With a tug of the drawstring, the neckline gaped. He slipped it over her shoulder to expose her nipple to the cool room only to heat it with his mouth and the flick of his tongue before he drew it between his teeth. A bolt of electricity sizzled through her, hot and thrilling enough to wring a hoarse cry from her. Her head felt back in a silent plea, her fingers curled in his short hair to beg for more. A vague pull at her waist was her only warning before her skirt, petticoats and pocket slipped to the floor.
The tickle of his rough, calloused palms grazing the backs of her thighs wrenched a squeal of shock from her before she melted under the sensual caress. His hands skimmed up her legs to fondle her bottom under her blouse. And lift her. Aila clung to him as he rotated, tumbled her onto the bed, and came down over her. Without conscious thought, she wrapped her legs around his hips and sought his kiss.
His breath teased her lips. No more. She opened her eyes.
“What is this?” The question was gruff, his brogue thick.
“What?” Her response was filled with dazed confusion. “This? I think it’s fairly obvious.”
“What are we doing, lass?” As serious as he sounded, his palms continued an erotic massage of her backside that made concentration difficult. “Ye’re an enthusiastic bedmate, yet ye say this is no’ something ye do frequently.”
“It’s no’.” She arched against him, eager for conversation to be set to the wayside. Sliding her arms around him, she raked her nails down his back. The light stroke drew a helpless moan from him, much to her satisfaction. Straining upward, she caught his earlobe between her teeth and whispered, “I told ye before, this is no’ normal.”
Another choked moan and he lifted his head out of reach to glower down at her, though his normal fury was now absent. “Please dinnae refer to it as an anomaly again.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I prefer the other things ye called it. Genuine desire?”
“Did I say that?” She stared at his lips rather than wonder at the look in his eyes.
He kissed her knuckles one by one. “Taking yer pleasure?” He ran his teeth over the pad of her forefinger before drawing it into his mouth. Her breath hitched and he smiled, setting the digit free. “Ye might be the most temperamental lass I’ve ever met…. All of this might be the greatest blunder I’ve ever made in my life.”
“Yet ye cannae fight it any more than I.” She closed her eyes, unable to look at him.
“Aye.” The admission came with a low sigh against her neck.
“Then why try?”
Her whispered query was met with a moan of absolute surrender. Finn’s lips caught hers again, hot and needy now. The force of his ardor cascaded over her and Aila had no hope of holding back an answering wave of desire. Nor did she want to. She wanted this. Him. As much as she could before he was hers no longer.
His mouth migrated downward. Down her neck and over her breast and ribs when he tugged the blouse down further. Kissing, licking, sucking. He’d followed this path before, plying her with the nimble skill with which he’d proven most adept. Already he’d reduced her to a quivering mess. She knew if he continued downward to his goal, he would ravish her with his lips and tongue until he drove her to the brink of oblivion. God help her if his fingers got involved.
She’d be lost, swept beyond mere oblivion. Every fiber of her being vibrated with wanton anticipation for the ecstasy awaiting her.
“Nay.” The contrary command escaped her lips before she knew what she was about. Her hands framed his face and coaxed him upward. “I want ye, Finn. I want ye now.”
She wanted him with her. To join her in the journey.
Ever the considerate lover, Finn confirmed her readiness for himself with a satisfied growl. “Losh, ye’re wet for me.”
“I always am.” Aila closed her eyes when the confession slipped out. She fumbled at the remaining buttons of his breeches until he sprang free. Hot and ready. “Take me.”
With a primitive groan, he grasped her hips and drove into her ready heat. Their shouts of triumph tangled together as he seated himself to the core. Her body bowed against him, ankles locked to hold him there. He permitted it as he did each time they came together, that pause provided her a moment to savor the staggering bliss of his possession before he drove her to the exaltation of another mind-boggling orgasm.
This one came with mortifying speed. Perhaps it was the added visual that set her off so soon. If the play of shadows and dying firelight were that effective, she feared what would become of her if they ever had sex when they could actually see one another.
Oh, whatever it was, Aila buried her face against his chest to muffle the scream that tore through with her release. Her body convulsed around his member still hard and throbbing inside her.
“See?” she mumbled into the curve of his neck, helpless against the urge to lick the underside of his chin along the way. “This is no’ normal.”
His soft chuckle warmed her ear. “For us it is, I think.”
He began to move in long, languid strokes to coax her replete body back to life. Each deeper than the last. Lost in the darkness, each contact was heightened. The feel of smooth skin over the steel of muscle. The sound of his ragged breaths. The smell of soap in his hair. The taste of him. Whisky and seduction. Each sensual thrust that demonstrated his patience to wait for her to get caught up in the maelstrom of their passion with him again before he let go. She clung to him and let him have his way. Her breath caught. A signal for his pace to increase until he drove into her with desperate gasps to mark each thrust. Her fevered body tensed against the storm.
“Finn.” The word was a thin, pleading wail.
“Losh, Aila.” His lips brushed her temple. “Gèilleadh dhomh.”
She had no idea what the words meant, but delivered in a husky, passionate brogue they were sensual enough to send her over the edge. She refused to go alone this time, however. Locking her ankles, she refused to let him withdraw as he always did. She clenched him tight, arched against him, and dragged him into the abyss with her.
“Mo Dhia,” he groaned. “Is leatsa mo chorp. Mo chridhe…”
