He froze, frowning down at her. “No,querida?”
“It is my turn,” she elaborated, pushing at him with the heels of both hands now.
His brow still furrowed, his eyes darkened with passion so they were the same color as his hair, he allowed her to guide him onto his back. She had not forgotten the day he had told her, seemingly a lifetime ago, that he was a broken man. He carried the pain and the scars of his past within him, a burden he refused to share.
She wanted to show him, in the only way she could, how thoroughly she worshiped him. How deeply she loved him. And maybe, just maybe, she could take away some of that pain. Maybe she could heal those wounds. One kiss at a time.
“Catriona, what are you…”
The manner in which his words trailed off gratified her as she threw herself into her task. His body was beautiful and strong. She kissed his shoulder first, the smooth, strong curve of it. Kissed her way to his throat, burying her face there, where he smelled most like himself. Across his strong jaw she traveled next, to his firm chin, loving the abrasion of his whiskers on her lips.
She had only just begun. His heart may belong to another, but his body was hers, and she was staking her claim upon it. Upon every part of him she could. Down his chest, where his olive skin was dusted with dark hair. Over his thumping heart. Down the ridged slab of his abdomen. Her hands found his thighs, her nails raking lightly over his skin.
She kissed his hip bone, inhaling the muskiness of his flesh.
“Querida,” he growled.
But she ignored the warning in his tone, for she had found his thick length. She took him in her hand as he had shown her before, kissing the blunt, velvet-smooth tip where a drop of liquid had escaped him. She licked her lips to taste it, and it was salty and sweet at once.
He growled. “Catriona.”
“Tell me how to please you,” she said, kissing him again. “I want to bring you pleasure the way you have pleased me.”
For a moment, she thought he would protest. She stroked him, meeting his gaze.
“Take me in your mouth,” he said, his voice low. Guttural.
On a surge of answering pleasure between her thighs and a surge of primal satisfaction, she did as he told her, drawing him into her mouth. Just the head of his cock at first, spurred by instinct to flick her tongue over him. His hips pumped, and she took more of him.
He was whispering things in his native tongue. She was sure they were wicked, and she loved them. Loved every growl, every hiss of his breath, each twist of his body as he showed her what he wanted. Faster. Deeper. His fingers sank into her hair, guiding her in the rhythm he wanted. Using her hand and mouth, she worked over him.
How she adored having this big man at her mercy.
Giving him pleasure made her achy with her own need. She sucked and licked and moved with him, giving him what he wanted. What they both wanted. He surged inside her deeper still.
“Cristo, I am going to come in your mouth if you do not stop,” he grunted. “You must stop.”
She liked the notion of him being powerless to stop the rushing tide of his pleasure. To know he was mindless in his need for release, that his control would break, that she would be the cause…
It was heavy.
Potent.
She surrendered herself to the act of pleasuring him, refusing to stop. She wanted him to fall apart. To submit to her. To give her his release, even if he would not give her anything else. He could deny her his heart, but this, this was hers.
“Fuck,” he said, thrusting again, taking her mouth the way he took her cunny.
And then he stiffened beneath her as he surged into the back of her throat, stealing her breath as a torrent unleashed.
“Querida,” he said afterward, his voice melodious, robbed of all the hard edges it ordinarily possessed. He looked relaxed, almost boyish with one arm thrown over his forehead. “You should not have done that.”
“I wanted to,” she told him softly, falling to the bed alongside him and curling against him.
He was warm and reassuring and strong. His arm banded around her, holding her close. “Gracias.”
She pressed a kiss to his chest. “De nada.”
And she realized, as she lay there with him, it was not just his pleasure that was hers.Hewas hers.
