.
She swallowed thickly, doing as he asked.
“Those hands dinnae move from that spot.” He approached her, covering her hands with his. “Am I understood?”
Peering up into his eyes, she could not stop herself from nodding. If she behaved herself, maybe he would kiss her again.
“Such a good wife.”
He ran his calloused hands up her wrists, her arms, over her shoulders, up her neck, where they rested for a moment.
His thumbs paused on the hollow at the base of her throat, perhaps a warning of what he was capable of, and a reminder that although he could hurt her, he would not. He sealed that assurance with a kiss, slower and softer than before, his lips just grazing hers. A delicious torment, fueling her need for more. So much so that when he pulled away, she whimpered at the injustice.
