Nothing of hers would be taken by force; nothing would be given reluctantly.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still have his fun with her—and give her the pleasure she deserved.
With a trembling breath, he reached for her, his hands cupping the swell of her breasts with a moan. Under him, Lydia arched into the touch, her back peeling off the couch, and Kieran’s manhood gave a sympathetic twitch at the sight of her like this, flushed and panting already. He could only imagine the moment when he would finally be inside her—the way she would cry out his name, the way her body would cling to him, parting to take him deep.
For now, he was content with kissing a line down her neck, nibbling on her sensitive skin until she squirmed and moaned under him, her hips moving up to meet his seemingly on their own. His hands tugged impatiently at her petticoat, all but tearing it off her; he wanted to see all of her, wanted to get rid of her clothes, but he didn’t have the patience for that. He only had enough patience to loosen it enough and pull it down to her ribs, exposing her breasts, her nipples hardening immediately at the touch of the cold air.
Lydia let out a soft gasp at the rough treatment, one that turned into a moan when Kieran leaned closer and wrapped his lips around one hardened nipple, sucking the nub into his mouth. Her hands came to tangle in his dark hair, pulling at the strands, and Kieran’s body came alight at that touch, desire coiling deep inside him, demanding release. He had little choice but to reach inside his trews, his fingers wrapping around his length to give himself a few slow, leisurely strokes as he scattered kisses on her breasts, taking his fill of her—impossible as that seemed.
“I wish to taste ye,” he said, dragging the flat of his tongue over the swell of her breast before he circled the tip around the peak of her nipple. “Spread yer legs for me. Be a good lass now.”
Lydia flushed a pretty pink at the request, heat flooding her cheeks. When she didn’t move, though, too embarrassed to do as she was told, Kieran grabbed her knee and pushed her legs apart himself, only for her cheeks to turn an even deeper red.
“Ye’ll listen to me when I tell ye what to do, aye?” he asked, his lips hovering only inches from her own. “Because I ken what ye’ll like. I ken that if I touch ye here—” he reached between her legs to drag a gentle finger over her opening “—ye’ll like it.”
And like it she did. Lydia let out a moan so loud that she startled herself, her hand coming up to clamp over her mouth. When Kieran teased her, rubbing his finger over her folds, he found her already dripping with need, the feel of her driving him mad with desire.
“See? Ye do like it,” Kieran said, sounding just as breathless as he felt. When his finger reached higher, rubbing that sensitive spot on her mound, Lydia shook and reached for him, her fingers digging into his shoulders with a hiss.
“Daenae… daenae stop,” she said, and Kieran gave her a grin.
“I had nay intention.”
Instead, he pushed her skirts up, pooling the fabric around her thighs as he settled between her legs. There, her opening pulsed for him, her skin glistening, the sight of her irresistible.
And when he finally pressed the flat of his tongue against her, tasting her for the first time, he cursed himself for waiting this long.
The first touch of Kieran’s tongue against her core had Lydia gasping for breath. The touch was as foreign as it was pleasurable, heat and desire coursing through her body at the warm, slick drag of his tongue. The sight of him between her legs, her dress disheveled, her breasts and her mound exposed to his gaze, was obscene, but that only stoked the fires of her desire, making her crave more. It was the last thing she had expected when he told her he knew what she would like, but he was not lying—Lydia did like it, more than she ever thought possible.
Never before had she felt such pleasure, the kind that pushed every other thought aside until all that remained was the brush of his tongue against her folds every time he licked into her, the gentle push of it past the right of muscles at her entrance. Kieran seemed to enjoy it, too, pressing into her like a man starved, as if he was desperate for her, desperate to reach deeper, to pleasure her until she was shaking with it.
And shake she did, her thighs trembling as Kieran teased her, sucking on her sensitive spot until she cried out his name and once again had to press her hand over her mouth to cover hershouts. Heat flooded her cheeks at the thought that someone could hear them. They were a married couple, that much was true, but the idea of a servant passing by the room and hearing her in the throes of passion was as embarrassing as it was exhilarating, sending a shiver down her spine.
Everyone would ken what he’s doin’ to me. Everyone would ken I’m his.
After that, it didn’t take long for her to explode. There was no other word for it—her orgasm ripped through her, pleasure flooding her body as she convulsed around him; a scream torn from her lips as her core pulsed in time with her heartbeat. It seemed to last forever, dragged out by Kieran working her through the aftershocks, pleasuring her still even when she was already too sensitive and shying away from his touch.
When he pulled back, his mouth and chin shiny, his eyes dark, she found that she wouldn’t mind being touched again after all, even if it was still too soon.
For a few moments, he only watched her as she tried to catch her breath. Then, his gaze never leaving her, he reached into his trews and cupped himself, the sight drawing a moan out of Lydia.
She wanted to touch him—she craved it. And yet, when she reached for him, she was hesitant, too inexperienced to know what to do. But Kieran was quick to guide her. With a soft sigh, he released himself, pushing his trews lower until his manhoodsprang out, straining against his stomach, and Lydia’s eyes widened at the sight.
He was long and thick, so much so that she couldn’t possibly understand how a coupling with him would work. She had heard the maids speak of it before—the way a man takes his wife—and now, she thought that surely, they had to be mistaken.
Above her, Kieran chuckled, perhaps realizing her apprehension. “Daenae fash,” he told her. “When the time comes, ye’ll be more than ready for it. I plan to give plenty of practice.”
“Practice?” Lydia asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.
“Aye, practice.”
She could only imagine what Kieran intended to do with her.
For now, though, he only reached for her hand, guiding it to wrap around the length of his manhood. Lydia was surprised by how rigid the muscle felt, how velvety the skin was, how he pulsed in her hand when he gave a gentle squeeze at her fingers. Soon, they shifted on the couch, Kieran sitting and pulling her closer until she was kneeling next to him, watching as the tip disappeared in her fist with every upstroke.
Kieran let his head fall back with a sigh, and Lydia took a moment to watch him—the way his eyelids littered shut, the soft curve of his mouth punctuated by the short beard he sported,the shape of his neck as he leaned back. Then, her gaze moved lower, taking in the hollow of his neck where sweat had pooled, the slight thatch of hair she could see peeking out of his collar, the swell of his arms as he still guided her hand and reached for her with his other hand, pulling her into a searing kiss.
Lydia’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, her stomach tying itself into knots at the thought that came unbidden to her mind. She wanted to give him the same pleasure he gave her, but she was too nervous to do so. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to start?
