Good God, she wanted him more than anything.
His right hand rose to the back of her head and cradled it, while his other hand curled tighter around her waist, pressing her against him.
She felt it poke her belly. His arousal, like a hard, unyielding piece of wood, pressed hard against her even through the layers between them. Heat rushed through her, and she arched into him almost involuntarily, rubbing against him and hearing a low groan escape his lips. His arm banded around her waist, lifting her closer to him.
He groaned against her lips, the sound raw and passionate. He rocked his hips against hers as he took her lips in another deep kiss. She gasped against him, the softness of his lips contrasting with the hardness of the shelves against her back.
“If ye want me to stop—” he whispered against her lips.
“I daenae want ye to stop,” she breathed.
In one swift motion, she reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her hands roamed over his chest freely, feeling the tufts of hair, the ridges of his abdomen, and the warm skin right above his belt.
He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the nearest table. There, he swept aside all the books and lowered her onto the surface.
“Jack—” she whispered against his neck, the words unable to form no matter how hard she tried.
Jack lowered his hands to the hem of her skirt and lifted it. Then, he took a step back, almost as if to examine her. To see her forwhat she was—a woman who wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
He moved closer and sank to his knees before her. Something about the sight made her heart skitter.
Here he was. Laird MacLeod. On his knees. Right in front of her. Nothing but pure desire was written all over his face.
Waves of pleasure she didn’t even know she could experience washed over her. She was still coming down from that high when he spread her legs, already licking his lips before he moved closer.
Emma threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. His hands slid up her legs, caressing her calves and pushing the rest of her skirt out of the way. She looked down at him as he leaned closer. His eyes found hers one more time, and it took all her will not to reach for his head and pull him closer.
Then, his fingers curled around her thighs, and before she could fully process what was happening, he buried his face between her legs. The first press of his tongue sent bolts of lightning up her spine.
A sound she didn’t know she was capable of making escaped her lips. Her hand found its way to his head. She didn’t push him away or even pull him closer. Instead, she held him steady, deciding at the very last minute to use his hair as an anchor.
She needed to hold on to something as the world around her dissolved into pure sensation.
His tongue relentlessly teased and played with her, the heat between her thighs growing by the second. He explored her with nothing but passion, learning what drove her mad and what made her grind against him.
When his fingers joined, Emma didn’t know what to feel anymore. The overload of pleasure almost turned into pain at some point as he inserted two fingers at once, curling them inside her. His fingers matched the rhythm of his tongue soon, ignoring her pleas and gentle calls of his name.
Her hips bucked against him as he thrust his fingers deeper into her. The pressure rose inside her, like a tidal wave heading for the rocks. He pumped his fingers faster and flicked his tongue against her bud.
Then the pleasure crashed over her in a violent rush.
She tensed against him, and a sharp cry escaped her lips. He held her hips down, preventing her from falling off the table until she rode down the wave of pleasure. He remained still, watching her with dark eyes until her body went limp.
Jack lowered her to the floor. They lay between the fallen books, their breaths evening out with every passing minute. Emma drew in as much air as she could while relishing the scent of paper and candle smoke. A distant candle made a small pool of light that reached their hands and not much more.
Emma tipped her head back and watched the dark ceiling.
“Ye see nothing up there,” Jack pointed out, amused.
“I can almost tell where the stars would be beyond the roof,” she said.
“Ye ken, for some reason, I cannae help but think ye’re telling the truth.”
“I daenae have any reason to lie. Unless it is necessary.”
Their laughter broke the silence for a moment, then faded.
The stillness returned, a little heavier than before, and Emma tried to rid herself of it by listening to the rustling of the wind outside. Warmth lingered on her skin, yet the space just above her heart felt fragile, as if a breath too deep might crack it.
