“So… ye do want this,” I whisper.
“I would have liked to take it at our pace, aye. But the end result would be the same for me.” His eyes turn dark, dark as night. “I want ye, every bit of your soul and your body.”
I think I just let out a whimper.
“Your legs wrapped around me, my mouth on your tight wee nipples, hands tight on your arse and driving into ye.” He grins, a wicked one, lascivious. “I know ye want it, too.”
“H-” I have to clear my throat. “And how do ye know I want it?”
He dinnae move, but I swear I feel his hands on me. “Sweet lass, you’re leaning forward in that chair, putting just a hint of pressure from your foot on that delicate spot between your legs. Rocking back and forth. A couple of times, just enough to take the edge off.”
Heat floods my face. Damn him with his all-seeing gaze and his infuriating confidence and his enormous dick!
“Maybe we need to consummate this marriage, my prickly wee Cat. See how we feel.” He’s leaning over me now, his hands braced on the table, his voice a deep rumble and unconsciously, I rock forward again, feeling the pressure on my clitoris and it’s not enough.
“We. Uh.” What was I going to say? “We already consummated it last night. Four times. This afternoon over that…” I’m beet red. “Over that log.”
“Hmm… I think we should make sure it’s good and consummated, aye?” He bites my shoulder, hard enough to send an electric shock through me. “Ye never really know how many times it takes, and I have so many ideas.”
“One question.” I wrap my arms around his neck as he picks me up, heading for his bedroom. “Do ye plan to get more… uh, intense as we go?”
“Oh, my sweet lass.” His chuckle is positively fiendish. “You’re not ready for all the things I want to do to ye. We could start with binding ye tight with silk scarves, play with your little arse…”
“That sounds promising,” I blurt out before my brain can catch up. “I mean, the butt stuff we- weshould talk. I mean this should be a conversation or ten and…”
His laughter follows us up the stairs to his room.
***
Oot the noo - Scottish slang for extravagant and excessive.
Gallus - Scottish slang for cheeky or bold.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In which there is celibacy and safe words.
Catriona…
“Have ye had many women? While ye were away on the frozen tundra?”
Where the hell did that come from, ye eejit?
“Where the hell did that come from?” Lucas frowns down at me as he puts me back on my feet.
At least he dinnae tack on ‘eejit’ like I did.
“I… well…” I do a little swivel, moving over to the big bank of windows in his bedroom. The cottage is built on a bit of a hill and the stretch of sand on each side seems vast, just a few lights dotting the shore from other homes. “They did it to wind me up, mostly, but Michael and Duncan were always giving me shite about ye not having enough time off toaccommodateall the lasses interested in ye.”
“If you’re looking to put me in the mood, you’re going the wrong way, wife.”
Oh…wife. That does give me a tingle, though not enough to distract me from my foolish line of thought. “I knew your schedule practically as well as I did my own back then,” I stumble on. “I dinnae know when you’d have time.”
“I did not,” he says sharply, precisely. He’s leaning against a carved wooden dresser, pristinely clean and bare, like the rest of the bedroom, watching me pace back and forth like a nervous gerbil. “Ye perhaps remember that I was at your beck and call nearly every moment of the day and night?”
“Was I that bad?” Now, I feel horrible. We all grew up with bodyguards, but I always tried to be considerate.
Well.
