“High praise.”
“Daenae push it.”
He smiled, a near-smile that lingered at the corner of his mouth. Then his lips moved to her jaw, her throat, and the spot below her ear that he’d early on found to produce the most interesting results.
She was not going to make that sound again.
She made the sound.
“That,” he said against her skin. “Is never goin’ to stop being satisfyin’.”
“Ye’re smug about this.”
“A little.”
“It’s annoyin’.”
“Mmhm.” He pressed his lips to her collarbone, her shoulder, the line of her throat. “Tell me if anythin’ is...”
“Noah.”
“Aye?”
“Stop askin’.”
“Right.”
He pulled back far enough to look at her. Calmly, he examined her face as he did everything else, with the full and slightly unsettling focus of a man who had decided she was worth his patience.
Then, apparently satisfied with whatever he found, he continued.
Ava’s breath came in shallow gasps as Noah kissed every part of her, his body a furnace against hers, his hands already claiming what he’d been denied for too long.
She could sense the desperation in him, not just lust but something darker, bordering on worship. His obsession had always been a living force between them, a current that pulled them under each time they touched.
His mouth crashed against hers before she could even draw another breath, his tongue forcing its way past her lips with a hunger that made her knees weak. She moaned into him, her fingers digging into the rough wool of his tunic, pulling him closer as if she could merge their bodies right there.
He tasted of dram and smoke, of the wild Highland air that clung to him even indoors, and she drank him in like she’d been starving. His teeth grazed her lower lip, sharp enough to sting, and she gasped, her back arching as he took advantage, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it.
His hands were all over her. One tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back, while the other slid down her side to grip her hip with bruising force.
“Ye’ve been torturin’ me, lass,”he growled against her mouth, his voice rough with need.“Every damn day, walkin’ past me like ye daenae ken what it does to me.”
His accent thickened when he was like this, the words rolling off his tongue like a promise and a threat all at once.
Ava laughed breathlessly, her fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw before slipping lower, over the pulse hammering in his throat. She loved when he was like this, unraveling, barely leashed.
“And what does it do to ye, Noah?”she taunted, her voice a husky tease.“Tell me.”
She rocked her hips against him, feeling the rigid length of him through his kilt, and his breath hitched, his grip on her tightening.
His answer was a snarl, and his mouth crashed down on hers again as he spun her around, pressing her back against the wall.
The stone was cold against the thin fabric of her gown, but she barely noticed. All she felt was his heat, how his body imprisoned hers, his thighs spreading hers apart.
His hands slid up her skirts, calloused palms rough against her skin, and she shuddered as his fingers found the lace of her drawers. He didn’t bother with finesse; he tore them aside, the sound of fabric ripping lost beneath her sharp inhale.
“Feck, Ava,”he groaned, his breath hot against her neck as his fingers finally found her, slick and swollen with need.“Ye’re already soakin’ for me.”
