And I like it.
He carries me up the stairs, alternating between kissing me and nuzzling my neck, murmuring things against my skin that I can’t quite catch but feel everywhere. Every upward step grinds his cock against me—thick, perfect pressure that makes me moan into his mouth.
I can feel myself getting wetter with every step. If we make it to the bedroom without me spontaneously orgasming, it’ll be a miracle.
Somehow, I manage it.
By the time we reach his room, I’m vibrating with want. Struan lowers me onto the bed with surprising care, as though I’m made of something breakable. Then he straightens, looking down at me with dark eyes and dark intent, raw and almost worshipful emotion flickering there.
I return the favour by drinking him in. The way he stands over me, broad and golden in the late-morning light, hair damp and curling softly at his temples, those battered grey joggers hanging low on lean hips, his erection straining against the fabric like it’s seconds from ripping through.
Jesus Christ.
I want more. Desperately.
“Off,” I say, tugging at the hem of his ancient T-shirt with both hands.
Struan chuckles and peels it off in one fluid motion, tossing it behind him without looking.
My mouth waters. No exaggeration.
Aye, I’ve seen his chest before—that time in the courtyard behind the salon. But now I get tostare. As much as I want.
It’s a perfect landscape: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles carved by years of honest work. A dusting of golden hair across his chest. A wave tattoo curling around his bicep.
My fingers can’t help themselves. Sitting up on the bed, I reach out and trace the line between his pecs, then drag my nails lightly through his soft hair.
He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes dropping to where my hand roams shamelessly over him.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice rougher than sandpaper, “the way you touched me earlier—when you were cutting my hair—nearly did me in.” He leans down until our eyes are level, his eyes molten gold. “You standing behind me all bossy and focused... Christ, Ainsley.”
Heat flushes my cheeks—and lower too—but I can’t stop smiling like an idiot. Never, and I meannever, in my life have I felt so wanted by a man.
His gaze drops pointedly to my sweater, and he traces a finger along the hem where it meets my jeans. “As lovely as you look in that, I wouldn’t mind seeing it come off now.” His eyes flick back up to mine. A question and desire all at once.
I gulp, nerves kicking in hard. Because I’m wearing my sensible bra—nude, practical, the kind you wear when you’re absolutely not expecting anyone to see it. Not exactly the lacy, enticing number I might have chosen if I’d known this morning would end with me in Struan Walker’s bedroom.
But the way he’s looking at me... like I’m already the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen...
I tilt my chin, toss my hair back, and draw my arms across my body, slipping free of my sweater.
The air hits my skin. Goosebumps race across every inch of me—not just from the chill, but from the way he looks at me. His eyes track over my bra like it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.
Before I can lose my nerve, I reach behind me, unhook the clasp, and toss it aside.
Hestares. Like boobs haven’t existed until this moment. Like mine are some kind of miracle he wasn’t expecting.
And then, grinning wickedly, he addresses them. “Well, now. Aren’t you two bonny as anything?”
I laugh—a wild, reckless sound—but it dies in my throat when he reaches out and traces his knuckles over one peakednipple. A barely-there touch that steals the laughter right out of me.
Then his head dips, and his mouth closes over the other nipple—heat and hunger in every slow pull—while his big hand cradles and palms the first. Pleasure sparks through every nerve ending as his tongue circles and sucks, his scruff dragging deliciously across my sensitive skin.
I catch sight of us in the mirror across from his bed: Struan suckling my breast like a starving man, my hands tangled in his hair, my own expression utterly undone and desperate for more.
Dear God. This wasnotpart of my plan for today. But nothing could drag me away from him now.
He guides me back down onto the bed and leans over me, moving to my other breast, lavishing it with the same slow, reverent attention—his tongue swirling, lips teasing, stubble scraping in a way that makes me shiver. At the same time, he raises his knee between my legs, and—oh!—the pressure sends a jolt of pleasure straight through me.
