“I want tae taste ye,” he said.
“Ah… but…” Grace gasped, trying to close her legs and her pulse thundering.
Duncan smiled. He held her thighs apart and he dipped into her again. Back up, he kissed her hard, then meeting her eyes he said, “ye taste so good.” Grace had no choice but to believe the conviction in those steady eyes.
Then, he plunged back between her legs. Soon, his finger joined, taking her to the doors of heaven. Grace’s voice rose as she jutted her hips at him. Her breasts bounced as she heaved, and with one hand, Duncan held one, brushing the hard end. Just when the sensations insanely compounded, her toes started to tingle. She curled them into the mattress. Her eyes rose to meet him as he massaged her breasts.
A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, as he looked at her, her movements, his brow knitted and he grunted. Following the movement of her hips, he licked her, swirling his tongue in a circular motion.
A shout erupted from Grace and a burst of stars exploded behind her eyes. She fell back on the mattress, fighting to catch her breath. She felt the mattress move as he climbed up. He gathered her into his arms, his big body doing nothing to assuage the heat. Her head was against his chest and she could feel it thundering.
Still rasping, Grace looked at the small mountain in front of his kilt. Her face colored. He kissed her forehead; his thumb tracing circles on her shoulder.
“Dae ye feel better now?” he rumbled.
“I want ye to feel good too,” Grace blurted.
His laugh was bitter and she felt him shake his head above. “Nae. Tonight is about ye, Jo. I wanted tae make ye feel good. Now, go tae sleep.”. She reached for him, but he gently pushed her hand away. Grace swallowed her frustration. While she did not have much experience in the area, she knew could replicate what he’d done for her. She heard him chuckle, then those cool lips met her forehead.
“Stop thinkin’ so much.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Wake up, ye drunken fools!” Duncan shouted at the drowsy men. He stomped from one tent to the next. Those who’d not bothered to go to bed, and instead lay under the stars, were kicked awake. “Let’s move!” he yelled.
“Duncan,” a quiet voice called behind him. He swung around, brows knitted in anger. Bryce and Craig stood side-by-side, both with twin expressions of confusion. “The sun hasnae risen,” Bryce commented. “Why are-”
Duncan cussed, and stormed to the direction where the horses where reined. Damned Bryce. If they left now, they would cover more ground before the sun rose, which would be very soon.
Despite the length of time he’d spent staring at the roof of his tent, the tent inside his kilt had absolutely refused to deflate. He counted sheep, recalled horrid war images, counted the number of men with him in his head, still nothing. He’d spent the next few hours fighting the urge to yank his own hair out infrustration. Of course, he could not move his arm, for nestled there was the source of his torture.
He had watched Jo sleep. Her usually restless brows were relaxed. Her body was not coiled in a tense ball, she was not muttering in her sleep. He, on the other hand, was a ball of tension. His throat was parched, his skin prickled, his head ached. She had moved her leg, her smooth flesh rubbing against him and Duncan had breathed out a harsh curse.
Then he had stared at her, hoping she’d remain asleep. She had not woken. It had been both a relief and a disappointment. For hours, his palms had been balled into tight fists. And so, when a cock crowed somewhere on a farm nearby, Duncan had sprung up from the mattress.
In his book, it was morning and they had to move.
Why were they looking at him like he’d lost his mind? He rubbed his horse’s nose, muttering a string of cusses, specifically aimed at the two men that’d come to stop him. With little to do while the camp packed up, he decided to groom the horse. He was busy with that task when Craig found him once more.
“Didnae ye get any sleep?” Craig asked tentatively. His hand was out of the sling and appeared to be much better. Duncan returned his gaze to his task. He was not going to answer stupid questions.
“Ye will break the horse’s skin,” Craig commented ruefully.
Duncan glowered at him, and Craig raised his hand. Duncan threw the grooming brush at him. “Dae it yerself.”
He stalked away, but halfway, he realized the only possible destination was the tent. It was off-bounds to him at the moment. His stomach rumbled but the lads who cooked were still waking up. Still, he went in the direction where the food was stored. He found the remainder farmer’s dried meat and washed it down with wine.
One of the men approached him with hesitation Duncan swallowed the last of the wine, relaxed his expression and beckoned to the man.
“Uh, sir, I dinnae mean tae disturb ye, but we’re havin’ trouble with the English horse. It has refused to feed and willnae be saddled.”
“When was the last time it was watered?” Duncan asked, making his way briskly ahead of the man. Thank the gods he had something to keep his mind off of her. When he approached the horse, she lowered her great head, took a sniff of him and angled her head. If it were a dog, Duncan would have sworn it smelled Jo on him.
He held out his hand and the saddle was passed to him. It was the first time he inspected it. Offhandedly, he noted that it was of the highest quality, like the horse. With the roiling temper he was managing to subdue, he wondered what sort of beast would take a woman like Jo, when they had access to such wealth. What was her father’s crime?
He answered his own first question. No man could look at Jo without lusting after her. When the dust settled, Duncan promised himself he would find those men and make them eat sand and puke their guts out before ending their useless lives.
Having secured the saddle, he led the horse toward the water. Once watered, the horse viciously tugged grass into her mouth. Duncan handed the reins to another and walked to Bryce’s tent. The map was there because of Jo. Calmer now, he peeked in.
