“So fooking responsive,” Bull praised, his voice rough. “Love hearing those little sounds ye make.” His teeth scraped again. “My Rose.” Then his mouth covered her nipple again as he squeezed her other breast, and her fingers curled in his hair trying to hold him in place, trying to capture these sensations.
She should have known he would understand what she needed.
Bull’s hand slid down her belly, over her hip, cupping her aching mound through her nightgown. Even through the fabric, she could feel how wet she was—and from the way his eyes darkened, he could too.
“Christ, Rose. Ye’re soaked for me.”
She nodded frantically, her hips pushing into his hand. She needed more, more, needed something she couldn’t quite name.
Bull understood. Healwaysunderstood. He gathered the hem of her nightgown in his fist and yanked it upward, baring her legs, then higher still. His hand found her bare cunny and they both groaned at the contact.
“Nae drawers,” he noted, his voice strained. “Did ye plan this, lass?”
But her Bull didn’t wait for an answer. His fingers slid through her wetness, exploring, gentle yet determined, and when he found that sensitive spot at the apex of her folds, she gasped.
He circled it slowly, watching her face as he did. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me see ye feel me.”
Rosie rocked against him, her fingers still twined through the hair at the base of his neck. His gaze held hers and she couldn’t have looked away, even if she wanted to. Because she didn’t want to; this wasBull.
This wasBull, and he was loving her.
Finally.
He increased the pressure, fingers moving in steady circles, and her pleasure—the exquisite pressure—built behind his touch. When he slid one callused possessive finger inside her, she nearly sobbed with relief. He slid it out once, then in again, curling up into her as his thumb kept circling that bundle of nerves.
Then as if that weren’t enough, asecondfinger glided into her soaked channel, stretching her, filling her…Rosie stiffened, but as he curled both fingers forward, stroking herfrom the inside, she felt herself melting against him.
“So tight,” Bull groaned, shuddering as he worked her. “So wet, so perfect. Can ye come for me, Rose?” He buried his face in the crook of her neck, as if he could only focus on one thing at a time. “Come for me…”
“Bull…” she whimpered, clawing at him and her pleasure, teetering just out of reach. Why wasn’t he giving her more, and yet how could there be more, when he was already giving her so much?
His lips brushed against her skin. “I want to feel this sweet cunny squeeze my fingers, love. Fookinguseme again, ye ken how?—”
The crude words combined with the relentless pressure sent Rosie over the edge. Her climax hit her like a wave, pleasure crashing through her body as she clenched around his fingers. Bull worked her through it, his fingers never stopping their soft strokes, prolonging the sensations until she was shaking and boneless against the door.
“Beautiful,” her lover murmured, finally stilling. “So fooking beautiful when ye come.” He kissed her neck. “Thank ye.”
Thank you? Thank you!
Rosie couldn’t think coherently. She wasn’t sure she had a brain. She could still feel her inner muscles spasming lightly around his fingers, every squeeze a flutter of delight, but she knewsheshould be thankinghim!
And what had he meant,again? Did he remember the way she’d ground herself against him that first night in the inn? Did he know she’d used him, half-asleep, to find pleasure? Did he really not mind?
“Bull!” Rosie tugged at his hair, lifting his head until she was staring, wide-eyed, into his gaze. “That…that was…fooking hell.”
A laugh burst out of him as he slid his fingers from her, and her hips rocked forward, trying to maintain contact as long as possible. “Do ye ken how arousing ye are, love?”
This time when he kissed her, he pressed his own hips forward and she felt his hardness throbbing against her stomach.Yes.
This was what she wanted. What she’d been hoping for, what sheneeded.
Eagerly, Rosie dropped her hands to his waist, fumbling for his trousers. They weren’t buttoned? He hadn’t had time! She caught his lower lips between her teeth and tugged as she thrust her hand into his trousers and eagerly wrapped her fingers around his cock.
His large cock.
His large, throbbing cock.
Bull hissed and bucked against her hold, pressing her against the door with his body, plundering her mouth asshe stroked him. Rosie might be a virgin—or was she? Probably not at this point—and she hadn’t been a complete innocent for ages. She’d seen him naked, for instance, stripped him off herself, and had done her share of reading of particularly enlightening books such asA Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts, which Merida had shared with her a few years ago.
