He guided her onto his lap, and she could not help but roll her hips, wanting friction, wanting more.
Fergus cursed. “Ye want me to touch ye again, little mouse?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “Please.”
He bunched her skirt around her hips, pushing aside her undergarments and sliding his fingers across her bud as she cried out against his lips.
The feeling of him touching her there, of how his fingers slid through her slick, made her heart beat so fast she worried it might explode.
Pleasure swirled in her lower belly again, building and building just as it had before, but she wanted more, needed something else to get her over the edge.
“Inside,” she managed, flushing all over. She was so embarrassed that she felt so wanton, so… sinful.
Fergus breathed out against her neck, and she thought it might be another curse, but she was not sure. She could feel how hard he was against her hip now, pressing into it. It was not uncomfortable, though. She liked knowing he wanted her.
He moved his fingers from her bud just long enough to pop them into his mouth, pushing them past his lips and sucking on them. Jeane watched him, her face getting hotter and hotter as pleasure shot through her.
She wondered if she would taste herself on his tongue when she kissed him and then cursed herself for the sinful thought.
He shoved his hand back under her skirts, pressing two fingers inside of her, deeper than before, and at first, the stretch was a little uncomfortable.
But it was also good, and when she started to roll her hips, Fergus groaned against her neck, kissing her there, open-mouthed.
The stretch got easier, slicker, and she let out little whimpers as her pleasure started to peak. She was so close to some edge, whatever that meant, and she wanted to get there, wanted to feel like she was flying just like the last time.
Did Lottie feel like this when Aiden kissed her, touched her? Did other women?
She had heard her girlfriends talk about kissing boys, but they certainly had never talked about the boy’s manhoods pressing against them. Was Jeane just… evil? A witch like Fergus had teased her? Why did she want this so much, want his fingers inside her?
She wanted him to take her maidenhood, and she was ashamed of the thought, but she could not help it.
“How does that feel, little mouse?” Fergus asked, and he plunged his fingers deeper, making her cry out. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and Fergus grunted, rolling his hips up. She felt his manhood hard against her hip again, and she choked out a low moan, trying not to make too much noise, muffled against her hand.
She fell over the edge all of a sudden, reaching her peak, breathing out his name, and rolling her hips against his fingers.
Fergus was panting by the time she came back to earth, and she braced her hands on his shoulders, still slowly rolling her hips. She scooted back on his thighs, looking down at the tent in his kilt.
She glanced up at Fergus, and he just stared at her with eyes so dark they were almost black with lust.
“Curious, lass?”
“Can I touch ye?” She paused, flushing even deeper. “There?”
Fergus groaned. He looked at her for a moment, as if deciding. “Aye,” he said finally, his voice low and strained.
She slowly put her hand under his kilt, squeezing along his muscular thigh first, and Fergus buried his head against her neck, breathing out a hot breath.
Her fingers crept higher, and she found the hardness, wrapping her fingers around it. Her fingers did not quite touch, and her eyes widened at his size.
She knew that manhoods existed, of course, that they grew when it was time to consummate a marriage, but she never imagined this. How would that fit inside her? His fingers were thick and already a stretch.
Was that even where it went? Was she wrong about the whole thing? She felt vastly inexperienced, but when she squeezed slightly, Fergus choked out a strangled moan, almost like he was in pain.
She froze but did not move her hand. “Is this… all right?”
“Seven hells, little mouse,” he gasped, his face still buried in her neck. “Ye’re tryin’ to kill me.”
She giggled wildly, nearly hysterical, and started to move her hand up and down, liking the way his manhood felt velvety in her hand.
