“Logan—”
He hummed against her, and the vibrations went straight through her core. She grabbed another fistful of his hair and pulled. He didn’t stop. One hand left her thigh, and she felt his fingers at her entrance, pushing inside. The pleasure spiked even sharper. His fingers drove deeper, and his tongue licked faster. She could not breathe or think past the building pressure.
“I am… I…”
“I ken.” His voice was rough. Muffled. “Ye can let go, lass.”
Then the pressure broke, and she cried out, pulsing against his mouth. He pulled back a minute later and pulled his fingers out of her.
“Better?” he asked, staring at her as the quivers eased.
She could not answer.
He stood, understanding flashing in his eyes, and adjusted his kilt.
“Sleep.” He pulled her gown back down over her legs. “Ye need rest.”
Logan woke up with his hand on his face.
The morning light filtered through the windows as he dragged his palm down his jaw, more out of habit than thought, and his fingers snagged just a little.
He went still and did it again.
Right.
His beard had reduced.
He rubbed at the edge, frowning, as if the missing length might reappear by sheer will. A soft sound came from beside him, stirring him awake even further.
Emma lay on her side, elbow planted, watching him. Her hair was loose across the pillow, and the sheet sat high on her shoulder, like she had set it there on purpose.
“Good morning,” she murmured.
He grunted. “Is it?”
Her mouth curved. “I like it.”
“The beard?” he said, turning toward her.
She nodded once, satisfied. “Thank you for letting me trim it.”
He breathed out through his nose. “Is that the only thing ye are thanking me for, lass?”
Color rose in her cheeks. She looked away for a beat, then looked back with a stubborn set to her mouth.“Yes, only that.”
“Fine,” he said.
She shot him a look that should have been cold and was not. She was still flushed.
He sat up, and the sheet slid down to his waist.“I want to take a bath before we leave. I still feel dust on me.”
Emma shifted under the sheet, then lifted her chin as if she was done hiding. “I want one, too.”
His mouth tipped up. “Do ye now?”
“Yes,” she said, holding his gaze.
It took a few commands, but soon, the tiny washroom was ready. Logan poured in hot water, and steam rose. Emma stepped in first. The heat caught her, and she hissed softly, then lowered herself, knees drawing close.
