For once, he hasn’t called me London.
“No.” I lay my hands on his chest, feel the quick beating of his heart. He might wear a cool veneer, but his body doesn’t lie. “I want this. I’m… nervous.”
“Good. You should be.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, yes.” Angus circles my hips with his fingers, sending shivers of desire shooting to my core. “If you let me inside that room, I’m going to spend the rest of the night ruining you. With my fingers, my tongue, even my cock if you’re lucky. You are going to scream my name.”
“Scream it?” I can barely breathe.
“Until you’re hoarse.”
I swallow. “I’d like to go inside now, please.”
For a moment, Angus’ cocky grin wavers. I step past him and open the door. Walk through and pause with a single finger still resting on the handle.
“Aren’t you coming?”
In a flash, he’s inside, kicking the door closed with his boot, and lifting me onto the bed. He throws me down, trapping my hips with his, nipping at my throat with his lips and teeth. I shiver as his stubble scratches the sensitive skin and pull at his top until he strips it off, revealing his bare chest.
It’s as majestic as it was at the loch, all hard planes and long lines. I reach out a hand to touch it, and Angus catches it, pressing it against his mouth. I curl my fingers against his lips, and he takes them inside, licking them up and down.
“You like that?” he asks when I moan and buck my hips.
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s the least of what I can do with my tongue.” Angus drops down to his hands and knees above me, a Greek statue made flesh and blood. His lips plunder mine and then he is moving down, over my throat, the hollow of my collarbone, lifting the bottom of my T-shirt and kissing the soft skin of my stomach. I lift my arms, and he pulls off my top, revealing my pink leopard print sports bra, trimmed with a neon-orange band.
“Seriously, London?”
I laugh. “At least it’s not boring.”
“God forbid.” Angus descends again, licking and kissing his way down my stomach, his touch sending warm, shooting flecks of golden pleasure to my pussy. “You could never be boring.”
A different kind of warmth fills me at that. One I don’t have time to dwell on, because then his hands are at my leggings, peeling them off, his knuckles scraping against my thighs.
And then my leggings are on the floor and there is only one thin layer between my pussy and his mouth. I can feel his hotbreath on my centre even through my thong, and my clit pulses with need. He pauses, and I can’t take it anymore. My hips twitch of their own accord.
He chuckles, running one lazy finger up and down my covered folds, the lightness of his touch sending me wild. “Impatient, are we?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth, even as my hips buck.
He slides my pants to the side. Strokes again, dipping his finger between my folds. We can both see the wetness glistening there as he removes it, examines it, and then draws it into his mouth, expression one of ecstasy.
“You asked me earlier if I like it when a woman begs.”
I know what he wants. And judging by the heat between my thighs and my already shaking legs, I know I’m going to give it to him.
“And I do, London. I do. I like hearing filthy words come out of beautiful women’s mouths. I like it when your need overtakes everything else. I like knowing that you want me, that you would do anything, say anything, to have me.” He flicks his tongue out, skimming over my wet centre, and the pleasure of it sears my skin. “And I’m going to especially like it from you.”
He does it again, and a whine escapes me, my hands moving of their own accord towards his hair, trying to push him down. He catches them and pins them by my side.
I’m at his mercy.
I have never wanted to be anywhere more.
“So beg me. Beg for me to touch you. I want to hear you unravel.”
