“And what of ye, Kenneth, standing there drenched to the bone?” She gave a soft chuckle and reached to undo the buckle on his belt. “It will do me no good at all to be warm and snug while you are heading for a cold, wet grave.”
Save for the thundering of his heart, he remained obligingly still as she undid the buckle and tugged on the belt so that his kilt descended to somewhere below his knees.
Chuckling he stepped out of it, seized the length of plaid and tossed it across a chair.
He reached for her again. “Now, if ye please, let me relieve ye of that damp shift.”
As she stood before the glowing fire, captured in his gaze, the lacy fabric of her shift was rendered almost transparent, her curves visible beneath the fabric. Her firm, round breasts with their puckered pink nubs were clearly displayed to his gaze and even the dark triangle between her thighs was on view beneath the delicate fabric of her wet shift. His eyes raked her body, as she stood before him seeming quite unashamed.
With her eyes on him, she slowly licked her lips, red and swollen as they were from their kissing. Molten hot blood raced through every vein in his body.
He swallowed. Never had he viewed such a rare beauty. He could scarcely tear away his gaze from the wonders before him, his unruly shaft hardening, lust and desire coursing through him as he beheld her exposed as she was to his eyes.
He reached a hand to ruck up the hem of the delicate, lacy fabric above her knees.
“Lift yer arms, Lady Selene, I want ye naked before me.”
With only the slightest of smiles on her lush lips, she obediently raised her arms so that he could draw the shift over her head and shoulders and off.
Then she stood naked before him, her skin glowing in the palest pink in the firelight, her breasts thrusting high, her still-damp curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.
He groaned, reaching for her and drawing her glorious nakedness close to his aching hardness to join her lips with his as their kiss deepened.
She pressed closer, her hands tangling in the hair at his nape, his hardened shaft nudging her belly. As they both lifted their heads from their kiss, he gasped in a breath and trailed kisses along her jaw and down the delicate arch of her neck.
He traced his rough hands over the satiny skin of her shoulder until, emboldened by the sound she uttered from somewhere deep in her throat, he stroked down to cup her breasts. Thosesame soft breasts that had taunted and tormented his thoughts and his dreams ever since that first ride when he had held her between his thighs on Arkan’s saddle, her curves brushing his arm with every step.
They kissed again and he tweaked the hard, puckered nubs between his forefinger and thumb, savoring the hitch in her breath as he increased the pressure, his shaft turning to steel as she arched her back and pressed her breast to his hands, moaning and sighing and groaning his name aloud.
Then, keeping one hand on her waist to hold her steady, he went lower, his fingers making a trail from her breast to her navel.
He moved his hand from her waist to grasp her rounded buttock and drag her against him, while the other hand explored the mound of curls between her thighs.
He pushed his hand to her thigh, opening her to him.
She cried out his name reaching a hand to his hip, pressed now so close, and her fingers found his shaft and gripped it, stroking up and down his length.
She gasped. “So hard… yet… velvet…”
“Ah, lass, ye dinnae ken what wildness ye’re causing.” He ground out the words, his passion on fire for her was like a madness he could scarcely control.
“If I do to you the same as…” Her sentence disappeared into her moans and sighs as he slid his finger between her thighs and along her slick, wet folds, circling the hard little nub, make her cry out his name.
He took one of her knees in his hand and raised it so that her foot rested on the chair and she was wide open to him. Holding her steady, he slid a finger along her wetness and entered her, slowly at first, only the tip of his finger. She shifted her hips and placed a hand on his.
“I need ye there…” She pressed her hand against his so that his finger penetrated deeper. Then she wriggled slightly, arching herself, her head thrown back so that her long curls swept almost to her knees.
His breathing was hardly more than a series of gasps, his wanting a fierce pain in his groin, but she was a maid and he was taking her mAidanhead and he must go slow.
Stretching her with a second finger he thrust gently. But she moaned again and cried out, grabbing his hand, thrusting her hips to meet his fingers.
“Kenneth. Please. Don’t stop.”
He thrust again, and again she moved her hips to meet his hand. He touched her core, circling it with his thumb as his fingers went deeper.
“I think ye are ready for me, lass,” he managed.
“Oh yes.” She moaned again. He slid his fingers out of her wetness and, clasping her tight, he lifted her and laid her spreadeagled on the rug before the fire.
