“Because you always do.”
“I always did.”
Culross kissed her deeply.
“But now you are staying,” she breathed.
If you will let me.
Dread, that stealer of joy, slithered in.
Determined to crush it, he moved down her body. He licked the sweat from her freckles as he went.
“I need you like the very air I bloody breathe, Meghan,” he said shakily when his head rested at the altar of her womanhood. “I do not even recognize myself.”
Meghan pressed a shaking hand to his cheek.
“I love you this way.”
The scent of her musk flooded his nostrils; she drove him mad.
Smoothing his palms up and down the gorgeous expanse of her thighs, he splayed her for his worship.
“I will give it all to you. Anything you want. Everything you need.”
He cradled the right globe of her buttocks in one hand and used the other to part her legs wider.
“Is it my entire mouth you want?” August whispered against her sodden curls.
“I-I d-do s-suspect it will be one of those naughty things I enjoy.”
He welcomed her honesty; wrapped in that breathy way was an added gift. A welcome one, but unnecessary.
“Or do you like when I tease you with my tongue?”
With that same blade of hot flesh, he licked a path, erasing the remnants of her slick desire.
“Wh-what about b-both?” she ventured, her eyes worried, like he really wouldn’t give her it all.
Then, filling his hands with her buttocks, he brought her mound against his mouth and feasted.
Meghan cried out; her hips shot up.
Culross curled his fingers more sharply under the curves of her bottom, and she gripped his head. Moaning, she rode his tongue.
He licked her. He slid his tongue inside her sopping channel over and over until tears streamed from her cheeks and sharp cries pulled from her throat.
His shaft throbbed. His body begged for its own surrender. He hungered even more to serve her.
“I love the taste of you, Meghan,” he extolled, pausing in his ministrations just long enough to get the naughty praise out—praise she flourished under.
Panting, Meghan rocked her hips into his face.
His answering chuckle was a low velvet rumble.
Meghan cried out half in longing, half in torment.
“You’re driving me mad, August!”
