Page 27 of Dark Side of the Laird
There it was. The declaration I’d been waiting for. I was his and he was mine.
“Yes, mine…” I murmured. “And yours.”
Wrapping my arms around him, hands splayed on his lower back, I arched into him. Logan held my face with one hand and roughly gripped my hip with the other. He stroked my flesh, rubbing in circles, roaming over my buttocks and ribs, but never quite touching the parts that ached to be caressed. Teasing, taunting, always.
Logan liked to see me strung up tight. To feel me quiver with wanting, and to witness the way my body responded, wet and coiled. And I liked to show him how much I wanted him.
Cock pressed tight to the juncture of my thighs he walked me backward into the shadows. I clutched to him. Mouth a tangle of frenzied licks and sucks. Hands stroking over his flesh, and his burning a path over mine. Minutes before I’d been running from the shadows, not wanting to discover what was within them. But now, with Logan pushing me past my fears, I eagerly retreated. Willingly, I walked without being able to see what was behind me, only in front. And before me was a powerful, sensual, wicked man. I wanted nothing more than to feel his hot rod of pleasure as it drove inside me.
Pressing me up against the wall, Logan dragged in a breath. “God, lass, ye drive me to the brink.” He skimmed his lips over my chin, burning a sizzling path, until he reached my ear. I was shaking with need as he spoke. “I’ve never wanted someone more in my life than I want ye. I’ve never needed someone as much as I need ye. I’ve never felt—”
But he cut himself off. The deep turmoil circulating in each word as it was expressed chilled me. He sounded vulnerable. Hurt. Aching. Tortured. The man was struggling inside, and even if he didn’t want to tell me what it was, I knew how to comfort him. Together we were powerful. Together we were freed from the demons that tormented us.
I slipped my hands into the waist of his belted kilt, running them around the back toward the front until I reached the warmed metal of the buckle.
“I love you, Logan,” I said, my lips pressed to the crook of his shoulder. I unhooked the belt, ran my hands up over his chest and plucked at the pin that held the layer of his plaid thrown over his shoulder, then listened as the fabric unraveled, falling with a muffled thud on the floor. “Together we’ll get through this.”
Again he drew in a ragged breath, compelling me to implore him once more to tell me what weighed heavy on his heart. But before I could utter the words, his lips captured mine and he pressed his naked hips against me. The heat of his flesh seared a path through my clothes and I was suddenly desperate to be out of them.
I’d noticed more and more often that our lovemaking wasn’t so much about lessons, about the struggle for power and acceptance, but more about connection. About joining together and sharing. About being one.
Maybe that was the lesson. How to give in to each other.
Logan tugged at my gown, his fingers sliding easily through the ties, loosening it until he could ease it over my shoulders, down my arms and leave it slack at my waist. His warm palm covered my breast, only the thin chemise I wore separating us now. My nipple was already puckered from anticipation, but now it fairly bulged with the need to feel him stroke it with his tongue.
And then he was wrenching it away, the delicate fabric shredding with his determination.
I reached a leg around his, hooking it behind his knee, trying as I might to get his cock closer to my clit, where I loved to feel his hardness stroke.
I moaned. “I want you so bad.”
“Ye have no idea.”
“Will anyone come down?”
“Nay, I told Cook I needed to speak with ye privately.”
“But—”
“Shh… If they come, then they can watch. They can see me lick your quim.”
And with that, he dropped to his knees and cold air wafted over my ankles and calves as he lifted my gown over his head and disappeared.
I pressed my back to the wall, hands digging into the plaster as his hot mouth hovered over my wet and quivering sex. My netherlips pulsed, clit twinged, every nerve-ending on fire with excitement.
I dug my hands into his hair as he parted my folds with his fingers and then put his tongue on me. A long, heady, slow stroke from the opening of my sex to the very top, where he swirled around my clit as though I were a melting ice cream cone.
“Oh, God,” I gasped.
“Uh-uh,” I heard him murmur, the sound of his voice vibrating deliciously against my over-sensitized flesh. “Oh, Logan.”
I spread my thighs wider and canted my hips forward. “Oh, Logan,” I murmured.
“Aye, lass, oh me.”
He tantalized me with that tongue, making me breathless, hot and sweaty. I could barely hold up my weight on my legs, and thanked heaven for the strength of the wall behind me.
Torrents of pleasure rocked me. He drew on my clit, sucking, making it pulse and then scraped his teeth over it before flattening his tongue and stroking in quick short bursts before sucking again. It was a new pattern, designed to torment me. To bring me close to the edge, and draw it out.
